Chapter Nineteen

I woke up after my wounds had been treated by one of Penguin's men. Two bullet wounds, one that had grazed me and ripped a deep line into my gut and another that had left the slug imbedded in my hip. The 'doctor' didn't say much in the way of damage, just instructed me to move carefully and drink plenty of liquids. He'd taped some gauze over the stitches. Hopefully after getting the slug out, but he kept dodging the question when I asked. Suspicious.

So I had unveiling another set of puckering scars to look forward to.

Inspecting the room the strange oval doors, metal everything, portholes, and exposed piping all led me to realize I was on Penguin's ship. I'd heard rumors that he was using the Final Offer as a criminal base but it had all seemed so outlandish. Shows what I know. I almost yelped when my caretaker smacked a clipboard in one of the exposed pipes running above a sleeping Loose Lips. The goon jumped awake, beanie flopping to the side as he got to his feet.

"She's all yours, now get her outta my office," the doctor guy snapped. My somewhat friend nodded and pulled my arm over his shoulders, leading us out of the room. I bit back a groan. I may have had the wounds stitched up but that sure didn't do shit when it came to the pain. "Where're we going?"

"Ah, y'see we gotta give these reports to Mr. Cobblepott when things go south and he's interested in talkin' to ya," Loose Lips explained. I didn't hold back my groan, making the thug snort. "He ain't that bad, Dollface. Just don't piss 'im off and it'll all blow over."

I kept my mouth shut, not trusting the angry, scared nonsense that wanted to bubble out. Leblanc led us along the boat through corridors and elevators until we entered a plush office. The room was coated in animal furs and trophies; strange artifacts littered the gigantic fireplace's mantle and the huge desk across the way. In one moment of slackjawed stupidity I wondered how Penguin had a fireplace on a boat. But then I remembered it was Penguin we were talking about. Said man was lounging comfortably on a plush red loveseat with two beyond beautiful women in tight skirts throwing their arms around him. He puffed a cigar, looking me over.

"This Dollface?" he asked. Leblanc nodded, "the one an' only, Mr. Cobblepot."

"I hear our men ran into a bit of trouble at the docks," he said through his thick English accent. I shrugged against Loose Lips, nodding, "yes Sir. Batman showed up at the tail end of things."

"Ah, how unfortunate. That twit's really looking for a good skinning if you ask me," he stated more to himself than anyone in the room, yet his girls purred their approval. Penguin turned his attention back to me, "so how about it then, love. What've you got to offer me for my good services to you." I blinked.

"What?"

"Well the ways I see it, my men are the reason you're alive and all stitched up. Bit of an I scratch your back and you scratch mine type of situation."

"I'm sorry Mr. Cobblepott, I'm not sure if I know anything you'd consider valuable," I admitted, a thread of fear tightening around my heart. The older man scoffed, readjusting in his seat so he could point at me with his cigar.

"Listen here girl, you either give me some information or I'll make sure you're in the next pit," he growled. At the mention of the pit I felt Loose Lip's grip on my side tighten. Whatever it is I obviously need to avoid it. Anxiously I thought over everything I'd overheard in the past few weeks.

"Black Mask's got it out for Joker."

"Are you going to tell me about how Sionis sells drugs next?" he laughed. I winced. Okay, when in doubt: half truths.

"Some guy calling himself Nigma has been gathering information on Gothams' crime bosses, you included. He's got informants and bugs everywhere," I choked out. Sure this was a bit far fetched but all I needed was to get off the ship once and I could try and avoid Penguin's clutches. Penguin's face darkened, something striking a nerve with him. I gulped.

"He's getting the dirt on everyone?" he asked warily. I nodded, thankful that my wobbling knees were probably being attributed to my weak balance. "Well that is interesting. What else do you know about Nigma?"

"Not much, Mr. Cobblepot. He works primarily alone. And Batman's after him," thinking quick I added, "he probably knows something Batman doesn't want found out."

"Darling 'probably' is not the word I want to hear before a critical bit of information," he sighed, leaning back into the loveseat. He became very pensive, staring hard into an impossible distance before clearing his voice.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Dahl. Take her back, Leblanc," Penguin ordered. Both Loose Lips and I chirped a simultaneous, "thank you Mr. Cobblepott," before we left the room.

The whole way out of the Final Offer had Loose Lips trying out his new comedy routine on me. It was really hit or miss, the majority of it leaving me forcing an awkward smile and a little of it making me gasp and grab at my stitches so they wouldn't burst from laughter. Eventually, with the morning sun now well over the horizon, the thug helped me into a cab and gave me enough money to cover the fare. I rolled down the window.

"Do I owe you for this? I feel like I owe you," I asked, rubbing my tired eyes. He grinned, shoving his hands into his parka.

"Nah, we'll call it even for distractin' the bat from throwin' me into another Christmas tree back at Blackgate," he grinned. I snorted, shaking my head, "see you later then Loose Lips."

"Yeah I'll see ya around too, Dollface. Oh, say hi to ol' big green an' ugly for me," he called as he retreated back to the ship. After telling the cabbie my home address I tried to relax in the back seat and watch the streets of Gotham go by.

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/AN: Boop, replies!
cleareyes25: Do I hate Dollface? Nah, but I'll admit I thought about doing something to result in her losing an eye in this scene (I'm a monster but I think eyepatches are cute and adding more irony to her nick name is soooo tempting). It's just when playing the games it's clear that Batman doesn't go out of his way to keep the thugs from becoming critically injured. Putting a small, weak individual in the position of a burly street-toughened criminal would realistically result in her getting hella messed up. Also I think being in casts adds another aspect of weakness and somehow cuteness to her. Sort of makes me feel protective over my weak baby cakes, hopefully Croc feels the same way -w-/