Chapter Text
The Penguin warned his partner in crime about Alexander Luthor. The man reminded Oswald of Theo Galavan and seeing his smug face plastered on every billboard and newspaper article made his stomach twist in knots. It brought back a nostalgic hatred that he had quite literally blown into chunks decades ago. There was this charismatic twinkle in Luthor’s eye powerful enough to charm most Gothamites, but Oswald Cobblepot was not easily swayed.
Luthor offered the Penguin a seat at the table of an underground society but, after his experience with the Legion of Horribles and Jerome Valeska, Oswald politely declined. The Riddler, however, could not satiate his curiosity without taking a nosedive into what Lex Luthor had to offer.
The green menace took monthly trips to Metropolis. He always came home with a gift and the financial reassurance that his more extravagant projects would be funded by this new secret club of dubiousness. Not that the Penguin wouldn’t give the Riddler a blank check if asked, but Ed thought it best to keep any paper trail far away from the Iceberg Lounge.
When the Riddler returned after his most recent trip, Luther had gifted him an expensive-looking tie pin—platinum and gold with an impressive green stone.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was courting you.” Oswald exhaled a plume of smoke from his cigar. It enveloped the private booth in a lavender cloud.
“How do you know he isn’t?” The Riddler smirked. “He does seem to be giving me special treatment, but that could be because I am actually useful, unlike the other members of the Society.”
“Well, in that case, should I be expecting a happy announcement?”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” the Riddler said through a crooked grin. He leaned back against the leather seat and stretched his arms wide on either side, flaunting the way his silk shirt clung to his chest.
The Penguin and Riddler’s reunion sent ripples through Gotham. The Rogues Gallery united under Oswald’s umbrella in the hopes they’d have protection from the Batman. The villains were cordial and, for the most part, kept their quarrels far away from the Iceberg Lounge. That didn’t stop them from spreading rumors about the duo. There were whispers that permeated every dark corner and alley. They even managed to leak onto the front page of the Gotham Gazette. Full spreads displaying candid snapshots of them decorated in their colors alongside stories of a secret wedding.
The Penguin and Riddler were never available for comments, of course.
Oswald huffed and smoke billowed from his nose. “I’m not jealous.”
“Not even a little bit?” Ed winked.
“You are more than welcome to use the Lounge for your reception. Though, I suspect that Mr. Luther will plan something far more spectacular in Metropolis.”
“Don’t be that way,” Ed pouted. He leaned forward and whispered, “Nothing can compare to what you prepared for us here.”
“You mean the wedding that never happened?” Oswald smirked and didn’t bother quieting his voice.
“Ozzie ,” Ed purred, “it’s hard for anyone to take that lie seriously with that rock on your finger.”
“Yes, well—” The violet diamond glittered in the light. “—You were the one who insisted on spoiling me. How is that my fault?”
“Touché.” Ed glanced around. Lark, the head of security at the Iceberg Lounge, smirked and positioned her broad shoulders in front of their table. Ed grabbed Oswald by the tie and pulled him toward his lips.
Lark cleared her throat when their kiss lingered for a moment too long and both men made pitiful noises in reply.
“I don’t know why you two even bother keeping it a secret anymore,” Lark said.
“Because it’s fun,” Ed told her, nibbling at his bottom lip. “It’s a game at this point.”
She rolled her eyes but that did little to mask her fondness for her employers. She turned and smiled at them. “I’m gonna go check in with our perimeter, Boss.”
The gala was one of many the Penguin hosted at the Lounge. Each one celebrated a moment of Gotham’s past. Tonight was the 20th anniversary of the Barricade at No Man’s Land, the battle between the remaining refugees of Gotham City and the army led by Eduardo Dorrance and Nyssa al’Ghul. The Iceberg Lounge was commemorating the survival of their beloved city by looking forward to the future. The Art Deco aesthetics of the Lounge were replaced with something straight out of science fiction.
