Chapter Text
Something's gotten into you
You don't really look at me the way you used to
And I'm hoping it ain't true
Every single rumor that I've heard of you
Say you were off with someone that I don't know
Callin' other people on your telephone
Kinda wish I didn't know
There was something Edward Nygma found comforting about cycles, primarily because they came back on themselves which made them trustworthy – dependable, even – and it had been rather similar when it came to thoughts about his friendship with Oswald since their routine had always seemed repetitive from where he stood; the Penguin would ebb and flow with his affections, as Edward did himself, only ever retreating in order to threaten or attempt to kill one another– that had been their cycle, even if he felt there was a (positive?) shift in very recent times that led to hope that the cycle would be re-vamped. He wasn’t sure that he could re-live being hurt by and actively hurting Oswald again. However, it was becoming abundantly clear that it would be time to admit that the ideas around the nature of their relationship had been wrong. Their friendship hadn’t been a cycle but had been more of a rhythmic back and forth as they never truly returned to their origins - with Edward fawning over the more experienced villain while Oswald would be apprehensive to engage, almost comically different to the pair now. Was this detrimental on its own? No, but it was the context behind Edward’s awareness that made the realisation a haunting one. It was almost ironic that it was a social setting which led to the delivery of the painful blow.
As he sat in one of the chairs around his friend’s long dining table, Edward’s elbow had been perched on the arm rest, hand in front of his mouth as his index finger and thumb circulated against one another.
“A penny for your thoughts?” A voice came, ripping dark eyes from the food-filled table. Even amongst multiple people, it was Oswald who had noticed the blank stare while others spoke – of what? He was unsure as his mind and ears had been occupied with his own internal monologue. Moving his hand from his mouth, the Riddler resettled in his seat and sighed, subtly stretching as much as he could while sitting.
“I’d need a dollar.”
From what he could remember Oswald had been seated at the other end of the table as a King would be amongst subjects, while Edward was sitting on the left side and multiple chairs away thus making the Penguin out of sight if Edward refused to look for him. Now, though, it seemed that Oswald had taken a seat which may or may not have been previously occupied; the proximity between them remained the same, or slightly more withdrawn, than the space between Edward and whoever had been sitting beside him before.
I take moments, minutes, hours, days and years to cross. I rely on proximity to exist, but no
matter how close or far, I can never be eradicated. What am I?
Distance.
The riddle almost left his mouth but with a firm swallow, the words died in his throat, though replaying in his mind as the distance between them suddenly became uncomfortably noticeable. The look given in response to Ed’s answer had been one which he would be more accustomed to receiving from Jim Gordon or from someone at the GCPD way back when. Not a single eye roll or scoff in sight, no flare at all. The look was one of quiet inquisition and had stirred old sentiments of being excluded from a grander picture. “Oswald,” his voice dropped a bit, unwittingly, as his jaw clenched “What?”
“Wha- I didn’t even say anything!” The tone was almost affronted, the host obviously trying to keep his own voice a similar level or below that of those around them, but coupled with a chuckle. “And anyway, you’re the one who was staring off into space-“
“-The table.”
“A figure of speech” Oswald easily responded with a dismissive wave to match. At least the light-hearted tone momentarily came back, though Oswald had paused as he partook in the mental gymnastics which came with the intention of not setting the Riddler off. While Oswald had come to notice that both Edward and The Riddler seemed to be merged, making for a more mellowed joined persona as they met in the middle of their personalities, it was ignorant for anyone to assume that they couldn’t be separated again with one or the other fronting in consequence to certain events or conversations. Even saying ‘Riddler’ was merit for the mastermind to hold more control on the wheel within their shared consciousness some days. “This… This isn’t too out of your comfort zone, is it?” With a careful gaze and a cautious tone, there was already a worry in his chest that the question was overstepping. There was a fine line between ‘being accommodating’ and ‘infantilising someone who rarely engaged with many people, especially all at once’ and Oswald was doing his upmost to stay on the positive side of that barrier. Another empty pause almost had Oswald spluttering but the hand which had been in front of Ed’s mouth flippantly held up to stop the plausible divergence or apology.
“Just – observing.” To prove his point, his gaze moved from his friend – and the damned inches between their respective chairs – to look around, spotting Barbara having an even more quiet yet buzzing conversation with those around her, though they were seated away from the table as the event turned less into a dinner and more into an actual gathering. What a mess. Still, it seemed to be a mess with no deaths despite being well under way, so a success story within Gotham.
“The table?”
