In Gotham, and most cities, there are generally two types of people you can find among the night life at a bar. The first is the socialite, out for a drink with their buddies and looking for a good time. These people can often be found with their arm drunkenly slung around the shoulders of some stranger they just met, babbling on about their favorite sports team or trying to flirt with little success.

The other variety of bar-goers in Gotham are something Clover liked to call "forget drinkers", and they encompassed a much larger percentage of the crowd. And in a place like Gotham, how could they not? It seemed just about everyone was down on their luck, looking for some cheap booze to drown their sorrows. Forget drinkers were notorious for flocking to bars and clinging to their counters until closing time, receiving looks from bartenders that ranged from sympathetic to irritated. Clover was sad to say that she fell into the category of "forget drinker" on this particular night.

She hadn't started the evening with plans to end up at the fight club bar Lee's clinic resided under, but here she was anyways, throwing back another glass as she sat in the high chair at the bar. It had all begun when she got home from work earlier that day.

Clover had stomped home through the rain after work, regretting leaving her umbrella at home more with each step. She bore a striking resemblance to a drowned rat, and she felt like one too. The dirty water flooding down the street had completely soaked her shoes, and she had yet to check and see if they were salvageable. Her socks were wet and cold, making her toes tingle with displeasure. The only thing on her mind was getting home and drying off. Without much thought, Clover had stuck her key into the lock and pulled her apartment door open.

Immediately upon entering, Clover heard the familiar click of a gun and froze. She took in her surroundings slowly, her eyes widened with fear as she took in the burly looking strangers in her living room.

There were three of them, two skinny and gaunt with several missing teeth, one with thickly defined muscles bulging under his off-white wife beater. All three had guns, but muscle man was the only one pointing his at her. The other two had their guns trained on the fourth figure in the room, her father.

To his credit, her father managed to look pretty unbothered with the current situation. Despite the remnants of a black eye marring his face, he looked relatively unharmed, and even a little bit bored. Despite his calm demeanor towards the situation, Clover couldn't feel much of anything besides alarm as she slowly shut the door. Whoever these people were, she doubted getting their neighbors involved would do much, if they even bothered to help. Mob hits were pretty common in this part of town, and no one would risk their life to help a stranger.

The man with his gun pointed at Clover was the first one to speak, his voice sly. "Well well well Jack, this must be the lovely lady we've heard so much about. Ya never told us ya daughter was so pretty."

Clover doubted she was very appealing to a man like him, who was presumably part of the mob judging by his accent and get up, but his words still sickened her. It was clear he was trying to prod at her father with his words and appraisal of her body. His eyes trailed up and down her drenched form, but Clover didn't suspect that he saw anything enticing in her, except maybe the leverage she offered in whatever dispute was going on.

Her father didn't say anything, keeping the same blank expression on his face. Clover remained frozen in front of the door, not sure if she should respond.

The man slowly lowered his gun, then reached his hand out to Clover as an invitation for a handshake. He had multiple rings wedged on his fat fingers, their dull varnish lacking any glint.

"Nice to meet ya toots, I'm Robby, thats Lance and Vincent." He gestured behind him with his thumb at the two other thugs as he shook her hand in a death grip.

Clover nodded silently as he finally stepped back, not trusting herself to say anything that wouldn't betray her disgust.

Robby backed up so he was standing next to Clover's father, gripping the man's shoulder with his meaty hand. He winced, but showed no other signs of discomfort. Clover knew her dad had always been stoic, but she had no idea how he was holding it up under the circumstances.

"Your daddy owes me a lot of money, toots. A lot of money." Robby didn't loosen his grip, and the other two gave her intimidating sneers.

"And when you don't pay up the cash you owe me, well that makes me angry." Robby casually raised his gun up, leisurely poking the end into her father's neck. She almost winced, but his finger remained limp on the trigger. One of the men, Lance if she remembered correctly, gripped his bat a little tighter.

Clover thought about reaching for the pistol in her coat, but knew it wouldn't be of use. She was vastly outnumbered, and them catching sight of her gun would throw any prospects of a peaceful conclusion out the window. No, her father's debt had finally come calling, and she had to fix things somehow. Violence towards the mob was only going to dig a deeper hole for her to climb out of.

"I'll have the money Robby, I promise." Her father said gruffly, voice strained from the gun pressing against his throat.

Robby tsked twice as he shook his head. "See, that's what you said last month too, but come pay time and ya still didn't have my money. That makes me think you're a liar, Jack. And I don't like liars."