The wait staff were bedecked in stiff vinyl and scrolling LEDs advertising the drink specials for the evening. Attendees wore extravagant outfits that were more sculptural than practical. The Riddler, in particular, embraced the evening’s theme by choosing a suit consisting of sewn geometric patterns. At first glance, it looked like a modest charcoal until it reached the light, and then it gleamed in blinding iridescence. It gave him the look like he was wearing a broken mirror.
The Penguin only modified his usual attire. His purple coattails were replaced by a similar jacket with fiber optic threads sewn into the wefts, giving it an icy glow. His umbrella was replaced with one of Ed’s designs—a transparent mylar canopy and slick, reflective handle.
There was one detail, however, that went unnoticed by those who hadn’t fought alongside Penguin at the barricade: his monocle. Instead of the modest silver chain that had once belonged to his father, Oswald wore one with a bright red lens that resembled the fashionable crimson glasses he wore to the Barricade (Completely impractical for battle, but the Penguin wanted his corpse to stand out among the plain, boring people he fought beside).
Ed kept that shattered pair of glasses as a keepsake in their bedside drawer—a reminder of all that had been sacrificed for him. He lifted his hand to Oswald’s face and ran the pad of his thumb over the scars along his husband’s brow. Even now, there were tiny pellets of shrapnel beneath the man’s skin. If the grenade had landed even a few inches closer and if Oswald had not thrown himself on top of Edward, their names would be etched on the placard outside the GCPD among the others.
Edward mouthed the words, “I love you,” which received an immediate scolding from his favorite bird. Ed only smiled in response. He could accept the momentary ire if it brought color to his husband's wintery cheeks.
“Yoo-hoo,” a familiar voice called to them.
Barbara Kean slid into their booth beside Oswald. The impressive, triangular shoulders of her gown took up more room than Oswald’s rotund form. The EL wire along the seams of her dress shifted between glowing, fiery colors that matched her hair.
“Miss Kean…” Oswald gave her a polite smile, though anyone with a nose for it would sense his annoyance. “I assume you have something for us?”
“I do,” she smirked. “And I even added a few more sprinkles just to make it interesting. On the house.”
Oswald snapped his fingers in the direction of a nearby waiter. The young man made eye contact with the real estate tycoon before heading toward the bar to retrieve her usual order of a gimlet and cucumber sushi.
The Riddler leaned across the table with a wide grin. “I am silent, yet I speak. I’m fragile, though you seek. What am I?”
“You were right about Luthor,” she explained, ignoring the Riddler’s wordplay about secrets. “He’s poaching political favor so that he can move up the ranks in office, starting with running for Mayor of Gotham.”
“Ha!” Oswald chortled. “Why Gotham? Why not run for office in Metropolis?”
“He has too many enemies in Metropolis,” Ed said, “and, strategically, it makes sense. Crime is on the rise, even with the Bat lurking around. He’s taking advantage of the city’s fear and ripping a page straight out of your playbook.”
“I suppose, If he can clean up a place like Gotham City, he’ll have done what the Batman could not and he would gain the trust of the rest of the country,” Oswald spat.
“That’s not the best part.” Barbara wiggled her shoulders. She leaned in closer to whisper, “Superman is in Gotham.”
The Penguin and Riddler stared at one another, wide-eyed. The energy at their table crackled like a livewire had been tossed at their feet.
“You’re certain?” Ed asked.
“Positive,” she said. “Vicki Vale snapped a photo of him flying near Wayne Tower. It will be on the front page of every paper in the morning.”
“I’ll inform Lark to change the security protocols,” Ed said before standing and weaving through the crowd toward the Staff Only entrance.
“Does this make us even?” Barbara asked, squeezing a bit of extra lime into her cocktail.
A few months prior, Barbara Kean had found herself in some trouble. Her skills navigating Gotham’s Underworld had rusted with age, but her greed was just as palpable as ever. She had always been quite the little magpie and that itch had only worsened when she became the head curator at the Gotham Museum of Art. However, several deals had not gone in her favor. She’d trusted the wrong people, as she was oft to do, and found herself the unfortunate target of Two-Face and the Tally Man.
