"Come on, Edward. Get it together." The Riddler groans at his reflection.

Harley Quinn's bathroom is only marginally nicer than the dark, smelly closet both he and Selina had locked themselves in for the past... he's not even sure how long. Was it hours or minutes? He'd completely lost track of the time playing seven minutes in heaven with one very frisky feline. Just thinking of her makes Ed's poor heart ache.

If he closes his eyes, he can still taste her on his lips. Edward inhales deep and smells her lovely fragrance on his clothes and in his hair. "Don't stop," Selina whispers, her sultry voice still rattling around inside his head.

She feels so close. Like she's right here with him in this room. But when Edward opens his eyes, she isn't there. It's only his reflection staring back. That and a very disturbing, chewed up, taxidermied beaver wearing a tutu perched on the edge of the bathtub. There's something about it's one good, glass eye that gives Edward the heebie-jeebies. Like it's alive and almost judging him, somehow...

"What are you looking at?" He growls at the inanimate object before returning to his thoughts. Thoughts that only involve her.

How did she do it, Edward wonders. That woman has seized control of his every thought and idea. Try as he might to think of something, anything else, Edward can't control himself. He can't control his own mind.

Edward releases a deep, shaky breath and turns on the faucet. He removes the purple domino mask from his face and returns it to his pocket. He then cups his hands beneath the steady stream and watches as the water collects and overflows out of his hands. Which is exactly how he feels right now. Overflowing.

Leaning into the sink, Edward brings his face to the water. He holds his breath inside the shallow pool, waiting for his pulse to calm and mind to clear. After a couple seconds, he empties the water back into the sink and reaches for the towel.

"I have eight to spare and am covered in hair. What am I?" Edward asks his reflection.

A deep breath in and he exhales again. Looking in the mirror, Edward combs his wet fingers through his hair, slicking it back slightly to fix what Selina had messed. He tilts his head and examines the somewhat fresh puncture marks on his neck. Now that he's in a much clearer mindset, he can finally address his wounds.

"Great." Edward mumbles to himself as he pops open the medicine cabinet.

Grabbing the box of Looney Tunes Band-Aids, which happens to be the only bandages in the whole cabinet, Edward sets to fixing himself up.

"Just great."

He cleans up what's left of the dried blood on his neck with the (hopefully) clean hand towel, smooths out his shirt and tucks it back into his pants. Then, when he's finally somewhat presentable, Edward takes one last deep breath and returns to the party.

On his way back, Edward passes the now infamous closet and takes a peek inside. Finding his belt, he retrieves it from the floor and slides it back through his belt loops. Her gloves he shoves inside his pockets for safe keeping.

From the living room, the Riddler can see all the commotion in the kitchen. Everyone is gathered around singing and generally just being happy. Per usual, Harley's at the center of the fun and there's a great, big, slightly inedible-looking cake. Once the song is over, the singing stops and she blows out the candles. Everyone cheers.

From the outskirts of the crowd, Edward claps and returns his hands to his pockets. He leans against the door frame to the kitchen and watches the spectacle unfold.

His eyes find Selina and they stop there. With her perfectly tousled black hair and those sparkling greens eyes, she looks gorgeous beyond words. Beyond bearing. With a smile on her burgundy lips, she steals the cake knife from Harley and begins dishing out slices. Pamela contributes by pairing each piece of cake with a fork and sets to passing them out.

Lost in his own thoughts, Edward doesn't even notice the paper plate come his way. Someone taps him on the shoulder and he doesn't even budge. Instead, the Riddler keeps staring. Hard enough to burn a hole through her pretty, little head were he some other costumed creep blessed with heat vision.

And speaking of blessed. It's not like Ed's known for his rippling muscles or striking good looks. He isn't particularly strong or selfless. Caring or kind. He isn't really what one would consider to be "boyfriend material." But where Ed is lacking in pretty much everything else, he more than makes up with in smarts. He has a brain the size of Texas and an IQ large enough to put even Einstein to shame. If only that's what women were looking for in a man...

Soulmate. Spouse. Partner. Lover. Someone to share your whole, entire life with. Call it what you will. Whatever Selina wants, it certainly isn't him. Edward's smart enough to know that much. Whatever happened between them in that closet can be blamed on the alcohol. Although, in all honesty, he doesn't feel all that drunk. In fact, he feels... He feels...

Forget it.

All those happy, sappy emotions. Love. Friendship. Belonging. That's kid stuff. Fodder force fed to the unintelligent masses along with rainbows and unicorns and peace for all mankind. It's make believe. It doesn't exist. Not for him.

What is love anyway, but a series of chemical reactions that affect the biochemistry of the brain? Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin. They can all be easily manufactured in any lab. Crane's included. There's nothing special or magical about it. In fact, stand next to Ivy long enough and you're sure to feel the effects.

Tonight was nothing more than a cocktail of sex hormones and booze. That's all. Or so he keeps telling himself. But who is he trying to convince? Even as he's lying to himself, the Riddler's no fool.

In reality, there's a lonely little boy inside who's afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of not being good enough. Afraid of getting hurt. And he will. Just like he always does. Because women like Selina are one in a million. She's an unusual combination of bright and witty and beautiful and talented and cunning, with a whole lot of style. And she belongs on the arm of someone equally as cool and attractive. Someone cut from the same cloth. Someone like Bruce Wayne. Not some washed up C-list villain like him. The head cheerleader deserves the star quarterback. She deserves a winner. Not the guy who always got picked last for kick ball.

Edward takes a step back from the crowd and heads to the door. He doesn't belong here.

These are her people. Her friends. Although, Edward supposes, Selina could run in just about any crowd that she pleases. Slumming it with the Rogues or breaking bread with the upper crust of society, that woman fits anywhere. She's like a piece of some greater puzzle. And for one bright, shining moment, he thought maybe she was his. That one missing piece that could finally make him whole. Complete. But then Edward realizes he's being stupid. Which is not a word he cares to associate himself with. Not now or ever. So he leaves.

"Everyone wants more of it to feel special," Edward muses to himself as he heads out the door, "yet the more you have of it the less special you feel."

What am I?