It looked like her father was going to fire off another plea, but he was quickly cut off as Robby gave a nod to one of the thugs. The man quickly wrenched his shoulders back, pinning him to the back of the couch. Robby cocked his gun and shoved it deep her dad's mouth, using his other hand to tilt his head back so he was staring into his eyes.

Her father's eye finally widened as he gagged on the piece of metal in his mouth, his calm facade washing away quickly. Clover took a step forward in an attempt to intervene, but the second man had moved around behind her, grabbing her arms and twisting them behind her back. She let out a yelp of pain as they pulled in the wrong directions, her joints protesting. Tears sprang forward in her eyes as Clover helplessly watched.

"Do you know what I do to liars, Jack?" Robby shoved the gun in further for emphasis, and her father let out a gagging noise as spit escaped his mouth.

Robby glanced at Clover again, satisfied with the terrified look in her eyes. "I shoot them Jack, in front of their children."

"No, please don't hurt him!" Clover cried out, wrenching forward only to be yanked back into place and pushed down onto her knees.

"This is what happens when you try to cheat me." Robby sneered, preparing to pull the trigger.

"Wait! WAIT!" Clover wailed, violently struggling against the man holding her. "I have five hundred on me, I can get you the rest, please just wait!" Hot tears were streaming down her face as she clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable gun shot. When it didn't come after a few moments, she opened her eyes again.

Robby hadn't removed the gun yet, but his eyes were trained on her, finger off the trigger. After a moment of staring, he raised his eyebrows in impatience, ordering her to elaborate.

Clover sniffed, taking a quick moment to regain some semblance of her composure.

"Th-there's five hundred dollars cash behind that picture frame." She gestured towards it with her head, her arms still being restrained. "Go ahead and look, it's all there."

Robby gestured for the man holding her father to go check. Sure enough, there was a large wad of cash behind the frame. The man handed it to his boss, and Robby looked at it like it was the most pathetic thing he'd ever seen.

He inspected it for a moment before letting it drop to the floor with a solemn thud. "Do you really think this is going to wipe away his debt? He owes me thousands."

Clover shook her head quickly. He sounded offended by the prospect of leaving with only five hundred, so she'd have to promise something else.

"I can get you the rest, we just need more time. I promise I can."

Robby scoffed. "And how exactly do you plan on that little miss? You selling yourself on the side?"

Clover ignored his remark, her eyes boring into her father's prone form. His was breathing heavily, but otherwise unharmed. If he was questioning how she was going to find the money, his face didn't show it.

"I-I have my sources. Please, just give us more time."

Robby glanced at his accomplices with an amused smirk, both giving him shrugs in return. It seemed she found her pleas humorous. But despite not taking her seriously, he slowly lowered his gun so that it now pointed at her father's knee.

Robby chuckled lowly. "You're cute, ya know that? Most girls wouldn't stick their neck out like that, they'd let the men do the talking. You're a fiery one."

Clover gave him a faint grimace. "I meant what I said," She reiterated her point again, "I can get your money."

He studied her for a moment, then gave her a smug smile. Robby's shoulders hunched in a silent chuckle as he opened his arms in an "Aw what the heck" gesture.

"Alright toots, ya got me. But only cause you're so cute."

Clover's eyes widened in disbelief. She hadn't believed it was going to work.

"But just remember," Robby said as he started for the door, his goons following behind him. "If I don't get what's owed to me in a month, your daddy goes kapow."

Clover quickly ducked her head as Robby fired a shot from his gun, the bullet wizzing by her head and shattering a window. The door slammed, and Clover could here the laughing and jeering of the men as they walked away. Even after they had gone, Clover and her father remained still and silent.

She couldn't remember much of what had happened after that (a side effect of the aptly named "forget drinking"). There had been yelling between Clover and her father, although he didn't lay a hand on her. Many things were said, or in this case yelled, but the argument had ended by Clover grabbing her coat and storming off.

Despite only going to the clinic for a week, Clover had immediately felt compelled to go there. If not to help out, then to just simply sit at the familiar bar surrounded by an atmosphere she had come to begrudgingly enjoy. She hadn't even given a thought to Nygma. After not seeing him from the few times she had stopped by during the week, her confidence about going there had been boosted.

So after trudging through the rain again, Clover finally ended up back at the fight club. She quickly assimilated herself into the "forget drinker" crowd and drunkenly bemoaned her life with the other patrons of the bar. It was difficult to hear over the yelling of the nearby fights, but Clover didn't mind. She was mostly here to complain about her problems and drink, not listen to others. Further into the night the conversation eventually tapered off, and Clover found herself sitting silently at the bar with no company other than a glass of whiskey.