Unwilling to incriminate herself to Jim and nowhere else to turn, she approached the Penguin and begged him to use his resources to safeguard her and her family. He did so without hesitation.
“Consider the debt paid in full,” Oswald said with a wave of his hand. “How’s the little one?”
“Little? She’s twenty now.” Barbara took a healthy drink from her glass.
“Already?”
“I’m worried about her, Ozzie,” Barbara admitted. “She’s too much like Jim. She wants to do good but keeps getting in way over her head.”
“I’ll continue to keep an eye on her if you want.”
“And be in debt to you forever? No thanks.”
Oswald pondered a moment and then smiled. “Call me sentimental, but I feel rather protective of the baby from the barricade.”
Barbara grimaced, clearly weighing her options. Before she could protest, Oswald interrupted.
“At the very least, I will make sure that no harm comes to her while she is in my territory. That extends all the way to Gotham University,” Oswald reassured her. “She’s the daughter of someone I consider a friend, after all.”
“Are you talking about me or Jim?” She spoke the name of her child’s father with considerable disdain.
“Both,” he admitted. He nudged her shoulder with his own (or at least attempted to without stabbing himself with the sharp points of her decorative pauldrons). “But you’re my favorite.”
“I should hate you,” she scoffed, “but I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”
“Same to you.”
He’d always liked Barbara and had enjoyed her company since the moment he introduced himself under a false name and pretenses. She was a fun little spark, like fireworks, on Gotham’s landscape.
The night continued on with noticeably more guards. Lark had also informed Glacial Diamonds, the jewelry store next door that the Penguin used to launder excess goods, to bunker down for the evening. The last thing they wanted was to invite Superman if he happened to be flying overhead and saw their shipment trucks driving off with illegal imports.
“If Superman is in Gotham, I doubt he’s here to show the Bat how to do his job,” Ed said. “He’s here because Luthor is here.”
“Obviously,” Oswald said with a petulant roll of his eyes, “but one can never be too careful.”
“Yeah, I’d rather not go back to prison.” Ed punctuated his point by tossing a shot of whiskey to the back of his throat.
“I’d say we learned our lesson with that,” Oswald scoffed.
Ed pulled his husband’s hand towards his lips and kissed his knuckles. “I’d die if I was separated from you again.”
Oswald huffed, “You and your dramatics.”
“Isn’t that one of the reasons you’ve always loved me?” Ed grinned.
Oswald looked into Ed’s eyes and he could almost imagine him as he was. He was wild and driven with bold aspirations and plans for how he would carve his name on Gotham’s landscape. He conjured the memory often, Edward standing on the thrifted couch in his loft and treating it like a stage while he told his mentor all of his plans.
He should’ve known then just how smitten he was.
The crowd erupted into noisy chatter and flashing lights. Curious, the two men carved a path forward to see who’d arrived. The Penguin then smiled brightly at the tall, imposing form of Bruce Wayne.
“Mr. Wayne!” Oswald called out, “A pleasure as always. I’m glad you accepted my invitation.”
“Of course! I wouldn’t want to miss out,” Bruce Wayne smiled back at him and shook Oswald’s hand for the sake of the cameras. They lingered for a moment, staring eye-to-eye before they both took a step backward.
It took a few years of clever sleuthing before Oswald discovered Batman’s identity. Year one of Batman’s attempt to reign in Gotham’s criminals using fear had only gotten him so far. The lower level thugs and petty criminals thought twice about their actions, but the more established gangsters scoffed at him (“This is Gotham. If he wants to wear leather he should just wear leather!”).
Poison Ivy was too cruel and too self-righteous to fear him, Scarecrow laughed, the Riddler routinely made it a game to outsmart him, and the Joker was so in love with him that he considered Batman’s tactics to be tantamount to flirting.
In the beginning, the Penguin encouraged the Rogues Gallery to take out the Batman. He’d even funded some of their plans and put a substantial bounty on the masked crime fighter’s head. However, the introduction of the Boy Wonder made Oswald hesitate. He’d always had a keen eye and a nose for people’s secrets.