“Ye- No! Not the table!” With his head turning to Oswald, Ed’s fingertips rubbed over his closed eyes, glasses resting on his forehead to do so before the pair dropped back on to his bridge with a huff “The people… You’d think a gun would be drawn by now. Or five.”
“Well, you know what they say,” Oswald’s breath brushed over the scotch glass he had picked up from the table, eyes wandering in the general direction Edward’s had been a moment before. “Gossip keeps people busy.” With that, the drink was downed with a simple flick of the wrist. The remark earned the kingpin a confused glace, Edward’s lips slightly parted and head jutted to the side while the man beside him tried to ignore the pain in his leg as he stood to look down at his still-seated friend “Mingle. You might have fun.” Stupidly, he tried to ignore how hollow Oswald’s smile had been – likewise in his eyes – yet was even more intensely trying to ignore why he searched for anything at all.
’Mingle’ – the term had a small voice in his head, his own yet not, trying to aggravate him by whispering about how Oswald was using language which had been uttered by those who often ridiculed Edward through his life. Despite the bubbling, misdirected anger, there was an effort to hide how his jaw clenched at Oswald’s phrasing. But, god have mercy, wouldn’t life been easier had he been able to mingle; maybe he wouldn’t have found comfort in academic knowledge if he had more of a social life while growing up, and maybe the riddles would have been able to be presented as a quirky little trait rather than an obscene offence which left a young Edward mocked and alone. Maybe, had he been sociable, the Riddler would have never come about, though it was stupid to think so, what with the other manifestation of himself reflecting the anger and pain which Edward actively suppressed towards his parents and peers. It wasn’t his sociability which made him end up with the other facets of himself materialising as another person within his own psyche, but it was not lost on him how ironic it was for Oswald to even suggest such a thing. Still, Ed wasn’t a child anymore, even if a childlike curiosity came over him when he realised that he had met Barbara’s eyes three times within the unusually short and distant conversation that had just ended with Oswald walking over to a group of mostly familiar faces.
Curiosity and inquisitiveness battled it out as he wondered who to follow, deciding that it would seem pathetic to follow Oswald around as he had done before. No longer was he the man’s Chief of Staff, so even if he wanted to find out whoever his friend was talking to, Ed’s feet brought himself over to Barbara. He looked solely to her.
“Nygma, I was just talking about you.” The woman was holding her child in her arms and Ed had to cautiously look down at the swaddled child with a somewhat perplexed look before he subtly shook it off and looked back to Barbara
“I gathered. You know,” he leaned in a bit to whisper jokingly “you’re not very subtle,” with his signature smile before standing back at his usual height
“Blunt,” the blonde huffed from where she sat, but found amusement in the look that her child was given, just like the one she received when both he and Oswald stood without knowing what to do while she had been in labour. Without the pain of labour and with the same smart mouth the Riddler possessed, now she was able to silently humour it. “Well, for your information, Riddles,” the term earning a slightly heated glare from the man “you weren’t even the main subject, so don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Gossiping about me while I’m not even the most important person? That seems unlikely.”
“You know, you’re so full of it, right?” She said without malice
“Guilty.” He laughed curtly, hands in the air in a mock surrendering motion for a split moment “But deflecting isn’t really the gotcha you think it is.” The hands which had been up un a conceding motion how resembled jazz hands around the word ‘gotcha’, being laid at his side after as he waited for an explanation.
“If you must know,” Barbara paused, enough time for Ed to clock how her expression changed from casual to something much less kind – if that was the right word - though not malicious. Smug, perhaps. “We were talking about your replacement – toy boy over there,”
With the woman nodding, Ed’s eyes followed embarrassingly quickly in the same direction only for his eyebrows to furrow at the sight of Oswald again with the group, but now the man who he had never seen before more visible while Oswald was only identifiable by his side profile. A tall man with chocolate coloured hair was beside Oswald, gazing along attentively as he talked, standing taller than the relatively short man. Every word Oswald spoke was like a hook which this … stalker was hanging off of, catching the attention of the whole group, but at least the other members had the decency to interact with one another also. As much as he hated to admit it, Edward could understand the biting commentary as the unnamed gentleman had an uncanny resemblance of himself, though his face was softer around the edges, his blue suit was less snug than Ed’s own green one and, while taller than Oswald, Ed assumed he would still be the tallest out of the three.
This unnamed fellow was - if Barbara were honest - not an upgrade, and she knew Oswald was well aware of that fact too, shown by the Penguin’s demeanour when she and Edward 2.0 had unintentionally met; while that was true, with the Riddler’s breaths becoming slower and the rise and fall of his shoulders becoming unnaturally controlled, she couldn’t help but to forget to mention that fact. After all, he was a grown man, surely Nygma could make up his own mind.
