Days passed. Weeks melting into months and day by day, things got more and more difficult for the woman known as Columbine. Harley Quinn hadn't given up her crusade to try and regain her favor with the Joker and it took all of Columbine's strength to keep the little bimbo shut out and away from the clown prince of crime. Harley was nothing if not persistent.
Yet, Harley was the least of Columbine's problems. At least each time she faced off with her rival, said rival retreated for a decent length of time, but the prying eyes of Gotham would not let up. It was getting harder and harder to keep her identity a secret. It was bad enough when Oswald Cobblepot figured out who she really was beneath the mask and behind the make-up, but when Edward Nygma approached her late one evening in the Iceberg, she knew:
Soon she would have to make her move if she wanted to preserve her identity, whether she was adequately prepared or not.
The thing you had to know about Edward Nygma was that the Riddler, if he found out a secret, had a very hard time keeping it to himself. He enjoyed lording information that he and only he had over the heads of his intellectual inferiors.
(And they were all intellectual inferiors, in his eyes.)
Columbine couldn't fathom why the Riddler had taken such a keen interest in her whenever she showed up at the Iceberg until that fateful night when he finally took a break from just watching her as she crossed the room and intruded on her in one of the private rooms that the Penguin kept open for business dealings and other unsavory urges that his patrons liked to indulge in private.
She was waiting on a chemical supplier, as per usual. The Joker had been sending her out for this sort of thing more and more often; while he made plans, she did his dirty work. She didn't have a problem with grunt work, really…whatever kept her close enough to her goal to reach it, she would do it.
She did have a problem with the fact that the Riddler strolled into the little room as if he owned the joint and seated himself directly across from her as though he'd been personally invited for tea.
"May I?" He asked, despite the fact he was already seated.
Columbine glared at him. "I drink alone."
The left side of his upper lip twitched upwards into a smirk. "You shouldn't...it's an unhealthy habit."
"So is trusting villains." Columbine downed the shot of whiskey that she'd been contemplating drinking and swallowed harshly, trying not to cough. "I think you should leave."
He leaned forward, his gloved hands covering the handle of his cane the way a king might hold his scepter. "I think we should talk."
She glowered at his impertinence. "I disagree."
The smirk didn't change at the amount of heat she poured into her glare. "That's your misfortune."
Columbine's jaw clenched and then relaxed. He wanted to play games? Fine.
"What do you want, Riddler?"
"Call me Edward…I'm on first name terms with you, after all."
"Only because I don't have an alias to use as an alternative, Riddler." She colored the words with as much disgust as she could muster.
He remained unaffected. "Don't you? I think you might be selling yourself short."
Columbine exhaled in exasperation. "And I think you may be a few chickens short of a coop."
The smirk gave way to a smug grin. "I know who you are."
"I'm thrilled for you."
"I must say I am impressed."
"I've impressed the Riddler...truly, my life's ambitions have been realized." Columbine's answers were coming out short and clipped now that he was prodding a very delicate subject and her temper was fast on its way to boiling over. "Now that you're done expressing your admiration, I'd appreciate it if you'd get to the point."
He ignored her and sat back in his chair somewhat heavily, making it creak, letting his cane lean against the edge of the table and putting his hands behind his head. "You know, I didn't realize at first...took me a few weeks...but once you appeared at his side, and I saw you in action, it became so painfully obvious all of the pieces seemed to fall into place. You, my dear, are a fascinating puzzle of a woman."
"Thank you," she bit out. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Good, because I meant it as one." He looked perfectly at ease…like he wasn't the least bit worried about the woman he was sitting across from who was eying him like a black widow might eyeball a particularly juicy fly. "I believe you have something planned?"
Her eyes went wide in feigned innocence. "Do I? And what might that be?"
Nygma winked at her. "You intend to kill the Joker."
Columbine's lips pressed together into a grim line. "And whatever gave you that idea?"
"Several things...several clues, if you will. Not the least of which is your true identity," he said, the smirk returning in full force, "Which I would think the Joker would be smart enough to pick up on, since I did…but there again, we can't all be me."
"Thankfully not."
Nygma chuckled. "I like the nursery rhyme touch. Gives it a certain...riddling edge. It's almost as if you wanted someone to figure it out. It is rather…blatant…the connections."
Columbine's hands curled into fists on the table. The Penguin hadn't been nearly this smug, nor had he actually hinted at what he knew…yet the Riddler was laying it bare for her without actually saying the words.
He knew. Damn, he really knew.
Anger drained away in favor of naked panic. "Are you going to turn me in?"
"Me? Good God, no. Why would I want to cause trouble for you?"
"Why would you approach me about who I am if not for blackmail purposes?"
Nygma tapped the side of his nose with one finger. "Curiosity."
"I hear it killed the cat, Riddler. You might want to avoid engaging in such a dangerous activity as indulging your curiosity."
"No, I don't think I do. You answer my questions truthfully and I'll keep quiet about what I know…but if you don't, then I'll go talk to your paramour."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Wouldn't I? Come now, you know I would. I'm just unscrupulous enough to do it." He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly. "Now…are you going to answer my questions?"
"Fine," she replied sourly, crossing her arms over her chest. "But remember Pandora, Nygma."
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Now we're up to last names. Progress."
"Just get the interrogation over with."
Another chuckle bubbled up and he didn't even bother trying to conceal it. "At first I wondered why the Joker would choose someone so radically different from Harley, when he had chosen someone so similar to her in the past...and then I realized: You are the antithesis of everything Harley stands for. Your banter with me now is concrete proof of the theory.
She's weak, you're strong, she's submissive, you're dominant. You've even gone out of your way to make certain you look different from her. Her hair blonde, yours common brunette. Her eyes azure, yours a...muddy brown."