He reached out to Bruce Wayne shortly after to scold him for putting a boy as young as Richard Grayson into the line of fire because even the Penguin had standards regarding pointing tommy guns at children. Since then, they had a…mutual understanding and commitment to keep the Rogues in line.
“And who might this be?” Oswald asked, gesturing to the man in the grey pinstripe suit beside him sporting ugly blue LED glasses frames.
“This is my partner for the evening,” Bruce explained. “Oswald Cobblepot, meet Clark Kent.”
Mr. Kent was tall, angular, and remarkably broad. His features were chiseled and Oswald thought that he was far too beautiful to be wearing such plain clothes.
What made him stand out the most was his smile. It was effortless and boyish. In Gotham, such a smile was reserved for private conversations. A smile like that only drew unwanted attention and the man was woefully ignorant that it was stirring the pot of anxiety among the locals.
“Partner?” Oswald lifted a devious eyebrow. He leaned in so that only Bruce could hear, “A bit dangerous for you to be introducing us, don’t you think?”
“Why is that?” The octave of Bruce’s voice dipped low, bordering on sinister. “You don’t have any ulterior motives, do you?”
Oswald shrugged, “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”
“That would be a bad gamble, Penguin,” Bruce chuckled, his voice now that of his usual billionaire-brat persona.
“That protective of him, are you?”
“No, I’d be more worried about your safety than his.”
Before Oswald could say anything more, Mr. Kent thrust his hand forward in greeting.
“Mr. Cobblepot, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise…” Oswald took his hand and squawked the moment Clark’s fingers closed around his palm. It felt like he was being strangled in a vice and Clark’s muscles seemingly had no give to them, like he was made of marble.
“Yowza!” Edward, in an embarrassing display of shamelessness, groped at Clark’s bicep and whistled.
Oswald slapped Ed’s hand away and glared. He looked back at Clark with a restrained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Please excuse my friend. He’s the village idiot.”
“Hey…” Ed pouted. Then, with a flourish, he removed his hat and bowed. “I’m The Riddler.”
“Ah, yes!” Clark smiled. “I’ve heard about you. That museum heist was quite impressive! It’s not every day that someone can commit a crime simultaneously in Gotham and Star City, and all because of a clever distraction and a rubber chicken. You really know how to put on a performance.”
“I allegedly committed a crime, but thank you! A t least someone around here appreciates my genius.”
“And I assume it was with the help of Mr. Cobblepot here that you managed to escape jail time?” Clark raised an eyebrow. Ed’s mouth snapped shut.
“You don’t look like a cop.” Oswald stepped forward. “A bodyguard, perhaps?”
“Who, me?” Clark chuckled. There was an accent—youthful and with a distinctive twang hidden beneath careful syllables. “No, I’m a reporter for the Daily Planet.”
Bruce looped his arm in the crook of Clark’s elbow, “Clark is here to write a piece on Wayne Enterprises contributions to Gotham’s infrastructure after No Man’s Land.”
“So is your plan to seduce him into not exposing the less-than-savory aspects of your company?”
That caught Clark’s attention and he immediately looked beside him at Bruce’s stoic face with a vulture’s intensity. Reporters, no matter how charming, were all the same.
Bruce was careful in his wording, “I have strived for transparency with Wayne Enterprises and have even personally exposed corruption within my own company.”
“What about the rumors regarding Wayne Enterprises' contracts with the Military? I heard you’re manufacturing experimental weapons. That’s not in the news.”
“Those contracts are confidential.”
Oswald chortled, “So much for transparency!” He turned to Clark as he continued, “I heard his company provided the engine used in the Batmobile. I’m fairly certain it’s not up to federal standards to be safely driven on our roads, not to mention it was directly supplied to a known vigilante criminal. That might be an interesting story, Mr. Clark.”
“That would certainly be an eye-catching headline.” Clark nodded. “So would an exclusive interview with the Kingpin of Gotham and his…associate.”
