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A criminal mastermind. That’s what the papers called the perpetrator (singular, presumed male) of the multiple banks heists the following morning.
Ed, or ‘Riddler’ as he now insisted, had been giddy over the article, twirling about in Lee’s cramped and dirty kitchen, arms darting out in grand gestures as he chose different passages to read aloud.
He hadn’t asked for his cut. Hadn’t even counted it when Lee handed him the envelope, bursting at the seams with green. He’d just stuffed it in his back pocket, dragged Lee into the next room and fucked her into the small cot her sorry excuse for an apartment claimed for a bed (not that Lee is complaining – she knows most homes in the Narrows have it far worse and she’s lucky to have a proper place to rest her head at all).
She’d thought he’d be vicious – wild and bruising and possessive like Mario had sometimes been. But instead he fumbled, almost sweet with lack of experience, and though his hands often crept to her throat and his hips snapped with careless abandon, he never hurt her.
It had been – disappointing.
When they were done and fallen back against the flattened pillows (Ed panting, Lee not so much) he had turned to her, face inscrutable, and stroked the back of a finger down her cheek.
Something had risen in her then, stronger than anything the sex made her feel. Because she couldn’t tell if he meant the gesture as endearment or threat.
Then he’d made a noise in the back of his throat (a tut? a sigh? a choking laugh? it was hard to say) and finished with a curl at the edge of his lips that might have been mocking. Or might not.
“I’m starving,” he’d muttered, swinging to his feet and slipping back into his suit with practised ease – the quick change of a seasoned performer.
Lee had lounged into the mattress as he grabbed his glasses and skipped out of the door, mind drifting to her stolen wealth and how best to distribute it among those most in need, how much to keep aside and what future projects to invest in.
Until Ed’s voice had pierced her thoughts and the cracked wood of the door together, bubbling over with fresh excitement.
“Oswald! What a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?”
So now here they are, all three of them, around the peeling plastic of Lee’s kitchen table. Oswald dressed to the nines in rich purples and black fur, hair spiked up in artful flicks that show off his stylish dyes to perfection, while Ed and Lee are crassly dishevelled in comparison. Ed’s suit is crumpled, purple tie askew, hair a mess of sweaty clumps. Meanwhile Lee, in her rush to investigate, had found only a thin black robe to cover herself, hair loosely detangled with her fingers, feet bare.
Caught unaware and far from Riddler-like pristine, Lee would have expected anger or at least discomfort from Ed. But instead he seems to flaunt being discovered ‘in flagrante,’ smirking as he squeaks his chair oppressively close to Lee’s and lifting an eyebrow at their uninvited guest. Daring Oswald to comment. Eager to elicit a reaction.
Oswald only smiles, serene.
“My apologies for dropping in on you both so early. I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
His eyes trail down Lee’s exposed neckline, thick lashes sweeping up as his gaze switches, inquisitive, to Ed.
“Not at all,” Ed replies, voice shining silk to compliment Oswald’s velvet. “Always a pleasure to see an old friend. How can we help you?”
After all the reluctance he’d voiced at their coupling, it’s a surprise to hear Ed unify them so easily. Perhaps speaking for both of them makes him feel powerful, especially in front of an old enemy. Could be a way of showing Oswald how much stronger he is now.
But does that make Lee his partner or his possession? What is it he’s rubbing in the old kingpin’s face exactly – that he has a powerful ally, or a beautiful prize?
Smile fixed in place, Oswald taps the discarded newspaper between them.
“I’m trying to track down this mysterious bank robber,” he says. “I thought you might have some idea as to their identity.”
His eyes blink wide with too much innocence. He and Ed worked side by side for a long time, of course he saw Ed’s fingerprints all over the heist. He knows. He just wants confirmation.
“Why do you want to know?” Lee cuts in before Ed can respond, wanting to make her presence felt, remind the boys she is more than a silent trophy.
When Oswald turns to her Lee imagines a flash of something predatory in his eyes – the excitement of a hawk spying its prey.
He’d killed Ed’s last lover, she remembers. Ed had never told her why.
“Jerome Valeska is putting together an elite team,” Oswald explains. “A Legion, if you will, of the brightest criminals in the city. I’m in the business of recruitment.”
“You’re working for Jerome Valeska?” Ed blurts out, honeyed tone given over to shock.
Oswald purses his lips as though tasting something sour.
“Sofia Falcone’s brief reign and untimely demise –” His chin dips towards Lee. A perfunctory respect. “– has left my usual allies scattered and unwilling to pledge allegiance back to me. If I’m to regain control of this city, and believe me I intend to, I need to start somewhere. Valaska is a means to an end, that’s all.”
