Warning: There is a brief depiction of abuse at the end of this chapter, read at your own risk.
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Clover couldn't believe the situation she had gotten herself into. She blamed it on Nygma, she really did. If he hadn't blown up her university, Clover would've currently been sitting bored to death in one of Mrs. Dubois' lectures instead of babysitting an unconscious criminal If he hadn't went and got himself frozen, Clover would have never gone to the Iceberg Lounge and left her dress at Myrtle's apartment. Apparently, fate just loved to place Clover smack dab between it's crossfire with Edward Nygma. Yes, the nefarious and evil Edward Nygma, who was looking surprisingly more vulnerable and weak than she'd ever thought she'd see him.
After Myrtle had left, Clover contemplated what she should do. Her first instinct was to grab the dress and bolt, but that was a problematic plan for multiple reasons. First off, if she refused to babysit Nygma, she'd miss out on a hundred dollars that could more than compensate for the earnings of her lost day of work. The second reason was that Myrtle knew where Clover worked, and she would have no problem tracking Clover down in retribution for the abandonment of her "love". And while Clover wasn't necessarily threatened by Myrtle, she always thought twice about crossing a woman who owned a blowtorch.
Clover supposed she could simply stay and stay in the other room ignoring Nygma, but the same problem presented itself. If he somehow managed to have a heart attack while Clover was watching him, that would provide even more incentive for Myrtle to skin her and sew her into an ugly purse. The only option left was for Clover to reluctantly go in and watch over Nygma to make sure he didn't get her in trouble. Even when he was unconscious, he was dragging Clover into trouble.
Clover had tentatively opened the bedroom door, careful not to make a single sound. The sight that met her eyes once she entered was equal parts hilarious and disconcerting. Scattered about the room lit in dim firelight were multiple things that Clover could only describe as "Riddler paraphernalia." There were mannequins dressed in green suits positioned at all angles, giving the impression that they'd been positioned with purpose. The walls were covered in newspaper articles reading "RIDDLER STRIKES AGAIN!" and "NYGMA ON THE LOOSE!". There were several pictures of the man scattered about, most taken from newspapers. There was even an article from the night he decimated Gotham U. Clover's eyes quickly flitted away from that one.
Clover's mind couldn't process the bombardment of Myrtle's obsession very efficiently, but luckily it didn't have to. Warnings of danger quickly sounded in her mind as she spotted Nygma's sleeping body propped up on the bed. She stood stone still for a moment, trying desperately to control her breathing. The last time she'd interacted with this man, he'd been the picture of smug indifference as he dismissed her from his crime scene. Now he just looked… defenseless.
Nygma was fast asleep, thankfully, and the look on his face was vaguely disgruntled, as if he was having a not so pleasant dream. A soft frown marred his features, the space between his eyebrows creasing gently. Taking his unconscious state into account with relief, Clover took this opportunity to let her curious side assess him unabashedly.
His brown hair was ruffled and messy, a far cry from the usual coiffed and slicked back style she was accustomed to seeing in his photos. Gone were his perfectly tailored suit and shoes. Instead he was wearing a dark grey tank top, courtesy of Myrtle most likely. The blanket tucked over him went up to his chest, but Clover guessed that underneath his pants had most likely been removed to prevent any lingering hypothermia. Clover's face heated up when she thought about his bare lower half, as if she was still some middle schooler who laughed at the word "butt". She mentally scolded herself for blushing at the thought and quickly averted her eyes back to his face.
His horn-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose, helping to mask his expression slightly, but not enough. Clover remembered how the lenses had glinted in the dark lab at the university that night. She recalled how his dark brown eyes had seemed like cold slates behind them. Clover wondered what they would look like if he were to suddenly open them now. Would he immediately transform from this docile state, back into a broken man looking for a mentor?
No, bad Clover! He's a psychopath! Clover castigated herself. No matter how he looked when he couldn't hurt her, Clover had to remember how dangerous he was. She'd be a fool to forget that, and Gotham was not very kind to fools. She'd seen too many examples in the news of Gotham's metaphorical moths, flying way too close to the light and suffering the consequences.
Without taking her eyes off of him, Clover slowly eased herself into the chair facing the bed, wincing at the creaking noise it made as she settled. Hopefully Myrtle would be back soon and Clover could finally put this whole mess behind her. She had accepted that there was a part of her that didn't want to leave any of it, but knew better than to give it any leeway. That part of her had already gone too far and might never stop running if she let it.
Clover looked at the clock. It had already been ten minutes and Myrtle still wasn't back. Clover felt unbearably awkward just sitting silently and staring at Nygma like some creep, so she stood up and carefully strolled over to the bookshelf, shooting Nygma a glance every few seconds to make sure he hadn't woken up. Clover began to browse through the books, eventually losing herself in her exploration.