"I am a legitimate businessman, Mr. Kent. I assure you."
“Clark…” Bruce grumbled.
“What?” Clark Kent’s natural accent peeked through as he added, “When in Gotham, right?”
Bruce Wayne mingled with a few guests before drawing his attention back to the Penguin. Oswald tried to not find it strange, though it was evident that there was something on the young Bat’s mind. Oswald, with his drink re-filled, stood beside the resident billionaire.
“There aren’t any clowns in the crowd tonight who might be jealous of your arm candy.”
“One would hope.” Bruce barely hid his frown. “Isn’t he banned from the Lounge?”
“You really think that stops him?” Oswald looked over toward the man at the bar. Clark Kent appeared consistent in his courtesy. He treated the waitresses and the social elites near the bar with the same astute sincerity he’d bestowed on his hosts. It was jarring to see someone so genuine grace the cobblestones of Gotham City.
Mr. Kent stumbled into a waitress and was helping clean up a mess he’d caused, wasting fistfuls of papery napkins. Oswald brought his attention back to Bruce Wayne and continued, “But, rest assured that this is still a sanctuary and no harm will come to him while he’s here.”
“I appreciate that, Penguin, but he really doesn’t need your protection.”
“Then what has you on edge, old friend?”
Bruce scanned the room, taking careful consideration of the darkened shadows and the railing along the VIP section. With a practiced smile, he looked down at the Penguin. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
Clark returned from the bar and held out a glass of champagne to Bruce, but halted his movements so quickly that the liquid sloshed over the rim of the glass. His attention had been drawn somewhere near the staff exit and he seemed to be glaring at a fixed point on the wall. Suddenly, his expression shifted back to something more friendly and he smiled.
“Sorry ‘bout that!” Clark thrust both champagne flutes into Bruce Wayne’s hands. “I’ll be right back.”
Bruce said nothing as the taller man disappeared into the crowd. Oswald assumed Bruce would do much the same, but the man found himself flanked on either side by reporters from the Gotham Gazette. Normally, Oswald would be loathe to share in any limelight, especially inside his own club and during an event he was hosting, but the commotion on the far end of the bar drew his attention elsewhere.
Lark and the Riddler barged through the Staff Only doors. Edward’s eyes were wide in fury and Lark’s finger was tightly pressed against her earpiece. She barked instructions at some of the wait staff who set their trays aside on the catering tables and pulled weapons from hidden holsters.
“What’s happening?” Oswald asked in a hushed tone once he was huddled between his paramour and head of security.
“The GCPD is next door,” Ed said. “We were robbed.”
“What?!” Oswald squawked. “Someone had the audacity to steal from me?”
“Glacial Diamonds is secure, including the basement,” Lark assured him. “Looks like some nobody was just trying to make a quick buck.”
“Everyone knows whose territory this is!” The Riddler and Lark glanced at one another. Ed visibly braced himself for an impact of some kind. Oswald could feel steam pouring out his ears. “What else is wrong?”
Before either of them could open their mouths to answer, the crowd inside the Iceberg Lounge began their frantic rush toward the front doors. Patrons pointed out the windows and shoved one another for a better view as police lights flashed against the glass.
The Penguin’s anger perfumed the air in front of him. Those who didn’t clear a path for their gracious host and the Riddler were shoved out of the way by Lark and other armed security.
“GCPD!” Commissioner Gordon yelled over a bullhorn. “Put the man down!”
Oswald looked across the street at the broken windows of Glacial Diamonds and frowned. The Riddler was at Oswald’s elbow, gently squeezing at him with an expression of shock and awe, and his eyes were fixed on something high above them: Superman floated gracefully in the air while holding a screaming, flailing burglar in his grasp. Slowly, he drifted down towards the ground and stared awkwardly at the man he’d captured.
Not wanting to waste the opportunity to make a good impression, Oswald hurried forward toward the Hero of Metropolis. “Thank you for your service, Super–”
“Oswald!” Jim bellowed. “Stay back. He’s dangerous.”