“Risky,” Lee notes. “Trying to use a madman like that.”
She’s not sure what inspires the comment. Bravado, perhaps. A desire to highlight Oswald’s weakness. Put him in his place (a place that by all rights, in her home and her part of the city, should be beneath her).
But the shrewd, assessing look Oswald fixes on her is far from cowed.
“Undoubtedly,” he tells her, curling lips parting to show his teeth. “But some things are worth the risk, don’t you find?” He rests a green-gloved hand over the newspaper and leans forward, blanking Ed as he diverts all his attention to her. Yet somehow this only serves to heighten awareness of Ed’s presence at their side. “And they do say there is a fine line between madness and genius.”
When Lee turns to Ed she means it to bring him back to the conversation, to subvert Oswald’s attempt to exclude him and unite them in mockery of the would-be crimelord’s foolishness. But as her eyes meet Ed’s he frowns, a flicker of suspicion in the way he looks her over and Lee understands too late that this was a trap.
Oswald has twisted her comment back at her – painted Ed as her Valeska.
She shutters her expression when she turns back and finds Oswald’s cheeks flush with triumph at having cast successful aspersions on her motives.
She’d made an error trying to criticise him and thinking he’d take the hit. Clearly he was no longer the nervous, flighty man who’d run from her those few short weeks ago and directly into Jim Gordon’s clutches. That man had spun himself in anxious circles over the allies he’d lost, had to be physically coerced into taking on their mutual enemy and had failed even there, leaving Lee to face down Sofia alone. But the man before her now is no longer so broken and is ready to fight her at the slightest provocation. She needs to be on her guard.
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, or Mr Valeska,” she says. “But we have no idea who the bank robber is.”
As she finishes she leans back and into Ed, pressing their shoulders together, taking the power of them as a united front for herself. It’s more than gratifying to feel Ed press against her in response, to see him flatten his lips at Oswald in a shrug of agreement. So easily swayed by the right touch at the right time.
“Even if you were to find them,” Ed adds. “What makes you think they’d be interested in this so called Legion?”
“Well,” Oswald starts, pulling the newspaper with him as he too rests back in his chair. “Whoever pulled off something like this –” He lifts the paper and raps at the front cover with his knuckles. “– and with such aplomb, is clearly not only a genius, but has a flair for the dramatic.” Ed holds still under Oswald’s gaze, save for the smile that creeps wider across his face with every word. “Now, I confess I do not know the full details of Jerome’s plans for the city, but I do know it’s going to be complicated and…” He pauses, building suspense. “Theatrical,” he concludes. “I think our mystery robber might enjoy the challenge.”
“Hmm.” Ed brings a hand to his face and taps at his lips with a finger. “Quite the sales pitch,” he notes, dropping his hand to the table. “Although, considering you’re out chasing mystery criminals to make up numbers, I find myself doubtful of the proficiency of your little group.” He stops to straighten his tie, adding as he does, without looking up and with a touch too much flippancy to be completely casual – “Not that I care one way or the other, but I don’t recall an invitation to be part of the gang. But since you’re so desperate for recruits that can’t be right.” He gives the tie a last, violent tug, setting the knot tight against his neck, and looks back to Oswald. “I assume it was lost in the mail?”
“Ah, yes…” Oswald drops the paper and sucks a breath through his teeth, managing through some mystical feat of dexterity to somehow look apologetic and mocking at the same time. “I’m afraid not, my friend.” He flattens his lips, giving the apology more weight. “I mentioned your name. Both of them. But Jerome was… unmoved. Called you a dull, untalented, oversized leprechaun. His words!” Oswald adds this last with a raised hand, pre-empting anger. “He seemed to believe you had nothing of value to contribute. I argued otherwise, but…” He trails off, both hands lifting in surrender. “Still,” he continues, glaringly bright under the storm cloud Ed’s face has become. “I am sure you have found some other, fulfilling way to occupy your time. You had plans for a club, if I recall? No doubt it is thriving.”
He knows it’s not. He has to. All of the Narrows has been buzzing with the news that their queen had defeated The Riddler and got his club shut down.
So this is mockery. But not of Ed directly. Oswald’s extravagant praise of the robber had been a blatant stoke of Ed’s ego, he’s not trying to diminish Ed’s self esteem. Instead the jibe about his lost club is an attack on Lee, condemning her for stripping Ed of his success.
But why? Oswald can’t still be sore about her disrespect earlier, surely?
And why is Oswald here at all? It still isn’t clear. Perhaps Jerome has sent him recruiting for the bank robber, but if Oswald knows it was Ed and Lee who pulled off the heist together then why not ask them to join this ‘Legion’ directly? And why praise the ‘genius’ of the heist while throwing Jerome’s dismissal of The Riddler in Ed’s face? It doesn’t make sense.