Despite the events earlier that evening, the buzz from the alcohol made Clover forget everything. It was if she was underwater, everything loud and painful was muffled and blurry. She swayed slightly in her seat, contemplating why she didn't drink more often. When a figure slid into the chair next to hers, Clover hardly noticed him until he spoke.

"Well, what is a fine lady like you doing in a place like this? Don't see too many smokin' broads like you in the Narrows."

Clover's first reaction was to let out an uninhibited little giggle. She wouldn't have if she'd been entirely sober, but her fogged mind couldn't help but laugh at the twang in his voice. It was rare to find country folk in a place like Gotham. Her second reaction was to respond to him bluntly, without thinking much into her response.

"Currently? Getting piss drunk."

The man, who had obviously expected some sort of stammering blushing reply, lifted his eyebrows in surprise. He remained quiet for a moment, and Clover wondered if she had really shocked him that much. Then she noticed his gaze had traveled down to the top of her shirt, still damp from the rain. He was staring at her boobs like an dumbstruck idiot, and for the second time that day Clover wanted to punch a man for looking at her. Except now she felt brave enough to actually attempt it.

"Don't get too excited." Clover added, her words slurring slightly. She was a little more drunk than she'd initially thought. "I'm not drunk enough for you to get lucky."

The man's expression melted into an indignant frown. His eyes snapped up to her face and Clover could see they were bloodshot.

"What makes you think I'd get with a pig like you? I swear, you ladies always think you're hot shit, but you're just ugly."

Clover snorted. Usually she would've already walked away or disengaged from the conversation, but her liquid courage was speaking for her now. She was starting to remember why she didn't drink often.

"Oh, you think I'm ugly? Because that's certainly not what you thought when you used that cheesy line a minute ago. Go bother someone else asshole." Clover propped her elbow on the table, leaning her face in closer to his with a dismissive glare. She couldn't tell if he was intimidated or not, but was too drunk to care.

"You're not tough shit sweetie, and I'm not going anywhere." He sneered, grabbing her knee forcefully with his large hand.

Clover's face turned red with rage and humiliation. She wanted to scare him off, but a familiar feeling was pooling within her. It was the same helplessness she'd felt when the man at the coffee shop had grabbed her. It was as if something was suffocating her, and no matter how hard the gasped air refused to come.

"I'm warning you, b-back off." Clover said, her voice betraying her confident facade.

The man looked like he had something to say, but the smug expression on his face quickly fell. His eyes strayed to something just beyond her shoulder, then widened. His grip on her knee loosened, allowing his hand to go slack and drop to his side. Clover was afraid to turn around, not quite sure of what he saw. She didn't have to wonder for long, because the person spoke.

"Shouldn't you be cleaning the ring? Grundy has another match in twenty minutes."

"Sure thing boss." The man spoke quickly, avoiding eye contact with Clover as he slid off his chair an hurried past her. He clearly had a lot of respect, and fear, for his boss.

Clover remained still for a few seconds after he left, hoping, praying, that his employer had also left. Though she told herself she was no longer afraid of him, there was no mistaking the apprehension she felt at the prospect of talking to him, and the little spark of excitement she felt. Clover turned her body back towards the bar slowly, almost wincing when she saw green out of the corner of her eye. He was still standing there, silently studying her through a thick framed pair of glasses. Clover took a sip from her glass, attempting to appear casual and unbothered.

He stared at her for a few impossibly long moments, before finally speaking.

"You use me every day, but never pay for me. I am truly yours but came from somewhere else. I am very personal but shared with everyone. What am I?"

Clover took a moment to process his words before furrowing her brow in confusion. Was he asking her a question? Her mind, slower than usual thanks to her drinking, corrected her a few seconds later. No, it said, he's asking a riddle.

'Duh, that's like his thing.' Clover responded to her inner monologue before analyzing his riddle.

After mulling over it over for a few seconds, Clover turned her head toward Nygma hesitantly and responded.

"Your name?" She said uncertainty.

His eyes widened a fraction in surprise, as if he hadn't actually expected her to answer. Clover realized from looking at his face that he towered over her in her sitting position. She practically had to crane her head back to look him in the eyes. He was that close.

"Right you are." He responded, a wicked satisfaction in his voice. "And I believe I never caught yours."

Clover knew she should have been frightened by the fact that she was talking to a major league criminal, but all her drunken mind could think was, 'Oh lord, he thinks he's being smooth.'