Oswald turned incredulously. “Dangerous? This man just caught a criminal—”
The burglar screamed in terror the moment his feet touched the ground and ran towards the police. He stumbled with a considerable limp and blood poured from his nose and brow. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut.
“Serves him right!” Oswald said, pointing at the burglar. He turned toward Superman but all he saw was a look of disappointment and frustration.
Cameras flashed, causing Superman to wince. The police shouted for everyone to keep their distance, though that wasn’t enough to stop the vultures of the Gazette. The man that had been at the mercy of Superman was being attended to by an ambulance and had a shock banket wrapped around his shoulders.
It wasn’t long before the area was swimming with reporters and cameras. Then, right on cue, a limousine pulled up beside them and Oswald could tell by Edward’s sigh that Alexander Luthor had finally decided to make an appearance.
Superman, who had already lingered far too long than he should have, flew upwards and disappeared into the clouds with a crack of air that nearly toppled Oswald to the ground. The attention immediately pivoted toward Luthor as he shook Commissioner Gordon’s hand and posed for the cameras.
The Penguin sat at his private booth, forgoing a glass and drinking straight from an aged bottle of Bowmore. His look of disgust was accentuated by his age lines, but the Riddler couldn’t help but stare lovingly at the deep marks on his secret husband’s face.
“The nerve,” Oswald scowled, “and to ruin an evening meant to commemorate those lost at the Barricade? Disgraceful.”
Ed chuckled and gently took the bottle from the man’s grasp. The morning light was starting to illuminate the stained glass of the Lounge windows and Edward didn’t want the man to continue drinking into the following day. He stood, taking Oswald’s hand into his own and coaxing him to his feet. Oswald responded with a series of indignant squawks but they faded off into a grumble as Ed pulled their bodies closer and swayed side to side on the empty dance floor.
Ed ruined the romance between them by saying, “You don’t actually care about that, Oswald. You’re mad that you were upstaged.”
“Upstaged? Me?”
“The cameras were pointed at him,” Ed shrugged. “All eyes are on Lex Luthor while he makes his power play.”
“Including yours?” Oswald snapped.
Ed rolled his eyes and leaned in for a kiss to ease the tension between them. Instead, Oswald pulled away with a pout.
“I'm not in the mood.”
Ed frowned. “You're not seriously jealous of Lex, are you?”
Oswald didn’t answer and Edward stared at the swirling marble patterns on the floor.
“I'm hurt,” Ed admitted in a small voice. It was a voice he didn’t use often, only ever in the privacy of their home and with Oswald curled around him. His vulnerability was usually caressed and coddled by the other man, but evidently, Oswald's patience was thin that morning.
“Oh, what for?” Oswald rolled his eyes.
“You honestly think that I would betray you like that?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time!”
Ed's mouth drooped open and his brow furrowed. “With Lex Luthor?” Ed scoffed and gave his husband a once-over. “He’s not really my type.”
“He’s a man with money and power. That is exactly your type.”
Ed’s frown deepened. “You think money and power were the reasons I married you? In secret, no less?”
Oswald huffed and looked away. Ed’s expression made his heart ache. He knew that he and Edward were secure enough in their partnership, but there was always a painful thought stabbing at his subconscious. He knew he was hard to love and certainly undeserving of it. Everyone he loved either died or drifted away from him, or so he believed… It was usually Edward who reminded him that he had friends, that the Rogues Gallery not only respected him but were even genuinely friendly with him on occasion. He had the found family of freaks he’d longed for, he was just often ungrateful and blind to that fact when he was in a bad mood.
Edward sighed. “Do you want me to kill him? Would that make you feel better? I’ll have no problems getting close to him and I’d do it all for you.”
“As satisfying as that would be, I think we should approach this moRE—AAAAH!”
Oswald screamed and ducked behind Edward. Not knowing what the danger was, Edward pulled his handgun from its holster and pointed it in the direction of his husband’s ire. Something shiny whistled by him, slammed into his wrist, and clattered to the floor along with the gun. Edward barely had time to recognize the shape of the polished Batarang before the Batman himself emerged from a darkened corner.