One thing’s for sure though - this whole visit has been a charade, and as she feels Ed pull away from her, hands clasping, tense, across the table in front of him, she understands that if she doesn’t figure out the answer soon it will cost her.
As Ed shifts Oswald’s eyes glitter and though he drops his gaze and busies himself adjusting the cuff of his glove to hide it, Lee catches the satisfied twitch at each corner of his mouth.
He’d killed Ed’s last lover, she remembers again. And Ed had tried to kill him for it in turn.
Is that it? That’s what he’s here for – history repeating? Only this time Oswald has learnt to be subtle. This time he plans to discredit rather than kill. To have Ed remove himself from the affair, instead of impatiently snatching the affair from him.
But why? Why?
Why should Ed taking a lover offend Oswald so deeply?
“Anyway.” Oswald looks up with another syrupy grin. “I have taken up enough of your time. If you can’t help me then I will take my leave.”
With a courteous nod Oswald grips the cane resting against the table beside him and pushes to his feet. Ed mirrors him by standing as well.
“No need to leave so soon,” Ed says. “I was about to make breakfast. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”
Lee blinks up at him. Only to immediately curse herself for the slip. Oswald will take her surprise as a show weakness no doubt. But, after all the man’s snide remarks, what on Earth would compel Ed to ask him to stay?
Oswald makes a show of considering, twisting his lips and tapping his fingers against his silver cane topper.
“I did miss breakfast this morning,” he confesses.
“Then sit.” Ed touches a hand to his shoulder and waves his other at the table. “I’m making bacon sandwiches. I’ll add some spicy mustard, like I used to. I know it’s your favourite.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer but spins out into the open space that makes up the rest of the kitchen (as much as anyone can spin in a place so small), rushing from cupboard to cupboard collecting ingredients. And for a moment Oswald’s mask slips as he watches, too-wide smile melting into something smaller but warm, soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Then he blinks back to Lee and smirks and she understands at last.
He was mine first, Oswald’s eyes scream as they follow Ed’s eager steps, anxious to accommodate, so you see, he can never be yours.
Of course.
Why else would you kill someone’s lover? Why else would you spare their life again and again even as they swore to destroy you?
Lee had felt proud, with only a limited background in psychology, to have identified a love for her in Ed. Prouder still that she’d found a way to use it to advantage. But it turns out Ed’s feelings for her are just the tip of a far larger, dirtier, jagged iceberg.
Because why not tell her Oswald was in love with him? Ed had been more than happy to mock everything else about the man during his warm up acts at the fight club. But he’d kept this truth for himself. Horded it away like something precious.
All his self professed hatred for Oswald takes on new meaning now. What a fool she’d been not to see it before. Her brief, psychological studies had been more than enough to familiarise Lee with the concept of denial.
This makes sense of everything. Maybe Jerome really had sent Oswald to recruit the nameless bank robber from today’s headline, maybe he hadn’t – it didn’t matter because that was merely pretext. Oswald hadn’t just identified Ed and Lee from the article, he’d somehow surmised their new relationship from it as well and come here as a rival.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Ed,” Oswald starts up again. “But it’s no good. As delicious as your cooking is, I simply can’t stay. No rest for the wicked and all that.”
Lee holds her breath as Ed turns, because it’s Oswald who’s made the error this time.
She waits for Ed’s frown – ‘it’s not Ed, I’m The Riddler.’
It doesn’t come.
Instead Ed leans back against the kitchen counter and shrugs.
“Well, if you’re sure,” he says.
With more pursed lipped apology Oswald nods in reply, to Ed first then Lee as well. His eyes flash again as they touch her gaze.
Mine.
“I need to inform Mr Valeska his newest recruit is unreachable, before he grows… impatient,” Oswald explains.
He starts to turn. Then lets his gaze fall back to the newspaper.
“Such a shame, though,” he adds, shaking his head, like the sentiment is afterthought and not the premeditated attack Lee is now certain this whole visit has been so far. “I mean, what a waste of a great mind, hiding in anonymity like that.”
Now she sees the game for what it is, it’s obvious what this is about – implying Ed’s partnership with Lee is a burden, constraining his intellect.
That should be an easy enough claim to refute at least.
“I think it’s clever,” Lee counters. “If no one knows who you are you can’t get caught.”
Oswald scoffs.
“You really think someone capable of this –” He dips the top of his cane at the newspaper. “– is foolish enough to let themselves get caught, known or not?”
