Hey everyone, welcome to chapter 4! Please feel free to review if you want, they really
make my day and inspire me to keep going. Enjoy the chapter!
/
Clover's eyes snapped open as the screeching of tires squealed from outside her window. After a few blaring car horns went off and the aggressive commotion following the unseen incident died down, she groaned and rolled over so her face was buried in her pillow. It wasn't uncommon for Clover to be awoken in the wee hours of the morning by the bustle of the street corner below, but it was still irritating nonetheless. She lifted her head to peer at her alarm clock, then quickly shot out of bed. It was already 7:45, and her shift started at 8.
Clover cursed herself as she hastily threw her uniform on while simultaneously attempting to run a brush through her tangled hair. It seemed that she had forgotten to set her alarm after returning the night before. Clover grumbled obscenities as she checked the clock again, slipping into the beaten up sneakers she wore to work.
After giving her teeth a vigorous thirty second scrub, Clover flung her toothbrush on the counter and dashed through the apartment, snatching her keys off the counter. The TV screen was silent was devoid of color, as sure sign that her father had already left for the day, or never returned from the night before. Clover's heart ached a little at the thought of him being in trouble, but chastised herself for the illogical worry. Most likely he was passed out at a bar somewhere, dazed from a night of shooting darts and drinking booze.
After firmly locking her door, Clover rushed down to the bus stop. As the cold air rushed over her, she longed to turn around and retrieve her jacket. Unfortunately, she didn't have the time. After waiting for a few minutes at the bus stop, Clover was seated on the bus once again, feeling very different from when she last sat there the night before.
A jolt of excitement ran through her again at the thought of last night's events. The smell of champagne still tingled at her senses, and the sense of impending danger was fading into an excited buzz. Clover knew that the second she was put in that situation again the fear would return, but when she reminisced it was almost as if she had just been another club goer enjoying herself. The beat of her heart as she had hid under the sink was like the beat of music, and tiptoeing through the silent club was a quiet dance. She was sad to admit that that time only existed in her memories now.
Soon, Clover arrived at the coffee shop. Her boss had been quick to reprimand her for being late, but quicker to forgive her considering her impeccable record of being on time. After that little bit of excitement at the beginning of her shift, the rest of it was positively boring compared to the previous night's events.
After a full night of adrenaline pumping through her veins, Clover felt like a druggie going through withdrawal symptoms. Every customer that approached her with their disinterested eyes and bleak voices only pushed her mood lower. She knew she should've been happy to make it out of that predicament with her life and some cash, but all Clover could think about was how tedious these people were. Every monotonous order for a "Espresso with soy milk, two shots of vanilla, extra foam" made Clover want to claw her own ears off even more. Her job had never bothered her before, but every order was almost sickening to listen to.
After a few hours of cashier duty, Clover saw a familiar face approach the register. Her eye twitched in annoyance as the rude man from the day she had met Myrtle approached her. Clover had presumed he wouldn't return based on his reaction to her service, but clearly she was wrong.
Her nose wrinkled slightly at his scent as the man leaned against the counter. He smelled overwhelmingly like cigarette smoke, and possibly old cheese? Despite her distaste for him, Clover made an attempt to be polite.
"Hello sir, how can I help you?" She asked as he paid her no attention whatsoever, his eyes fixed on the menu.
"Yea… I'll have a plain espresso please." He drawled slowly, his eyes slowly panning down to stare at her after a moment.
Clover tried to keep from shivering as she felt his eyes look her up and down slowly. His gaze expressed what might have looked lustful in a younger man, but simply looked starved in a patchy man of his age. Clover grit her teeth. She'd had her fair share of creepy customers, but his scrutiny reminded her too much of the sleazy Mr. Goodman.
"Alright sir, that'll be three dollars." Clover said as she punched the order in.
The man slowly retrieved a few bills from his pocket and placed them down on the counter. Clover was grateful that he had done so without complaining about the price like last time. As she reached her hand out to take the money, her eyes widened as she felt his large hand grab hers roughly. She attempted to pull away, but the man simply pulled her closer. She could feel her the counter digging into her hips as he yanked her wrist closer. Clover did her best to look anywhere but into his cold eyes.
"You gotta man baby? Cuz I'm betting you ain't got no one to go home to after your shift." He whispered it gruffly into her ear, and Clover was frozen with fear.
Her eyes darted around, trying to figure out why no one had come to her rescue yet. Unfortunately, the few customers in the shop had their heads buried in books or were otherwise occupied. Her manager was nowhere in sight. A frantic feeling bloomed in Clover's stomach, akin to how she had felt when dealing with Cobblepot the previous night.
