Chapter Four: Nygma Visits
A/N: Sometimes, I miss innocent, quirky little Edward. Here's another chapter! :D
A few more days passed during which I remained in the hospital. The doctor wanted to observe me in recovery, looking out for infection. The curtain was pulled around the bed as he and Nurse Ally stood on either side of me while the doctor unveiled my wound. The gauze and tape were moved, and the it was cleaned with soap and water. Doc said I would be discharged within the next twenty-four hours and in the meantime, I should eat my meals and drink my water. As Nurse Ally pulled the curtain to expose the rest of the room, the doctor left to tend to his other patients and then the nurse shortly followed him after, leaving me to my solitude. I stood to my feet and walked to the sink; above it hung a mirror on the wall, and I observed the damage.
On the right side of my neck, just below the carotid artery was a stitched line, less than an inch. The stitches themselves had been removed. Thanks to my coma that had lasted three weeks (apparently), the wound itself was almost if not entirely healed. Why the doc wanted a 'few more days' of observation was beyond me.
Liability reasons, I supposed.
"Hello, Miss Gordon!"
"Ah!" I squeaked, and I quickly turned to see Edward Nygma standing near my bed.
So lost in my musings, I hadn't heard or seen him come in my room.
He looked different without the lab jacket. He wore a forest green sweater over what I could only surmise was a blue long-sleeve and a brown-and-yellow tie. It wasn't one I would expect to look fashionable all tied together, but Nygma pulled it off all right. He grinned widely and I placed my hand over my heart, relieved to know that it was still beating.
"How long have you been standing there?" I questioned (I was thankful that I was given a gown that actually covered my rump).
"Not long," Nygma admitted, smiling innocently. He looked around. "This is a nice room."
"Eh. I'm tired of it." I sat back in bed. "Thank you for the Sudoku puzzles, Mr. Nygma."
"Not a problem, Miss Gordon." He returned smartly, glancing at the TV. "Not many channels to choose from, I suppose?"
"You're correct; but I shouldn't be surprised by that. I didn't know you were coming by."
"Detective Gordon mentioned that you were still in the hospital," said Nygma, sitting down in the armchair most people had taken to occupying, "So when I heard, I thought I should drop by."
"That's sweet. You didn't have to."
"Well, honestly, I thought it was only justifiable."
"What do you mean?"
Nygma leaned forward with a quirky grin: "You're the talk of the GCPD, Miss G. If you don't believe me—"
"—I don't—"
"Well, look for yourself," Nygma chortled.
From what appeared to be hammer space, he pulled out a newspaper and handed it to me.
In big bold letters, the headline read: Detective's Sister Shot by Crazy Gunman—Survives.
"With all the tall tales they spin," I scoffed, placing the paper on the end table, "you'd think they would be more inventive with their headlines."
"I said the same thing." Nygma returned with an approving nod.
"So, what are they talking about? The GCPD?"
"All good things. How you're a survivor and 'definitely Jim's sister'."
"I survived what should have killed me," I returned as I leaned back in my 90-degree angled bed. "A thousand cops do that every day and no one makes big news about that."
"You're a civilian. That's why it's big news."
I shrugged, "If they knew just what I have been through, they wouldn't make a fuss."
Nygma cocked his head to the side: "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing. Nothing you need to worry about."
He appeared unconvinced but dropped the topic.
"How's Ms. Kringle?"
He looked at me, startled: "Who?"
"You're a smart man, Edward. So, don't play dumb," I said, smiling knowingly at him. "I see the way you look at her."
"Ms. Kringle is…. She's fine. One would assume so, anyway," Nygma said, aloof.
My turn to tilt my head to the side: "That doesn't sound reassuring."
"Nothing gets passed you."
"Come on, Edward. I know I am not your closest friend, but I do know when something is wrong."
"Well, in every principality, we're not friends at all," He said pointedly. "You and I tell the occasional riddle and then we go back to business-as-usual."
"True," I agreed. "But if we're not, then why are you visiting me at the hospital?"
"Excellent point," Nygma muttered, glancing at me uncertainly. "I'm not so sure. I wanted to make a friendly gesture…. I suppose. Maybe. I don't know exactly why I came."
"Maybe you wanted to seek out some advice in regards to getting Kristen Kringle?"
Nygma said shyly, "Maybe."
"Kristen Kringle…. that's a funny name."
"I know, right?" He said humorously. "But she certainly is pretty, and smart...and kind….and she smells nice."
Nygma was like a little kid with his school-boy crush. He sat on the edge of my bed, awkwardly making certain that he wasn't sitting on my lap or anything and then looked at me seriously.
"She's dating this guy," Nygma grumbled. "Flass."
"Flass?"
Nygma frowned: "You know him?"
"I've heard of him. Grapevine, all that crap. She has an odd taste in men, doesn't she?"
"You have no idea," said Nygma, rolling his eyes.
"Have you tried telling her how you feel?" I offered.
"I can't. At least…. Not personally."
"Why not?"
"I get nervous."
"Which is why you should tell her face-to-face." I reasoned.
"That doesn't sound logical."
"Maybe not but take it from me. When guys get nervous while trying to ask out a girl, it doesn't show weakness. I think it's pretty adorable. You just need some confidence, a pep in your step," I advised sweetly. "But if you think you can't say it to her face, then maybe there's a way you can show her. Actions speak louder than words after all..."
"I gave her a cupcake with a bullet in it." Nygma blurted.
"Well, something less morbid," I offered, smiling reassuringly. "It's a nice gesture, but I don't think Kristen is that type of girl."
"Are you?" He said quizzically.
"Pardon?"
"Would you have wanted a cupcake with a bullet in it?"
"I'd accept a cupcake no matter what was in it…. except a finger…. or a maggot," I joked. "Anyway…." I touched his arm. "You need to think of what type of girl Kristen is, and then go from there. She seems like a girl who likes ballroom dancing—"
"—We don't have elegant ballrooms in Gotham—"
"—Maybe she likes the beach—"
"We don't have beaches," Nygma interjected.
"What I'm saying," I hushed, stopping him from talking, "is that you need to find what Kristen likes. What does she like?"
"Well—"
"And don't say riddles," I said quickly.
Nygma looked at me.
"Not everyone likes riddles, Ed. Don't give me that look, you know it's true. Kristen might like poetry." I offered. "Some girls do."
He interlaced his fingers together, looking at his thumbs in thought.
"Huh. Poetry." He muttered, then he suddenly grinned at me: "Thank you, Miss Gordon!"
"No problem!"
He quickly stood and walked out of the room. I looked after him, curious. What an odd fellow.
No odder than your fellow.
In a few minutes that followed, the doctor came back into the room, smiling.
"Am I finally able to leave?" I asked coolly.
"Yes," said the doctor.
"Good."
"But you have to sign these forms."
"I'll sign a million-dollar check for you right now if it means I can leave," I reassured strongly as I took the pen and packet and started signing shit.
The doctor chortled on his way out.