Damn. That one’s a win for Oswald and they both know it – the belief that he can outwit a police force on the hunt for him specifically would naturally be more appealing to Ed’s exhibitionist tendencies. A stupid mistake. Come on Lee you’re better than this.
“Well,” Lee goes on, forcing herself to keep calm as she reaches for the paper and pretends to contemplate it. “I think the anonymity makes the robber more enigmatic,” she tries. “Like a puzzle. It makes people want to know more. I bet readers are going to be desperate for more stories. In a couple of days everyone will be talking about this mystery villain. They’ll be the most infamous criminal in Gotham.”
Oswald nods along as she speaks and after, but it’s a delaying tactic while he thinks up a counter argument. Lee can tell from the way his eyes have clouded over that she’s finally started to challenge the man and there’s a thrill in that (not unlike she’d felt in the bedroom with Ed’s finger on her cheek).
“True, very true. Yes,” Oswald says, relaxing back into a smile as he finds his answer. “No doubt every clueless member of the public will soon have a theory about the identity of this mystery man –” He pauses to bend forward in half a bow. “– or woman, of course,” he adds with a puff of laughter. “Personally, I’d find it infuriating having the world at large give credit for my accomplishments to any Tom, Dick or Sally.” Lee tenses. This is a smart play. “Just imagine the absurd candidates people might start to point their fingers at. In a few weeks the papers might be accusing me of being this mystery thief! Or Barbara Kean.” He takes a breath, readying his trump card. “Or Jim Gordon.”
A loud slam over her shoulder makes Lee jump and when she turns she finds Ed glaring at them both, one hand splayed over the cupboard door responsible for the noise.
“I am sure, whoever they are, they have a good reason for their silence,” he snaps, releasing the cupboard door and pressing both hands into the countertop behind him.
The quiet that follows is an opportunity. An opening for Lee to fill. Pacify Ed now and she could draw him back to her stronger than before, direct his growing anger onto Oswald instead.
But the shock of his attack on the cupboard has left her breathless and Oswald gets there first.
“Quite right!” Oswald agrees, pointing a finger to Ed in emphasis. “Who are we to judge? They may have the noblest of motives for withholding their identity. Perhaps it’s a sacrifice made out of love.” Neither of them look to Lee, their gaze is buried too deep in each other. “If so,” Oswald goes on, voice slippery smooth. “I do hope their partner is making an equal sacrifice for them. I’d hate to think someone with such creative talents was acting at the whim of someone who doesn’t return their feelings.” He holds a moment, then straightens up with a shrug. “But, I suppose we may never know!” he grins. “And now I really must be going. Wonderful to see you both again. Enjoy your breakfast.”
He leaves without another word, clicking the front door shut behind him, and a distant part of Lee registers that he must have picked the lock not broken in.
Ed doesn’t move an inch, just watches in silence as his old friend, former enemy and god knows what else walks away and he stays there, rigid, as the seconds tick by in Oswald’s absence.
Lee stands and moves to Ed’s side, letting her robe fall open round her breasts. She needs to smooth this over, fast, and is not above using a few feminine wiles to ease the way.
She touches a hand to the tense knuckles Ed has braced against the counter.
“Ed…” she breathes. Soft. Sultry.
“That’s not my name,” he mutters, jerking away and making a beeline for the hook beside the front door where his now trademark hat is waiting for him.
He snatches the accessory and grabs at the door handle.
“Where are you going?” Lee calls after him, trying to sound casual and not demanding.
“Shopping,” he answers over his shoulder. “You don’t have any mustard.”
He flattens down his hair, hides the worst of the disarray with his hat and leaves without saying goodbye.
Well. That could have gone better.
When he comes back he’ll need some serious buttering up if Lee wants to keep him. But she’s game. She has much bigger plans for the Narrows (and herself) than a brief flurry of disposable income. Much bigger.
With a decisive nod she wraps her robe tighter about herself and reaches for the kettle to make tea while she thinks.
When Ed gets back she needs to have a scheme ready for them he can’t refuse, no matter what doubts Oswald has put in his head. Then, once she has him back on board, they’ll be unstoppable.
She’ll be unstoppable.
A real underworld Queen. Respected. Powerful. The kind no one would dare try to hurt or threaten or kill or undermine.
She just needs to be ready for when he comes back, that’s all. Then she never has to worry about being weak or at someone else’s mercy ever again.
She’s The Doc. She killed Sofia Falcone (basically). She’s every bit as capable as Oswald Cobblepot. She can do this.
When Ed gets back, she’ll show them. Oswald. Sofia. Jim. Everyone. They’ll see who the real Lee Thompkins is.
(If).
(If he comes back).