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Working as a bartender at the Iceberg Lounge was definitely not the easiest job in the world. On any given night the place would be filled with criminals, from lowly thieves and informants to high-class drug dealers and assassins. And most of them were not the most respectful people. By now you’re used to the cat-calling and the thinly-veiled stares at your chest. But when you first started your job, you left every shift in tears, swearing you would quit. But the pressures of rent and college bills kept you going back. And over the months since then you’ve developed the thickest skin possible; any and all lewd comments, attempts to make you uncomfortable, now bounce off of you as you work.
It’s almost three in the morning – the bar will be closing soon – so you start wiping down the counter and putting away glasses, mixers and shot measures, ready for the next day of work. You’re on your knees, making sure the shelves are neat and orderly, and when you stand up (still struggling with your heels) you jump at the sight of Penguin standing in front of you.
“Mr Cobblepot, sir. Would you like a drink?” It’s the only reason you can think of that he would be here rather than in his office.
“Yes, please.” He’s looking around warily, on edge, but you can’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“What can I get you?” You pull out a cocktail shaker, ready for his order.
“A gin martini,” He’s still not looking at you as you start to make the drink. It’s almost as though he’s looking for someone.
“Is something wrong sir?” You know you shouldn’t pry, but you’re starting to worry a bit. He finally looks back at you, an insincere smile on his face.
“Nothing, at all, dear.” You don’t believe him. He picks up the drink as soon as you set it down in front of him. “Would you be able to stay behind after your shift?” He sounds nervous.
“I guess, yeah. Why?”
“I’m hosting some important guests once the bar has closed. I need someone to serve drinks. You’ll be paid double your usual rate”
“Okay. If you want me to, then yes. Of course.” You could stand an extra hour or two for the extra pay – and the walk home might actually be better at five in the morning. Thinking about it, you realise that out of the three servers still here you are the most experienced. It’s a sobering thought. He nods before leaving, weaving his way through the crowd, drink in hand. You wipe your hands on the dishcloth hanging from the bar, a nervous gesture. What does he mean by important guests?
*
The bar is closed, the last stragglers urged out by the bouncers, and you sit waiting on top of the counter. Not very professional, but your feet are aching. You hear voices coming from the corridor leading to Penguin’s office and hop down, wincing slightly. Penguin limps in, cane in hand and a look of haughty disinterest on his face. Beside him walks a man that you recognise, but have never spoken to. Victor Zsasz. Everything you know about him is from gossip and newspapers; he’s Gotham’s most infamous assassin, never failing a job, faultless aim, and a team of some of the most competent killers the world has ever seen. Logically you should be scared of him – and part of you is. But another part of you is fascinated by the man, by his unusual yet striking appearance, by his cold demeanour, by the scarred tally marks that litter his body. You’ve never seen someone so interesting. Of course, it doesn’t matter what you think of them. The only way the two of you would ever speak was if someone ordered a hit on you, and no one would be willing to spend that much on someone as insignificant as you.
The two of them are speaking, so you actively try not to listen in. To emphasise your point you begin to take inventory of the bottles that line the bar behind you, even though you know you took an inventory when the lounge closed. More people begin to filter in, a few of Penguin’s security personnel, some of his associates. A few people begin to ask you for drinks and you make them as quickly as you can without dropping anything. You want to impress your boss and his men. It may not be your dream job, but you do enjoy it. It’s interesting and challenging, and you’ve made some good friends in the other girls who work here. And besides, the pay is good and life is expensive. You can’t afford to get fired.
“Can I get a water?” You turn towards the voice and have to stop yourself from jumping when you see Victor Zsasz standing across the bar from you, one arm rested on the counter. He isn’t looking at you, instead surveying the room. You nod, then kick yourself mentally for doing so when he’s not paying attention to you. You duck down to the fridge and pull out a bottle of water, holding it out.
“Here you go, Mr Zsasz,” You do your best to be polite, knowing that any slip up could be reported straight back to Penguin. He finally looks at you, hard blue eyes looking you up and down as he takes the bottle, opening it and taking a drink.