Some of the books were old and worn, while others still smelled like fresh paper and ink. The smell reminded her of when her mother would take her to the library in her youth, and she would spend hours among the rows of books. She was always so sad to leave, but even more excited to check out a book to read.
As Clover leafed through them, she stopped at a smaller book titled, "Riddles for Children." She scoffed. Of course a fanatic like Myrtle would own a book like this. Clover wondered if she intended to impress Nygma with a riddle of two. Maybe earn his favor by answering a few of them? Despite her dislike of the woman, Clover hoped Myrtle wouldn't face the same consequences of a false answer that Professor Smith had.
"Kristen?" A soft voice groaned, almost sounding frantic under the sedated tone.
Clover tensed in alarm, but made no move to turn around. Her hand was frozen on the book, clenching it in fear. She waited a moment to see if he would speak again.
"Kristen...m'sorry Kristen. Please f-forgive me, I didn't mean it." Nygma spoke in a murmury voice, and it was clear to Clover that he was in some sort of delirious state. "She looked so much like you Kristen…" He trailed off, head sagging to the side.
She turned around slowly to find that Nygma's eyes were cracked open slightly, his face contorted into an expression that completely caught Clover off guard. His expression was so tormented, Clover momentarily forgot who he was. All she saw was a broken man.
From the lack of recognition in his eyes, Clover could tell that he was completely convinced she was this Kristen person, whether or not she actually bore any resemblance to her. He seemed to become more and more distressed with every moment, his breathing picking up rapidly. Clover knew she had to pacify him soon or something bad was bound to happen. Perhaps the best way to go about it was to give him what he wanted.
"I forgive you, I forgive you..." Clover soothed nervously, moving a little bit closer to the man.
This did nothing to placate him, and Clover almost balked as she saw a tear slip out of his eye and heard a distraught noise escape his throat.
"No Kristen…. I hurt you. I loved you and I hurt you.." Nygma's voice trailed off as he was wracked by more sobs.
It was gut wrenchingly sad and pitiful at the same time, and Clover knew she had to stop him more for her own benefit than his at this point. She approached the crying man gingerly, careful not to make any sudden movements to startle the hysterical man. Ever so gently, she took his large calloused hand in hers. His eyes slowly opened again, his eyes puffy and shimmering with tears. The sobs slowly faded to sniffles.
Clover took a deep breath. "Sh, shhhh. I forgive you...Edward." She said, stroking soft circles on the back of his limp hand with her thumb, just how her mother used to when she cried.
The man seemed to relax almost audibly. He still sniffled, but his eyes drifted shut again. After a few moments, Clover slowly began to set his hand down. Soon Nygma was fast asleep again, and put up no fight as she gently placed his hand on one of the pillows by his side. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but Clover tried her best to keep calm.
She stared at Nygma's now content face as it glistened with tears. It was obvious he'd been crying. If Myrtle came back and found him like this it would only raise more trouble for herself. With this excuse in mind, Clover delicately removed his glasses and wiped away the fresh tears gently with her thumb. Surprisingly, his skin was soft despite its claminess from his time on ice. Clover let her hand linger for a moment, fingers gracing the top of his sharp cheekbone lightly, before snatching it away as if she had been burned. She quickly slipped his glasses back on and backed away, covering her mouth with the offending hand.
Out of the multitude of emotions running through her, the two contenders for strongest were horror and anger. Horror because she was afraid to process what had just happened, and anger because she didn't want to. There might have been a little bit of a, "I have to vomit," feeling in there, but she didn't get long to recognize it.
Before she could think about what she had just been through, Clover heard the front door open. Without a second thought, Clover walked into the bathroom and snatched up her dress. Then, without so much as a goodbye, Clover rushed passed Myrtle as she was setting her bags down. Myrtle gave a yelp and stumbled a little bit as their sides connected, but Clover didn't spare her an apology. She stepped out into the sunlight, reveling in the fresh air. She wasted no time in descending the steps to the street. She didn't turn around when she heard Myrtle yell after her.
"Hey what about the money?!" She cried.
Clover slowed her pace a little, then picked it up again.
"You can keep it!" She shouted back, almost sprinting now.
No money in the world could make her go back into that madhouse.
/
Clover had never been one for drinking her troubles away (she saw where that path lead thanks to her father), but that didn't stop her from finding herself slumped over at her kitchen table with a beer in hand and two empty ones off to the side. If she was going to deal with the day's events, she might as well be inebriated while doing so. The less brain power used, the better.
Clover didn't know what to start with, her pathetic breakdown at work, or her bonding session with a notorious criminal. Both gave her a headache to think about, but Clover knew from multiple therapy sessions that suppressing your problems doesn't actually make them go away. And the situation she had found herself in was definitely a problem.