Columbine snorted. "You're lousy at giving girls compliments, Nygma--and the hair is black."
"Common still."
The woman across from the Riddler seethed but kept a rein on her tongue. "Did you have a question, or just insults?"
"I've heard about Harley wandering the streets at…odd intervals. Barley recognizable, from what I gather." He grew thoughtful "Have you faced her?"
She stiffened. "Several times."
"And? Does she know what I do?"
Columbine shook her head. "She doesn't realize. She's too blinded by her own anger and envy to realize. She's…she could be smart enough to figure it out but she doesn't understand. Or she refuses to comprehend…on some level she must know."
"On some level, yes." Nygma sniffed. "Is she fighting you?"
"Is she ever. She refuses to let me have control over the situation…refuses to relinquish her place with the Joker, even if it's better for her to be away from him."
"Well, she always was loyal, if a bit foolish."
"If. If. There is no 'if'. She is a fool. A lovesick, idiotic fool."
"And you're not." Nygma's posture changed suddenly as he snapped up his cane and gestured with it in Columbine's direction. "Riddle me this! Why is a woman in love like a welder?"
Columbine barely contained the impulse to roll her eyes. It would just figure he couldn't put the persona away for an entire conversation.
"Well?"
"Because she carries a torch."
"Very good...and yet, you carry no torch. Not of love, at any rate." He gave her a measuring look. "You've definitely got that same sort of determined fire about you. Revenge perhaps...maybe even pure hatred."
Columbine felt as though he'd just dumped ice down her neck. "Is it that obvious?"
"To someone as observant as I, yes. It's so clear in everything you do, you loathe him. It's also obvious you want him dead...very dead and very soon." Nygma dropped his cane to its former place and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket nonchalantly. "I suggest if you're going to do it, you get it over with before someone else figures it out."
Though she tried, Columbine couldn't contain the sharp bark of laughter that forced its way past her lips. "Advising me in the planning of the murder of a fellow villain? Doesn't that go against some kind of unwritten rogues code?"
"I shant be the one to kill him. It would merely be negligence to inform him of his impending demise on my part. Criminally negligent homicide would be the technical term for it, I believe."
Columbine laughed again, a bitter sound without any joy. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Nygma."
"Who ever said I'd have trouble sleeping?"
"You mean to tell me you want him dead?"
"Who doesn't? He's a loose cannon. He's a danger to those of us who actually take our 'jobs' in Gotham seriously. To him, it's all an elaborate game--one that he intends to win, no matter how many of us he takes down with him. Personally, I'm tired of being nothing more than an expendable pawn in his little chess match with the Bat."
"He dies, you figure you move up the ladder?" This time Columbine's laughter was genuine. "Please, you'd still be a second rate villain. Maybe Two-Face--"
"Yes and you know an awful lot about that, don't you? Being two faced, I mean," He snapped at her, reminding her not so subtly that he was still the one holding all the cards in this equation. "You're as much of an expert on the subject as Dent, I should think."
Columbine sat up a little straighter, regretting overstepping her bounds and inadvertently trampling on the toes of Nygma's immense ego. "You've made your point. No need to harp on the subject, is there?"
"So long as you remember which of us needs her secrets kept if she wants to keep breathing." He cleared his throat. "Provided your ambitious little plan succeeds and you actually walk away with all of your limbs intact--"
"Get to the point, would you, Nygma? I'm a very busy woman."
"Of course you are, you have a homicide to plan."
"Nygma…"
He flipped his hand dismissively. "Fine. If you succeed and if you live and if--"
"That's an awful lot of ifs."
"It's an iffy situation, surely you realize how many ways anything you have designed could go horribly, horribly awry?"
The rage bubbled over at last and Columbine stood up so abruptly that her chair turned over as she thrust her fists against the tabletop with a BANG. "Certainly I do! I'm no moron, Nygma, remember that you're not dealing with the bubble headed Harley Quinn here! I have planned everything to the tiniest detail and I will not fail!"
He smiled again, a bit more warmly this time. "If you succeed and if you ever find yourself looking for work, I could see my way to--"
She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "To what? Taking pity on me? Allowing me to bask in your presence and work in your gracious employ? I don't think so."
"So you'd debase yourself with the Joker but not with me?"
"That's the general gist of it, yeah. Besides, you never took any interest in me before."
"I didn't realize your untapped potential. You must remember what you appeared to be."
"Hasn't experience taught you by now that appearances can be deceiving?"
This time it was Nygma who lost hold of his temper. "You're smarter than that, don't reduce yourself to tired phrases and outdated axioms. It might just make me change my mind--and you can't afford to have me doing that."
Columbine actually bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood as she regained control of her fury.
"Fine," she ground out from between tightly locked teeth. "When the deed is done, I'll think about taking you up on your offer."
"Good." His eyes glittered and he grinned again before he picked up his cane, rested it on one shoulder and started for the door. "You know, you're really quite glorious when you're this irate. It's a shame you weren't always this fiery, or else I might have snapped you up years ago…long before the Joker ever had a chance."
As the door slammed, Columbine barely had enough self restraint left to keep from shouting after him with a few choice four letter words, but as she stood there at the table with her nails digging into her palms and her knuckles white, she knew she had bigger problems than Harley Quinn, the Penguin and the Riddler combined.
Edward Nygma had just forced her schedule to move up several more notches. So many, in fact, that she figured only a few days remained before she'd have to go through with her plan and kill the man she'd attached herself to for so long.
Provided the Riddler could keep his trap shut that long.
Then again, she didn't think he could…maybe it would be better to do it now and just be done with it.
With a deep shuddering breath, Columbine steadied herself and allowed her hands to relax.
That settled it.
Tonight, come hell or high water, the Joker would die.
