Karen was having a hard time. Not because she was going through any strenuous preparation, oh no, but she had never been on a date with someone quite like this. She was far too used to expending tremendous effort for dates, dumbing conversation down and using way too much makeup in the off chance that the jerk would get to know her a little before trying to excavate her tonsils.

Now her date was still a jerk, but aware of it, and even a little apologetic. Plus, he happened to be an evil genius. It threw her off; her and her pathetic track record, what could she expect from a guy like the Riddler? He probably wasn't going to shovel steak in his mouth and then make her go dutch on the bill, nor was he going to leave his hand lying casually on the chair she was going to sit down on in order to cop a cheap feel(probably).

So why was she so nervous? She'd been given carte blanche to act like a human being instead of a CPR dummy, so why did she keep flipping through her wardrobe and coming back to the ill-fated blue dress? She was an adult, dammit, not some scared little high school cheerleader!

Yet still she ran her fingers over her filmy green cocktail dress, the one that dipped very low in places, the one she wore when she knew it would only be one date…

She shook herself. Get it together, Karen. She had to snap out of it. Coffee.

While she scrambled over the pile of rejects on her floor, someone knocked on her front door. Odd. No one really knew she was home, and her neighbors in 2b wouldn't be back from the movies yet…

She sighed. "What, Edward?"

"Can I come in? I've been waiting out in the hall deciding whether I want to knock or not. I'm incredibly nervous and in about ten minutes I'm afraid I'll start acting like a jackass again."

You had to hand it to him, he was honest.

"Yeah, come in. Just don't– wait," she called, hurriedly cramming some of the clutter behind her couch.

"Don't wait? What?"

"No, I–come in!"

The door cracked open and Edward Nygma peeked anxiously from behind it.

"Are you sure? It sounded like a struggle in here."

"No I'm– I'm fine. Come in, I was just about to make coffee," she said, sweeping straggles of hair from her sweaty forehead. He stepped in like a deer about to bolt, and Karen realized what was different about him, something she had suspected from his tone.

"Your clothes," she gasped, in a less dignified manner than she preferred. The casual shirt and khakis fit him oddly, hanging off him like worn paper bags, and looked like they had been inhabiting his floor until he put them on.

"Yes, um, I– yes." Edward looked around like a condemned man in his cell, unconsciously gripping his left elbow. He was so ungainly without his suit and cane. It looked as if he was balancing even when he stood still, arms out to brace him for the inevitable fall. Karen invited him to sit and he nearly fell on her, missing the couch by a foot. Even when he sat it was awkward, he simply stared at his hands as he tapped his thumbs together.

"I'll…I'll make coffee." She hurried out of the room.

While her store-brand French roast trickled thinly into the coffeepot, Karen leaned on the counter and chewed her lip.

It hadn't occurred to her that Edward Nygma might be a little… lost without his clothing. The man was a super villain, for god's sake! You had to dress for impact, your enemies expected more than a wifebeater and flip-flops if you were demanding a couple million in ransom.

When the spotlight was on, you had to look and act the part. But when it was off, you could turn it all off, go and do what you wanted to do, couldn't you? Eddie just didn't wear "normal" clothes because he probably never…

Oh, god.

"I'm sorry, Edward," she whispered to herself.

He looked up as she came back in, bearing two mismatched, steaming mugs. Karen took the one with a scratched realtor logo, Edward got the ancient Star Trek tankard with a chip in the handle. They cradled their ruinously hot coffee, scalding themselves with a couple of sips, saying nothing.

"I don't think I can do this." She bit her lip again. His heart immediately dropped ten stories.

"Why?"

"I–I just can't, you know? I made you… look at yourself!" He did. A little wrinkled, maybe spotted here or there, but at least he looked human. He looked back up at her quizzically.

She had set down her cup and paced, still gnawing on her lip.

"I think I look fine."

"Edward, you don't even look like yourself!"

"…I thought that was the point."

She shook her head violently. "I've done something horrible to you, I've asked you to do a lot more than you asked of me. For me it's not that big of a deal to go out like this. But for you…"

He looked down at himself, then back to her again. "We are still talking about clothing, aren't we Karen?"

"Yes, and no. I mean, it's complicated." She knotted her hands into fists and turned away from him. He sat silent for a moment, brow knitted.

"You are aware that I'm a man, Karen? That clothing, in general, is not a life-or-death decision for me?"

She didn't move.

"Who exactly are you expecting to date? Me or the suit?"

Her voice came soft and sad: "you wouldn't understand."

He sighed. "Oh, I think I do. More than you know." Now she looked at him. "Do you think this is the first 'normal' date I've ever had? That you're the first woman to get, ahem, stage fright? Trust me, you're not alone."

She looked at him, an eyebrow cocked.

"Really, you're not. Women, much like your coworkers, expect The Riddler! Or The Question! They want an idea, not a human being." A small smile quirked his lips as he recalled their discussion from the previous evening. "I'm sorry, but you're only getting poor, awkward Edward Nygma on this date."

The corners of her mouth turned up a little, too. "Well, then, Mr. Nygma, what do you suggest I wear?"

He thought for a moment. "What do you wear when you runs errands?"

"What? …this, I guess." She wore a blue cotton t-shirt indicating her love for the triple bacon subs at Sam's Bar&Grill down on 30th street, and plaid pants. He held his thumb up.

"Beautiful!"

"But I'm not wearing any makeup!"

"Well, I'm not wearing any deodorant."

"This shirt is three sizes too big!"

"I'm fairly sure my shirt came from a dead man."

She stared at him. "You're not joking, are you?"

He smiled a little sadly and shook his head. She sighed.

"I'll get my purse."

Author's note: I finished this weeks ago, but thanks to a series of wacky mishaps and the H1N1virus, it's just now being posted. I'm sorry to bring two pieces of bad news at the same time, but the next chapter is also the last. You can throw the rotten fruit now. Please, no melons.