“Tell me, do you notice anything or anyone suspicious in this room?” You tilt your head at the question, slightly confused as to why he would ask you that, but looking around anyway. It’s not particularly busy. Penguin is talking to a man wearing a dark suit. People are mostly grouped off, some circulating the room. One man stands alone at the edge of the room, nursing a drink. A virgin purple rain, if I remember correctly.
“Not really,” You tell him, “But I wouldn’t say something doesn’t feel off.” He nods, taking another drink and leaving the bottle on the counter.
“You have good instincts. When the shooting starts, duck.”
“Wait, what-?” You barely have time to process what he’s said before he’s striding off, leaving you alone and confused. He thinks there’s going to be a fight? You can feel your hands start to shake. You tighten them into fists, forcing yourself to stay together. There’s been the occasional incident since you started working there, but right now you feel very exposed. The only place to hide is behind the bar, everywhere else blocked off by the countertop, and you doubt it’s particularly bullet-proof. Zsasz is whispering in Penguin’s ear, the latter listening carefully and nodding. You notice his hand reaching inside his suit jacket, presumably reaching for his gun when another voice draws your attention.
“Excuse me, miss.” It’s the man who was on his own. He’s placed his empty glass on the counter, and you go to start making another one. However, as you lean forward, his hand twists into your hair and pulls you over the counter, smashing the glass and making you scream. You can feel broken glass in your shoulder. You hear shouting from the others in the room, and a few shots being fired. Once you’re on the other side his empty arm wraps around your neck, locking tight, while the one in your hair loosens and he pulls out a gun, which is immediately pointed at the side of your head. You grab at the arm almost choking you in a futile attempt at escape, but when he tightens it again you stop, instead holding onto it to stop yourself from falling. The rest of the room is staring at you, most of them having pulled out their guns. Penguin stands at the front, his eyes fixed on the assailant. Victor is nowhere to be seen. His hand is raised to stop the others from shooting.
“What do you want?” He calls out and the man points his gun away from you and towards Penguin.
“The blackmail you have on Nails’ gang. All of it.” Penguin takes a step forward and the gun returns to your head, making you gasp. Penguin stops, his eyes flickering over to you.
“Don’t be stupid,” He warns, “You’re outnumbered and outgunned. Even if you got the information, do you really think you would leave here alive?”
“I’ve got leverage,” He shifts his arm, lifting you slightly off the ground and making you cling tighter to him. This is not how you had expected the night to go. Your heart is racing at a mile a minute, your mind spinning. One false move from anyone in the room and you would be dead. A body on the floor, your brains blown out. Penguin raises his gun again and you hear the safety click off. Your eyes squeeze shut, preparing for death. But when you hear the gunshot, it’s not the one pointed at your head. The body holding you goes limp and you both fall to the floor, knees colliding harshly with the cold wood. You look back to see Victor standing at the entryway to the club, gun still raised. Your chest is heaving, adrenaline rushing through your veins. The man lies next to you, eyes open and vacant, blood trickling out of the back of your head. Your rest a hand on your still sore throat, feeling the place where you’re sure bruises will form.
“Everybody out!” Penguin screams, the room almost immediately emptying of everyone besides you, Penguin, and Victor. The assassin makes his way over to you, helping you onto your feet and guiding you over to where Penguin stands fuming. “I want Nails and his gang dead. All of them.” He spits at Victor, who nods. You just stand there, not sure whether to stay or leave until Penguin turns to face you. “I am so sorry, Miss (Y/L/N). If I had thought the night would go like this, I would never have asked you to be here.”
“It wasn’t your fault, sir.” Even now you’re still respectful, aware that no matter how sympathetic he is now, one wrong move could mean the end of you. “And I knew what I was signing up to when I started working here.” There’s a pretty high turnover in staff. Of course, you don’t say that to him, but you’re both thinking it.