"Sir, I-I think you should leave." She said, her voice quivering.
The man spoke again, his breath putrid. "Only if I get a promise to see you , tonight"
Clover waited another moment, mentally pleading for anyone to intervene. Then, after a moment, she completely lost whatever cool she had left. Clover took her other hand, which had been firmly planted on the counter, and used it to push the man back firmly. Not expecting this, the man took a took a few fumbling steps back and bumped into a table, sending the vase on it clattering to the floor. The glass decoration shattered from the impact and the noise immediately caught everyone's attention. The cafe patrons looked up from their business questioningly.
"G-get away from me!" Clover exclaimed, her hands shaking. The oppressive weight of the patron's gazes surrounded her. The stares of the customers reminded her too much of the cold eyes belonging to the rich Gothamites.
She heard the kitchen door swing open and footsteps approach the scene.
"What is going on out here?!" Her manager exclaimed, hands planted firmly on his hips.
The man made an accusing gesture towards Clover. "What's going on is your little cashier put her hands on me. Is this really how you treat your customers?!"
The manager's judgemental eyes focused on Clover, and she couldn't take it anymore. His cold blue stare looked just like Cobblepot's. Everything seemed to be repeating, like a bad case of deja vu, except the excitement of the club was gone. Now she was standing before Goodman again, and Penguin was asking her over and over again who she was. Clover began to tremble under the weight of their gazes. Without another word, she quickly turned around and pushed through the kitchen door, making her way to the alley behind the shop.
After breaking through the back door, Clover allowed her legs to give out as she leaned against the brick wall. She was still panting, but it seemed as if a weight had been lifted off her. There were no longer eyes trapping her, only the distant sounds of cars and people. Clover distractedly rubbed her wrist where the man had grabbed her, knowing that a ring of bruises would soon appear there.
Clover flexed her jaw as her panic subsided to frustration. Why had she just froze in there? She could hold a conversation with the most dangerous man in Gotham, but as soon as some low life laid his hand on her she froze like a deer in headlights. Why had she been able formulate a plan to infiltrate a criminal's club, but standing up to a creep had seemed impossible? Clover gripped her wrist harder as she attempted to reason her reaction.
After a little while, Clover heard the back door open and looked up to see her exasperated manager walk out. Mr. Jones was a short, portly man who really bared no resemblance to Cobblepot beyond their shared eye color. So why then, had Clover's mind substituted Cobblepot for him?
The man stood silently for a moment, contemplating Clover's defeated form. She couldn't imagine that she looked very much like a rampaging employee who would attack a customer.
Finally, he spoke in an agitated tone. "Ms. Clein, I'm not sure what's gotten into you."
"Me neither." Clover mumbled under her breath. He continued as if he hadn't heard her.
"Throughout your employment here, you've been a model employee. You've never given me a lick of trouble. So then pray tell me why today, not only are you late, but you physically push a customer?"
Clover desperately wanted to explain what the man had done to her, but she couldn't make the words come out. It was partly due to the fear of him not believing her, but mostly caused by her own confusion at her actions. How could she explain what happened if she herself didn't even know?
She heard Mr. Jones sigh. "Listen, I don't know what's gotten into you, but the only thing saving your ass right now is how good you've been in the past. Take the rest of the day off and sort your shit out, cause you're working overtime tomorrow."
Without another word, Mr. Jones retreated, the sound of the door slamming punctuating his exit.
Clover supposed she should've been happy that she still had a job after the whole fiasco, but all she really felt was was a tired calmness and relief. After all the fear and the anger, all she could manage to do was shutdown. She couldn't even think to be mad about Mr. Jones' harsh words because it felt so much better to just chill out.
After the rapid change of emotions she'd experienced in the last twenty four hours, Clover was glad to have calmed down a little bit. True, she didn't exactly feel pleasant, but she also didn't feel the debilitating fear that had existed inside the cafe. She almost dreaded to have to return the next day. Clover picked herself up slowly, dusting her jeans off as she went.
If she had been given the day off, she might as well spend it productively. She decided to get a sandwich from the shop down the street, then head home to pay some of the bills with her newly earned money. Clover tried to ignore the churning in her stomach at the thought of the money. Her sense of morality had been struggling from what she had done all day, but the logical side of herself reasoned that it was only fair. She had stolen something, but from someone who was a known thief. It was practically karma. No, Clover's logical side knew that it wasn't the infiltration that she was concerned with, but the act of unleashing Edward Nygma upon Gotham once more.