And make up his mind he did, yet as soon as the somewhat familiar feeling began to creep in, his body straightening slightly as his hands moved behind his back with one gripping his other wrist aggressively, the thought was gone. Suppressed with his need to rationalise an unlabelled emotion. If he couldn’t name it, he couldn’t deal with it, so he buried it alongside the flash of anger. “Replacement,” he rolled his eyes to face Barbara again “Unlikely. Probably some admirer. Oswald had the few when acting as Mayor of Gotham.”
Knowing better than to verbalise the snarky response she had on the tip of her tongue, Barbara resigned to not lose the other’s attention so quickly. Had she mentioned that this new guy was Ed’s replacement due to the shared nature of their friendships with Oswald rather than their similar look, then she was sure that not only would Edward become unapproachable to her, but also to the crime lord; she liked messing with the pair – together or separately – but having two pissed off psychopaths was for the interest of no one. Already having a child to take care of meant there was no desire to have irritated and armed men annoyed with her. “A successful one at that.” It was almost comical to see the confident and unshaken Riddler’s persona be replaced by something else, though the woman couldn’t place what; the cool exterior seemed lost, his sneer being replaced with a simple straight lipped blank stare leading to the realisation that her words fell on deaf ears when Edward turned abruptly, the previous look being steeled over with sceptical indifference.
You tell me it ain't what it seems
But baby, this is looking like a crime scene
There's clothes thrown on the balcony
And you smell like perfume out a magazine
I'm throwing all your shit out of my window
Telling you I wish that we had never spoke
Baby, I already know
That subconscious voice was becoming louder again, though Edward hadn’t been worried about it – it was natural to have a voice telling onself to ‘stop that’, or to rationally reinforce fears. While there weren’t necessarily any mirrors or reflected surfaces to prove that this voice wasn’t his other self, Edward gathered that if there wasn’t a mental embodiment (as there had been when the Riddler was less willing to be repressed) then he could easily get through this party, of sorts. Without the need to worry about his own inner voice, the brown eyes focused on the situation before him, though the parties Edward had become interested in were across the room and likely unaware of his prying gaze. The look on this man’s face was unmistakable, presenting the unashamed longing, though there was something nauseating behind the flittering study of Oswald – to someone dumber than himself (so everyone, Edward would argue) the depth of the otherwise innocent interaction would fly over their heads, but not him. No, Edward could see it as if his copycat had written ’Interested and looking’ on his forehead in bright permanent marker.
The hands which had been behind his back were now crossed over his chest defensively, remaining there until Oswald’s friend placed his hand on the shorter man’s arm as he laughed at something Oswald had said. Seeing that seemed to activate the drive to move from where he had remained standing for the past few minutes, finally arriving behind Oswald and gaining the attention of the so-called replacement.
Upon seeing a change in demeanour of the man before him, Oswald turned and had an almost nervous look bypass his lips as he found himself face to face with the signature black and green suit, elevating his head to actually look at his friend, only to find the hardened gaze to not be focused on himself, but slightly behind him. Looking back as if he had forgotten that anyone but Edward existed in that moment, Oswald gathered that it was now the pair would be aware of one another. “Ed,” Oswald grinned, swallowing deeply as the toothy smile downsized when the same look was now on him “This is Francis, Francis this is Edward.”
“The Riddler,” he corrected, daring Francis to dare call him Edward, let alone Ed or any other variation.
“A pleasure,” the response came easily, hand extended, though there was an air of awkwardness between the two slender men, their shared friend almost literally being caught in between them. Without even moving to shake Francis’ hand, full attention was back on Oswald.
“Can I speak with you?” Looking to Francis, then to those who were relatively close to the trio in order for his request to seem less of a direct attack, meeting the blue-green eyes once again. “Alone?” With quick and successive blinks Oswald only nodded, extending a hand to allow Edward to lead the way to the door not too far from where they were standing.
“Wont be long.”
“I’ll be here,” was the only sugary departing words that Edward heard as he passed the pair purely because those three words spoken caused a buzz-like feeling to crawl up his spine and settle in the back of his skull. Perhaps it was a blessing he hadn’t heard more because it took a whole nine seconds after Ed arrived in the spare room a bit away from where the party was hosted for Oswald to join him. With an opened mouth, Oswald was about to ask what the issue was considering he had been reassured that Edward had been fine moments earlier, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to ask.
“Who is that?”