“Regardless, I’ll ensure you’re compensated. And make sure you get that cleaned up,” He gestures to your shoulder, which you glance at to find glass embedded in and blood oozing from. You hiss slightly, more at the image than the pain. Penguin turns away, undoubtedly off to start scheming methods of revenge against Nails, but he stops. “Victor,” The assassin looks up from his gun, which he was examining in the same way you had been examining the shelves at the bar, “I want you to escort Miss (Y/L/N) home. Make sure she doesn’t get into any more trouble.” You resent the wording, the suggestion that you got yourself into trouble, but you appreciate the gesture.
“Sure thing, boss.” He holsters his gun, smiling at you – you can’t tell if it’s sincere or mocking. No matter which, you smile back self-consciously.
“I just need to grab my stuff,” You point awkwardly to the corridor that leads to the staff room and walk past him, feeling his and Penguin’s eyes watching you as you leave.
*
Jacket on, heels switched for trainers, and your bag slung over your shoulder, you turn off the light and close the door to the staff room. You return to the bar to find Victor leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, whistling. When he sees you he straightens up and offers you a glass that had been sitting beside him. You look at it, confused.
“Vodka. Figured you could use some after tonight.” You shrug, taking the glass and downing it in one. You weren’t a massive drinker, but the vodka here was good quality and you would never turn down free booze. And he was right; after the night you’d had you could do with some numbing. “Ready to go?”
“You don’t have to walk me, you know,” You tell him as you head towards the elevator, Victor on your heels.
“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s following orders.” He quips as the two of you step inside. It feels strange to be in such close quarters with such a dangerous man, but you’re strangely at ease.
“Really?” You laugh quietly. “I would have thought killing would be the one thing you’re good at.” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, finding him watching you with a sly grin.
“You have a point,” He concedes. “Besides, like the boss said: can’t have you getting into any more trouble.” The elevator doors open and he leads the way out of the building, turning in the direction of your apartment. You struggle to keep up with him, needing to speedwalk to match his long, purposeful strides. The streets are empty save for the occasional car. You were right, it is better than walking home at three; that’s when all the clubs close, and drunk people flood the city looking for somewhere to go. Not fun.
“I feel like I can’t be blamed for that,” You muse, “Considering it was your boss’s fault that I got into any trouble in the first place.”
“He’s your boss too,” Victor comments, making you roll your eyes.
“I think we work in slightly different areas. I make drinks, you…” You don’t want to say it; you don’t want to be so blunt, considering his line of work.
“Kill people?” He fills in, and you nod. “Does that scare you?” He sounds genuinely curious, and it makes you think.
“No,” is the conclusion you eventually come to, “I can’t see any reason you would have to kill me, so I’m not scared of you.” Another thought comes to mind, and you struggle to hold back the grin that tries to fight its way onto your face. “Also, you did save my life, so…”
“Well, that was more protecting Penguin than anything,” he counters, but a quick glance at his face tells you that he’s teasing you. You walk in silence for a few minutes, until he breaks it unexpectedly.
“You know, I never caught your name,” He frames it as a statement, but you know it’s really a question.
“(Y/N).” You tell him. “And I know who you are.”
“Of course you do. Everyone does.”
“Arrogant much?” You chuckle.
“Not so much arrogant as self-aware.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” Victor stops walking and you copy him, only now realising you’re in front of your building. You fish out your keys from your bag and unlock the front door, turning back to face him. “Well, thank you, Victor.” He gives you a strange look when you say his name, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking. Before you lose the courage the alcohol has given you, you lean up on your toes and press a kiss to his cheek, slipping into the building and letting the door slam behind you; if he says anything, you don’t hear it. You can feel the blush spreading across your cheeks as you climb the stairs quickly. You hope that, after tonight, Victor might speak to you at the lounge more often.
Victor stands outside, watching as the lights of your apartment flick on, then off a few minutes later. A small smirk graces his face, there from the moment you kissed his cheek. He’s glad you didn’t notice how he knew the way to your apartment. It would have brought up too many questions. But now he’s got an excuse to talk to you, and maybe even more.