All that man knew was how to destroy. He'd completely decimated Gotham U, and taken her professor's life and countless others with it, all the while having the audacity to sound smug about it. Having the gall to say it was in hopes of finding himself a mentor to guide him. His voice echoed in her memory, sounding a lot more like a lost child without fear fogging her perception.
That was the one part of the situation that Clover had yet to come to grips with. As always, the emotional part of her was quick to call him a heartless psychopath who did what he did out of his own sick enjoyment. But her ever present, and pesky, logical side knew that it didn't quite add up. Would an emotionless sociopath have sounded that desperate? Would he have sounded regretful after saying that he shot his best friend? Clover already knew the answer, but loathed to admit it to herself.
With so many thoughts whirling in her head, Clover didn't realize she was starving until the smell of food hit her as she walked into the sandwich shop. Her stomach gurgled loudly and Clover momentarily pushed her musings aside as she thought of what sandwich to order. Ultimately, she decided on a BLT, and contentedly ate it at one of the little tables set next to the windows. From there she tried to relax and simply watch pedestrians pass by, filing her troubling thoughts away for a later time. She'd had enough conflict for one day.
Clover's eyes flitted between the people outside, analyzing the passing crowd without shame. One of her favorite games as a child was to create stories about the strangers that she watched. Clover's brother also enjoyed the game, but due to their age difference and his greater maturity he always had more realistic views. Clover could remember the time when they'd been playing, and both had spotted a rather plucky looking man walking down the street.
It was obvious that the man was some sort of traveling salesman due to the oversized suitcase he dragged behind him. His tie was a purple that was bit too faded, his pants a bit too tight, and his shoes too big and floppy. Adding in the eccentric coloring of his ensemble, he was too eye catching for young Clover to not take a crack at.
"Oh, what about that guy Zach? I bet he's selling some sort of magical vacuum that can find dust bunnies that are alive! I bet he and his wife live in a shoe, like that one nursery rhyme."
Clover had chuckled at her observation and looked at her brother eagerly for input, but he had a frown etched across his face.
"What is it?" Clover had asked, startled to see her brother's mood change so quickly.
"Clover, I think that man is divorced." Her brother finally said in a blunt tone.
Clover, who was only 8 at the time and unaccustomed to the terrible idea of divorce, gave an astonished gasp.
"Well what would make you think that?!" She asked, not believing in something so horrible.
Her brother replied, "He's not wearing a wedding band, plus he looks sad. Kinda like how mom does after her and dad fight."
It was in that moment that Clover had finally taken a closer look at the man, who was now sitting at the bus stop. She desperately wanted to believe her made up story, but upon closer examination she knew it couldn't be true. Indeed, the man's ring finger was bare and there were dark circles under his eyes. Perhaps his clothes weren't so ill fitting because of his eccentricity, but because they were all he could afford. Clover's eyes had been opened that day, forced to view things through a different perspective.
Clover always thought back to that moment because it changed the way she looked at others. As a child she'd had a very subjective perception of other people. She'd often projected her fantasies onto them and suffered disappointment when they inevitably let her down. But her brother had taught her to look at people a little more clinically, and it was something she'd always thanked him for. But despite gaining a more realistic outlook on life, Clover still enjoyed creating tales for the pedestrians passing by. Though it wasn't a very accurate practice, it was still a good way to pass the time.
Clover searched the passing people for any vulnerabilities or passion that she could weave into a story. The old woman talking agitatedly on her phone was a surgeon rushing in for a medical emergency. The man with tattoos and soft eyes was rushing to dance class. The girl in the purple dress and perpetual frown was going to see a horror movie.
Clover did a double take. Purple dress.
The memory of herself reverently folding her mother's dress and placing it on the bathroom sink in Myrtle's apartment played like a fatal plot twist in a thriller. Clover's stomach pooled with dread. She had left her mother's dress at Myrtle's house and would never see it again if she didn't go back and get it. Despite not wanting to hear Myrtle's shrill voice again, Clover knew she had to retrieve the dress, otherwise Myrtle would cut it up into scrap for one of her weird clothing designs. The thought of the dress becoming that was too painful.
After hastily taking a last bite of her sandwich, Clover crumpled up the trash and chucked it towards the garbage can, not bothering to check if it made it in. Clover breezed through the doors towards the closest bus stop. The sooner she got this over with, the better.