“Really? I just introduced you two. Now come on, Ed, you’re smarter th-“
“Fine,” he snapped slightly while maintaining the same volume “Let me ask it plainly: who is he to you?” With a set jaw, Edward took in how the clarification caused for Oswald’s hand to flex around his cane and his tongue to nervously swipe over his bottom lip, eyes lingering before snapping up with the tell-tale signs of anger; Barbara was right. A scattered forced laugh “So he is, what,” with a slight body jut and his hands raising in an inquisitive gesture “your boyfriend.”
“Ed-“ a slightly affronted, possibly hesitant, response came.
“A little rogue? New on the scene? A lover, perhaps?” His voice became less composed and more delirious, deepening as it did so. Luckily he was self-aware enough to notice it, but that acknowledgement only confirmed what he thought to be impossible at this rate:
‘You’re loosing it, Ed’.
It wasn’t his typical subconscious that was criticising him. He was – they were – becoming separate again, though not entirely. He wasn’t that little forensic scientist who was completely removed from his other self, but still wholly himself (Edward Nygma and The Riddler all in one personality) though it seemed his mind still was able to conjure a divergent line of judgement and perspective from what Edward would call his awake self.
“Are you done?” This time there was no doubt that Oswald was getting to the end of his unusually short tether as his eyes sent a shockwave when they momentarily were wider than usual – a typical sign that the Penguin was getting defensive… that, or aggressive; everyone knew the man was not one to be trifled with, but the pair had literal yelling matches over things like the bell system Edward set up, or the submarine composition, and still those arguments hadn’t gotten Oswald in this state: ending an argument before it began. Or at least that was the tone the man was taking towards his friend’s incessant questioning. Had Edward been anyone else, that would be merit for a warning shot, but even while in the midst of trying to ‘get over it’, Oswald still couldn’t not favour his friend. After all, it was a process to get over someone like Edward Nygma, someone who had captured Oswald in every way, but it was what the other man had wanted, and love was sacrifice. Still, even if he had to sacrifice being in love it didn’t mean that he had to be alone. “He’s a…” finding the right word wasn’t just hard, but it seemed the correct terms seemed too serious for the actual feelings behind the arrangement he and Francis had – at least on Oswald’s end. “He’s a partner.”
“A partner?” The laughter came out a bit more unhinged but under his breath
“Yes! A partner, Ed.”
“Since when?” The thought of the pair going at it – if that was what ‘partner’ had meant – while he and Oswald were ready to set sail far away from Gotham sat horribly within the man’s gut even when he was actively trying to dismiss it.
‘So that’s why I’m here – advising your sorry self’
“Shut up,” Ed growled at himself. Oswald looked at the man, anger contorting into confusion as he realised the words weren’t aimed at him. “So- how long?” Edward pressed again
“A month, maybe, I don’t know! Why do you care?”
“Don’t be naïve - he’s using you.”
“What like you and Lee?” He bit back, his own feeling of anger being interrupted with a bit of shame. So much for letting go – he was still jealous, but the look on the Riddler’s face didn’t change despite the words likely having an adverse reaction only months prior. In Oswald’s mind, this detatchement was worse since he was still feeling that fire-like blaze of jealousy when thinking about her while Edward seemed to only be embarrassed that he was tricked in the first place. “And is that the only reason someone would want to be with me to you? For some sort of gain?” The man limped over and a sinking feeling within Edward’s gut was unable to be ignored, lips tightly pressed together.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Ed growled
“Well, news flash, Ed!” The smile which showed on Oswald’s face was one which represented anything but positive emotions “Whatever you did mean means nothing to me.”
‘He’s lying’
He has to be.
There was silence between the pair as their eyes locked into a silent battle of wills; Oswald had decided that this was a fight that Edward could win, knowing that being so close was doing damage to the path he wished to take by moving on, even if moving on wasn’t for his own happiness, but so he could keep Ed around in some sort of capacity. But as Oswald moved back a step or two, using one hand to smooth down his textured black suit with a decisive swallow, it had been Ed to let go of his side of the argument.
“My apologies, Oswald,” he coughed politely as they now had more space between them “I guess I still hold some of my… Chief of Staff responsibilities down inside me.” The lie-filled apology seemed good enough as the defensive tension seemed to loosen as Oswald’s shoulders sunk back to their natural place and he nodded curtly.