It was almost as if the universe had been trying to confirm her suspicions about how double sided Nygma was. Despite all the evidence stacked against it, he definitely had a vulnerable side. She had thought about it earlier in the day when she'd been recollecting the night Gotham U blew up, and then suddenly she had the man weeping before her. True, he had been extremely out of it, but clearly his delusion had been based off of a real life event. He had kept saying the name Kristen, calling out to her desperately to apologize.
Clover wracked her brain to see if she remembered anyone named Kristen being involved with Edward Nygma. The papers were full of his escapades as The Riddler, but Clover couldn't imagine he felt any remorse for ruining those people's lives. No, this Kristen lady would have to have been before he became infamous. If Clover could recall, Nygma had committed two murders while still working for the GCPD. She couldn't remember their names, but perhaps Kristen could be one of them.
Clover snorted. 'Or she could be his ex-girlfriend that broke up with him' While it was an amusing thought, the way Nygma had sobbed didn't indicate something as petty as a breakup. Although, he did seem to have a flair for drama.
Clover's heart wrenched a little at the memory of his crying. It had been as if he was mourning, a sound Clover knew too well. He had almost sounded like her brother at their mother's funeral. It was obvious to Clover that Kristen was no longer around, and that fact seemed to cause him pain. He had probably been dreaming about this lost woman, and had projected that onto Clover when he awoke into a barely lucid state.
She wondered if he would remember when he woke up. Would he remember Kristen walking up to him and whispering her forgiveness, or would he realize that it had been Clover all along. Would he remember her from all those weeks ago? Did she even want him to? Clover knew that if he did recognize her, it would be a load of trouble. So then why did her heart pick up a little at the thought of seeing him again?
Clover gave her almost finished beer a wary look before chucking it in the garbage. Clearly, she had drank enough for one night if she was already feeling irrational emotions. As a young woman living in the Narrows, a girl had to have a keen sense of survival in order to make it. While Clover would usually take pride in hers, sometimes she'd have dangerous thoughts like these. Her excuse 90% of the time was alcohol. The other 10% could be attributed to her period or any other or her millions of excuses.
Clover tensed a little as she heard the front door rattle, then sighed as she saw her father stomp in. He limped through the apartment slowly, his face turned away from Clover. She immediately got up and followed him, concern etched across her face. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but she felt it was finally time to confront him.
"Dad? Where have you been?" She asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged her off and placed his wet coat on the rack.
"Out." He replied gruffly.
Clover scowled at his gruff response and followed him as he limped towards the couch. Something wasn't right.
"Well have you even taken your medication today? You know that's important." She said sternly as he settled into the worn sofa.
Before Clover could heckle the non-responsive man more, she caught a glimpse at his face.
"Dad, is that a black eye?! What happened to you?" Clover reached out to touch the injury, only to have her hand angrily slapped away.
"I'm fine, don't touch me!" He growled, reaching for the remote.
Clover scowled and cradled her stinging hand to her chest. She'd had just about enough of his blunt and unconcerned behavior.
"What happened Dad? Are you really just gonna shut me out like this?"
He continued to ignore her, flipping through the channels with a sour look on his face. Fed up, Clover snatched the remote out of his hands and turned off the TV. Her father finally looked at her, a menacing glare on his face.
"Dad, I'm tired of you going out every night, doing who knows what, and then refusing to talk to me when you come back. You're hurting yourself and you won't even let me help!"
Her father stood up slowly, taller than Clover but not by much. It didn't make him any less intimidating to her. He stuck a finger in her face aggressively.
"Don't you ever think you know what's best for me, girl. You don't know anything. You're just as air-headed as your mother was." He spat with vitriol.
Clover tried to keep herself composed. She wanted to cry out of frustration but promised herself she wouldn't. Not like last time.
"Don't you dare bring her into this, Dad. I'm only trying to keep you from making any more mistakes. I just want you to be safe."
"Don't you ever blame any of this on me. If you and your hot-shot brother weren't so ungrateful, draining us of all of our money to go to college, we would have all the money in the world!"
Clover could tell he had been drinking, because her father would never speak a word of Zach unless he was out of his mind drunk. Of course the stench of alcohol had already warned her, but this just confirmed it.
"Oh, so I'm the reason we're in debt? Who blows his money on drinks every night? Who gambles his money away? Who owes money to the mob? Stop me if I'm wrong, but that sounds a lot like you!"
Before she could say anything else, his hand recoiled and he brought it across her face. All she could do was stare at him in shock before the stinging finally registered in her cheek. She could feel her throat closing up, a certain sign of an upcoming onslaught of tears.
"Don't you ever speak to me like that!" He screamed, clenching his hands into fists. "I provide for you and your ungrateful brother your whole lives and this is how you repay me?! You're a garbage daughter, and I'd be much better off without you leeching off of me!"