After what seemed ages on public transport, Clover finally exited her bus and walked determinedly towards Myrtle's apartment. It was now around 2 pm, and depending on how much Myrtle got out, she possibly couldn't be home. But Clover didn't think so, because she obviously had a guest to be attending to.
Clover halted suddenly, ignoring the annoyed "watch it!" that came from the person swerving out of their way to avoid her.
If she went to Myrtle's apartment now, there was a good chance Nygma would be there. Scratch that, she was almost certain he would be. No doubt his muscles would be suffering from atrophy after such an extended period of being frozen and Myrtle would be there to care for him. And that was only if he even woke up. Clover shivered at the thought of Myrtle sitting alone in her apartment cradling a cold corpse. Was her mother's dress really worth either of these proposed outcomes?
While Clover's emotional side conceded that the dress' sentimental value didn't warrant a risk of encountering him again, another part of her had something it desperately wanted to prove to itself. She had held her ground relatively well the night before, but completely lost it in the cafe. If she could do this, just this little thing, then perhaps she'd feel a little better. Maybe she could prove to herself that her confidence hadn't been a fluke, that she wouldn't go back to being the insecure little girl she'd been before.
Before she could doubt herself, Clover confidently began to walk again, reaching Myrtle's apartment in no time at all. She hesitated slightly at the door, before giving three firm and resolute knocks.
After a few moments of nothing, Clover's confidence wavered a little bit. Still not willing to give up, she knocked again. There was a shuffling sound inside, and finally the door swung open, revealing Myrtle. Clover wanted to, once again, marvel at how someone could dress so tacky, but she didn't have time for that.
"What do you want, I thought we were done!" Myrtle snapped, clearly not happy to see Clover. She had only opened the door enough to fit her body between it and the frame, so Clover couldn't see inside the apartment. Myrtle made no move to invite Clover in, which was fine with her.
"I uh…" Confidence, confidence! Clover chanted in her head like a mantra. "I left my dress here last night. Can I please have it back?"
Myrtle seemed to contemplate her request for a moment, when a look of realization came over her face. "You can have your dress back, but only if you do me a favor."
Clover gave her an affronted look. "You want me to do something for you just to get my own clothing back? I can't believe this!"
"Well I don't recall you ever returning the clothing I lent you." She placed a hand on her hip. "If you just do this simple favor for me, we'll be even. Please, it'll be very quick."
Clover wanted nothing more than refuse to get drawn back into this crazy woman's game, but at the same time, nothing would thrill her more. Clover tried to tell herself it was only her desire to reclaim the dress that brought her back here, but it was a poor excuse. She at least tried to promise herself that after one last favor it would be over. Clover bit her lip as she nodded slowly.
"Oh wonderful! Just come in for a moment, I won't keep you long." Myrtle said enthusiastically as she ushered Clover inside. The apartment was dim and just as cluttered as before. The tools Myrtle had used during her little heist were strewn around the room, and Clover wondered if the woman would have the sense to put them away before someone caught her.
Clover followed Myrtle to a closed off room in the back of the apartment that she could only assume was the bedroom. Nygma was nowhere in sight, and Clover gave the door a hard stare. Why was Myrtle leading her back here?
The two stopped outside the door, and Myrtle began to whisper lowly.
"Here's the deal. I have a guest sleeping in there, but I need to run to the store up the street and pick up more tylenol. He needs to be under constant surveillance in case something goes wrong. If you could just watch over him while I'm gone, I'll make it worth your while." Clover could tell she had added the last part to coerce her even more due to the hesitant expression on her face. Staying in an apartment alone with this man was too much for a dress, even if it used to belong to her mother.
"No way, I'm not doing that." Clover said, beginning to head back towards the exit.
Myrtle hastily grabbed her wrist and tugged her back, whispering harshly. "Please, I'll pay you another fifty! I'll pay anything to keep my Eddie safe!"
Clover cocked an eyebrow. "...Make it one hundred and you've got yourself a deal."
Myrtle nodded eagerly, then went to get her purse. She spoke while she walked, "I'll pay you when I get back. He's sleeping in the bedroom, all you need to do is keep an eye on him." She paused for a moment then asked, "Do you know CPR?"
Clover nodded silently, but balked at the idea of performing CPR on this man. She'd sooner just let him die.
"Okay good. Please keep him safe, I'll be back as soon as possible." Myrtle said as she rushed towards the door, clutching her purse tightly.
The door closed softly upon her exit, leaving a newly frightened Clover alone in her apartment with a criminal mastermind. She supposed things could be worse, but not by much.