"It's Clover." She said, immediately wondering if she should've given him a fake name. She figured he probably already knew it anyways and just wanted to play with her

Nygma's eyes widened with glee at her response, his expression akin to a child who's discovered a secret. He quickly schooled himself, but the flicker of light didn't leave his eyes. Nygma didn't supply her with his name in return; he knew he didn't have to. He adjusted his glasses, the pompous look on his face never dropping. Clover couldn't help but wonder what he was trying to get out of this conversation. Did he recognize her, or was he just trying to get to know the new staff member? Something told her that he wouldn't bother talking to her if he didn't have some underlying motive.

"I am a lady known by all, and a hindrance known by none. People often run out me, but can do nothing to gain me. What am I?"

Clover knew playing along with him would be a bad idea, but she was deciphering the riddle before she could even blink. She'd always had an affinity for puzzle solving, and if she didn't solve the riddle it would nag at her all day. Nygma stared at her deep in thought, giving her an amused look.

Finally, Clover answered, "What does luck have to do with anything?"

He gave her a patronizing smile. "Luck is extremely relevant, and you seem to have it in droves."

Clover swore she felt her heart stop. His tone was accusatory, as if he'd caught her in some sort of lie. She could only guess that meant he recognized her from the night at Gotham U. What else could he be referring to? It had been extremely lucky she'd made it out that night, and that was no doubt what Nygma was playing at.

When Clover didn't respond, Nygma's smug smile only widened more.

"Clover is such an apt name for you, considering your knack for fortune. Although I like your true name much better, June."

Although it was undignified, Clover couldn't help but gape at him. Here she'd thought he simply recognized her, but it seemed he knew much more than he let on. Hearing someone she barely knew call her June was so foreign and strange, and hearing him say it only nauseated her more.

"How do you-"

"Know your name?" He cut her off. "When Lee introduced you last week, I knew we'd met somewhere before. I remembered you from my trist at Gotham University, and from there it was as simple as hacking into their database."

Clover swallowed thickly, gripping her glass hard. She'd convinced herself a week earlier that Nygma wouldn't care about her existence, but it seemed she'd underestimated him. She wasn't just a nameless face to him anymore, and that was extremely dangerous.

She let the silence ring for a moment, before quietly responding. "What do you want from me?"

Nygma gave an amused snort, looking her up and down with a disapproving eye. "From you? Nothing. I can't imagine you'd be of any use to me."

Clover felt too relieved to be offended, but the relief waned as he continued on.

"I simply remembered our previous acquaintance and wanted to revisit. Afterall, you witnessed one of my very first masterpieces firsthand. And you were extremely lucky to make it out."

Nygma sounded nonchalant about the whole situation, but Clover was beginning to regain some of the confidence and anger she'd had earlier. He referred to the tragedy of Gotham University's bombing as a "masterpiece". How could he sound so proud of himself? Clover wondered how she ever could've thought he was more than a sociopath. His words angered her immensely, but she knew saying the things on her mind could end up getting her a marked grave. So instead, she focused on the next thing that popped into her head.

"It wasn't luck that got me out of there. You let me run away. Why?"

Clover already knew the answer, but she wondered how he'd respond. Would he be candid, or weave some tale?

"Well how could I kill someone who was witness to my brilliance? And besides, you weren't the target of that attack." A dark look settled into his eyes as he continued. "It was punishment for the idiot who failed me."

Clover remembered Professor Smith's fear and frustration as he had failed each of Nygma's riddles. His cries for help as he was locked in the lab never stopped ringing in Clover's mind. Clover felt impossible rage towards Nygma, but even more towards herself for not intervening. Even after months had passed, the guilt weighed on her heavily. Suddenly the sickness in her swelled, and Clover couldn't even look at Nygma. His penetrating gaze was too much to handle.

Luckily, their conversation didn't continue for much longer. A voice called out, "Next fight starting in ten!" and Nygma swiveled around towards it.

"Well, that would be my cue." He said, glancing back at her. Clover nodded silently.

"I'm sure we'll be in touch very soon Ms. Clein, I'm sure we'll have a lot to discuss." Without any other word, he walked away, knowing he had her right where he wanted.

She knew they wouldn't have a lot to discuss; their business was practically done. There was no reason for him to ever interact with her again. But Nygma thrived on playing these mental games with people. She'd seen plenty of evidence of that from his escapades in the paper. He knew there was fear in her, and he was eager to manipulate it into whatever sick game he wanted. Everything he said was backed by the intention to get under her skin, including his use of her real first name and last name. And as long as she let him under her skin, he'd be back to terrorize her again.

Clover downed the rest of her drink, the liquid sloshing around as her hand shook. The rational part of her brain that had assured Nygma wasn't a threat was sorely mistaken.