Clover wanted to stay and keep the argument going, but her liquid courage had run out, and the tears already spilling out of her eyes were too distracting. She didn't want him to see her break down, so Clover fled to her room without looking back. She slammed her door and gently sat on the edge of her bed, cradling her wet face in her hands. The sounds of the TV resumed in the living room. Clover sat for a little while, attempting to soothe her swollen skin.
Eventually, she stood up and walked over to her mirror. Her eyes were swollen and red, and a vibrant red mark had formed on her cheek. Though the cases were few and far between, it wasn't the first time he father had physically hit her, and Clover knew that the mark would be gone in two days tops. She gently prodded the blemish. The bruises from when her wrist had been grabbed earlier that day offset the slap mark like a morbid jewelry set. Clover turned away from the mirror quickly, no longer interested in remembering the people who had hurt her.
Her thoughts were racing wildly, and the only thing Clover could do to distract herself was clean. It was a little tick of hers, you see. Clover wasn't exactly a tidy person, but in times of great distress cleaning helped her clear her mind. Something about making her environment less chaotic helped ease the chaos in her mind. Everytime she and her father fought, the house would be spotless the following day.
Clover went to work straightening the items on her small desk, throwing away discarded wrappers and organizing the pictures she had set up. Her eyes passed over a one specific picture, and her heart lurched. She picked up the picture and stared at it, her hands shaking slightly
It was picture of her and her brother when she had been 13 and he was 17. Zach's arm was slung around her and the two were paused mid-laughter. Clover looked like her usually dorky self, braces and a messy bobbed haircut. Zach had been considered more classically attractive, an easy on the eyes smile and a strong jaw. The picture had made her smile with fondness once upon a time. Now Clover wondered why she even bothered keeping it.
The last time she had seen her brother was two years ago. Throughout their whole childhood, Clover and Zach had been extremely close. Despite their 4 year age difference, they had always had each other's backs. The same could not be said for Zach's relationship with their parents, their father in particular. Mr. Clein was harsh on both of his children, urging them both to push themselves to the utmost academic limits. Oftentimes, Zach and their father would get into arguments about his grades. Zach was by no means dumb, but he could never quite reach the impossible standards of his father. It seemed like the two were yelling back and forth every other day. Those were the days when Clover's mom would take her to the library for hours.
After he left for college, their relationship only spiraled down. His father resented him for refusing to become a businessman like himself, and Clover began to resent him for leaving her alone to deal with her parents and their failing marriage. Clover had eventually been poisoned by her parents ideas and hated Zach just as much as them.
A few months later, after her mother passed away, Clover and Zach finally reconciled. Despite her anger, she knew deep down inside that she still loved him. From then on they talked over the phone regularly, and Zach had even told her about the exciting internship he was starting in Gotham. But after a while, the calls stopped coming, and Clover hadn't heard from him since. She'd done everything from going to where he said he'd be interning to even calling his college, but he had simply disappeared. Her father was convinced it was because Zach thought he was too good for them, and not for the first time, Clover believed him. She knew there could possibly be more to the story, but it was much easier to just be angry at him.
Scowling at the picture, Clover angrily threw it into the trash. Who was he to leave her, after everything their family had gone through? If he thought he was too good for them, fine, but what right did he have to abandon her with their declining father? He knew better than anyone what that man was like. 'So do I' Clover thought as her cheek throbbed.
Tired and frustrated, Clover threw herself onto her bed, simply wanting to forget everything for awhile. Unfortunately for her tired body, her head was still racing with thoughts. She thought of the angry customer, his rough hands clamped around her boney wrist. She thought of her brother, his arm slung around her shoulders in a warm embrace, before that warmth disappeared and was replaced by emptiness. She thought of her father's angry face and the aching pain of his blow. Everything hurt too much.
Then, Clover's blessedly drunk mind thought of something more pleasant. She remembered stroking Edward's hand earlier when he had been crying. Would he do the same for her? In her half-lucid state, she dreamed of sliding her hand inside a warmer one. His long fingers threaded through hers and gave a gently squeeze. He didn't hit her, or clamp down, or pull away. And even though there was a bold warmthness to the gesture, it felt safe and certain. In the morning she would forget all about it, but the thought comforted her for now.
Clover smiled, her hazy mind succumbing to sleep as she replayed the feeling in her head. Her hand twitched beneath the sheets, longing to be held by someone who wouldn't let go.
/
A/N:This chapter was a bit interesting to write because I wasn't sure exactly how things would play out. I also wanted to clarify that although Ed never seems super guilty about killing Kristen after he buries her, I feel like he definitely feels subconsciously guilty. This idea will be played with later in the story ;) Anyways, I know authors harp on this a lot, but please leave a review if you're enjoying. Even if it's something really simple, it helps motivate me and let me know what parts of the story you guys like. Thanks for reading!