“Aren’t bats supposed to be nocturnal?” Oswald growled.
“This couldn’t wait until the evening,” Batman said in a gruff tone.
The imposing figure stepped forward into a harsh beam of morning light, revealing all the pitted dings and scratches of his suit that were impossible to see in the dark. He looked worn down and exhausted in a way he didn’t (and shouldn’t) advertise. The Penguin and the Riddler both took mental notes but knew that Batman must be desperate and they weren’t going to turn down an opportunity to have him in their debt.
There was a knock at the front doors. The two men stared at the vigilante and their confusion only grew when Batman didn’t budge. There was another knock, more insistent this time, and Oswald nudged his partner toward the doors.
Edward rolled his eyes and shouted, “It’s unlocked.”
The tall doors of the establishment creaked open and the interloper peeked his head around the corner. The Penguin and Riddler visibly tensed as the man with the colorful suit and cape made his way inside and shut the door behind him.
“Mama always taught me it was polite to knock. Your sign said you were closed...” He frowned at Batman. “Do you always make a habit of breaking and entering?”
“...Yes.”
“Well, I would appreciate it if you taught your friend here sOME MANNERS!” Oswald’s voice echoed off the marble and tall ceilings. Edward was the only one who flinched.
“We need your help,” Batman said.
“My help?” Oswald scoffed. “Batman, I am a legitimate businessman and former public servant, why should I help two wanted criminals?”
“Lex Luthor is planning something big for Gotham,” Superman explained.
“He’s running for Mayor,” Oswald said, assuming that was what they were referring to.
“Not before creating a crisis that he can take advantage of,” Batman told them. He handed a police report to the Riddler who snatched it from him and thumbed through the pages. “Members of the Royal Flush Gang kidnapped a scientist working for Wayne Enterprises.”
“Sounds like Wayne Enterprises needs better security,” Oswald taunted.
“The device that he was developing for the military was also stolen. We were able to track his location to LexCorp in Metropolis.”
“Why not have the big guy fly in and rescue your scientist?” Ed asked.
“I can’t,” Superman told them. “For…reasons.”
“We know that you’re a member of Luthor’s Society, Riddler,” Batman growled.
“Hm? Society? What Society?”
“If you honestly think Commissioner Gordon and I haven’t been tracking your every move, then you aren’t really the smartest man in Gotham.”
Ed bit down on the inside of his cheek and scowled. “I might have met Lex Luthor for lunch once or twice.”
“We need someone on the inside to get us as much information on what Luthor is planning so we can prevent another catastrophe like No Man’s Land…and you did just say you would have no problem getting close to him.”
“Of course I can. Lex’s security is highly sophisticated. I could get in, but it would take time and someone would notice if I was gone. I’m not sticking my neck out for the Batman.”
Batman stepped forward and towered over the two Rogues Gallery members, however his tone wasn't the one he used to instill fear. It was uncomfortably human coming from him. "You two fought at the Barricade even when you had the opportunity to flee or to hide. We have our differences, but I know you wouldn't want to let Luthor create another calamity that could send us back there."
"Do you really think he's capable of something like that?" Oswald asked, doubt lacing his tone.
"Yes," Ed said without pause. "He can and he would. Or worse."
“Wh-what about Catwoman?” Oswald asked. “The Riddler can let her in and then he can keep the Society distracted. She’s a bit elusive though. I can never find her when I need her, but that shouldn’t be a problem for Batman here.”
“...It would be best if you contacted Catwoman and not me.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Oswald asked. Both Batman and Superman glanced at one another and Oswald noticed the flush that crept up Superman’s throat. “ Ah ! You started dating the guy from work and kicked the cat to the alley?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Batman admitted.
“I don’t care,” Oswald waved a hand between them. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, but conceded to their request anyway. “If assisting you in this plan with Catwoman will ensure that Lex Luthor is no longer in my hair, then I suppose I can lend a helping hand.”