“You did save me then,” Oswald admitted, taking a calming breath before smiling with a polite yet fake sincerity behind it “But you don’t have to worry about me anymore. We should get back, before Francis gets worried,” the joke had its implications – ones that hurt to joke about on the Penguin’s end – but he was trying for Ed’s sake to be a better friend, even if that meant laughing when his heart ached at his own choice of words.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” seeing Oswald’s frown Edward quickly added “It’s a bit much – all the people and-“
“Say no more. Join us when you’re ready.” With another polite but kinder smile Oswald exited the spare room, closing the door to only leave it ajar so the sound had less opportunity to overstimulate Ed further.
Now there's someone at my door
Someone I've not met before
They've got eyes like mine
A pretty smile and they've been crying for a while
'Cause they also didn't know
That our lover loved us both
When it was certain that no one was lingering by the door, Edward’s body spun dramatically away from the entrance only to come face to face with a mirror showing himself laughing manically. “Look at you!” the ‘other-Ed’ sneered. This manifestation of himself was neither the Riddler nor Ed’s old self since they were rather mingled together now, but he guessed that this self was representing what The Riddler had: the host’s suppressed emotions and thoughts. “All alone, in some old room that has definitely been slept in.”
The tone was bitter as the reflection looked down at the bed between the mirror and Ed’s corporal body, seeing that it was unmade and had evidence that it had been used possibly the night previously. With his own disgusted glare, Edward clicked his tongue “At least he’s sleeping in this room,”
“Are you going to be introspective with that comment?”
“Shut up!” Finally his voice rose slightly louder, but the music, the thick walls and the collective chatter definitely covered any traces of the Riddler’s aggression from possible prying ears in the room over. “There’s nothing to it!”
“And that’s why you’re yelling at yourself in an empty room. Tell me, Eddie, why do you care?”
No response came and the other-Ed continued:
“No? Nothing? All those tests, college, theses and you can’t even answer yourself! You’re blind. No! You’re stupid. No!” The reflection screeched in laughter “You’re insane!”
With his hands in his hair, the real Edward sunk gripped his hair as he fought back the urge to scream by pacing around and tugging at the strands, eyes alternating between staring blankly and being clamped shut like his teeth which grated against one another in an attempt to block out his own mind through the pain. He hoped the act of tensing would block his ears as the blood flow became audible, as if he was hearing the voice from anywhere but within his own brain and the rushing in his ears would be of any sort of assistance. Hearing the banshee laughter was the last straw and Edward turned, grabbing the mirror before launching it at the wall, not thinking whether the sound travelled to the occupied room.
For a blissful moment, silence was all he heard, then the sounds of distant music and laughter – normal, humane laughter – filtered back in and that soothed any worries which may have manifested about alerting Oswald or his guests. He was, for just a moment, alone.
“Oh, Ed…” the voice came back, but with no apparition in sight “You can’t run from us. Like I can’t run from your pathetic decisions.”
“You’re lucky you have him at all, and here you are – jealous-“
“I’m not!”
“You are! You deluded idiot! You can’t bear to share Oswald, yet you killed him for feeling the same.”
“He killed her. That’s different”
“And you don’t want to slit Francis’ throat?”
Pausing, Edward swallowed and shook his head “No, I don’t.” Mentally, an image of the other brunette tied to a chair appeared within Riddler’s mind, his green suit jacket discarded to save it from stains before the same knife he had almost plunged into Oswald’s back now pierced Francis’ palm, the screams and maniacal laughter being the soundtrack to the event.
A vindicated chuckle thrummed within Edward’s mind “Looks like its not so different after all, is it?”
“It is.” He nodded, already feeling the other Ed ready to start an argument about how it was the same, down to the nature of his jealousy, but the more present side of himself knew better – Oswald had killed Isabella in a relatively withdrawn manner, and definitely in more of a kind way than some. That wasn’t what Ed wanted.
“I want this one to be personal.”
Well, fight or flight
I'd rather die
Than have to cry in front of you
Fight or flight
I'd rather lie
Than tell you I'm in love with you
My eyes are welling up as you admit there's someone new
It's my move
Fight or flight
He couldn’t bear to look further into his motives behind the fantasy, but it seemed the other Ed seemed satisfied enough that the confession of jealousy had come. No one knew Edward better than himself, he liked to think, so it was natural his subconscious would take what it could, when it could.
It was his turn to show he cared, though the draining nature of the argument made going back impossible. Slipping from the spare room, Edward looked at the occupied room before fleeing into the streets of Gotham with a shiver, an itching need to get away clawing under his skin. He didn’t dare to waste this driving force on some meaningless fight – Oswald deserved a display he’d be proud of, not a commotion that would cause for shame. So, with long strides, Edward staved off the cold by speeding home, leaving the shattered glass as his only goodbye.