Chapter Text
Abigail Gordon peeks out of her room to make sure that her dad has finished talking on the phone. The Commissioner is sitting on the sofa, head in his hands. He looks tired, he always does, but Abigail takes a deep breath and walks into the room.
“Dad? Can you help me with my history assignment?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Jim says, and pats the sofa beside him. “Come here.”
Smiling, Abigail settles beside Jim, cuddling to his side, and Jim wraps an arm around her shoulder.
“So, what is this assignment about?”
“Gotham’s gangsters,” Abigail says with a bit of apprehension, looking up to see her dad’s jaw tighten. She knows he doesn’t like the topic, and avoids discussing it as much as possible.
“What about them?”
“Well, I know I could read up on them in books and newspapers, but I really need to get a good grade on this essay. So I thought that I would do a more thorough research, and impress Ms. Harrison.”
“These are the kind of things you study at school?” Jim asks, shaking his head. “Sadly, gangsters aren’t history yet.”
“It’s contemporary history, dad, and it is a part of the city, whether you accept it or not. Come on, you were there when the war between the mob families started, right?”
“I was. I had just returned to Gotham.”
“See? An actual witness’s account is better than what books or papers could tell me,”Abigail points out. When she sees the frown that starts to form on her father’s face, she quickly reminds her dad, “It’s really important I get a good grade on this or I won’t pass Ms. Harrison’s class.”
Jim is silent for a second, and Abigail is convinced he has changed his mind about helping her until he finally speaks, “Alright, what do you want to know?”
Abigail grins, “Who’s Carmine Falcone?”
“No one you should know about.”
“But dad !”
“Okay, okay… he was the mob lord of Gotham at the time.”
“Sal Maroni was his enemy, right?”
Jim rolls his eyes. “You already know everything, I’m not sure what else you want to hear from me. But at the beginning, there was a balance in the city. The two families were civil with each other — they had divided Gotham, and each ruled over their part. Each family did their dirty business on their territory, and didn’t care about the other.”
“So what caused the war then?” Abigail asks, confused.
“Not what, but who . It was a complete surprise. He weaved his plots in the darkness, unobserved. No one suspected an umbrella boy to climb the hierarchy – I guess that’s how he wins, because people always underestimate him,” Jim adds quietly, and Abigail doesn’t know how to interpret the admiration and wistfulness in his voice.
”Who is this man?”
“Oswald Cobblepot.”
Jim is staring at the wall across the room, lost in his thoughts, his expression not even similar to the one he adopts when he talks about criminals.
“You mean The Penguin?” Abigail asks, and turns to have a better look at her father.
Jim just grunts, and gets up from the sofa. “It’s getting late, you should go to bed.”
“Wait, dad, I have more questions,” Abigail protests, but Jim shakes his head. “Not tonight. Time to go to bed, Abby.”
Abigail sighs, and wishes her dad goodnight, acting as if she’s already forgotten about their discussion, but even as she’s lying in her bed, all she can think of is her dad’s face when he was talking about Penguin.
The next morning the conversation from the night before still lingers in her mind. The way her father spoke about the man known as The Penguin sparked her curiosity. She has many questions. Who was he to her father? Why did the mention of his name alone bring a melancholic expression to her dad’s face? She knows that it would be pointless asking her father these questions. An idea started to form in the back of her head last night, and this morning it has solidified into an actual plan. If her father doesn’t give her answers, then she must find them out by herself.
So that afternoon, right after school, she decides to visit The Iceberg Lounge. Although she’s never been to the club personally before – she’s been advised by her father to avoid this part of Gotham – the building was unmistakable. She’s nervous when she approaches the entrance to the club, for there’s no telling what will happen when she walks through the door. She can picture her father’s reaction if he knew where she was right then, and she’s almost tempted to just turn back now. However, if she doesn’t go through with this, she’ll never know the truth, at least not the whole version of it. Her curiosity outweighs her nerves.
The club is empty, something she’s not surprised about, given that the sun is still out and it is a nightclub . Which is why she decided to come during the day instead, since it would be lacking its usual crowd of low level criminals and other people her father had probably put away.
Across the room, she spots a man behind the bar putting up bottles of alcohol onto a shelf above him. He’s quite small, has dark hair and is wearing a suit that looks much too fancy for a simple bartender.
As she starts to approach the bar, the man turns around and stops when he sees her. She notices a spark of recognition in the man’s eyes before it vanishes, a guarded mask in its place.
“We’re closed,” the man says, walking around the bar. That’s when Abigail notices the limp.
“You’re Oswald Cobblepot!”
Oswald squints at her, “And you’re much too young to even be in here. How old are you? Fourteen?”
“Fifteen,” she corrects him smugly, holding out her hand. “I’m Abigail Gordon-”
Oswald quickly cuts her off, “Yes, I know who you are. You couldn’t deny that your Jim’s daughter even if you wanted to.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She asks, curious at what his response would be, although she thinks she can already guess it. There seems to be a compliment lurking underneath his words by the way his voice sounds. She recognizes that tone ‒ it was the same one her father used the night before, while he was talking about the man in front of her.
Much to her dismay, he doesn’t answer, instead his gaze drops to the outstretched hand between them. He eyes it warily, as if he’s not expecting such politeness from her, and she wonders if that has something to do with her father. She thinks that the subtle hint in his tone is somehow incompatible with this distrust, but Oswald Cobblepot looks like a man of contradictions.
“What exactly is Commissioner Gordon’s daughter doing at my club?”
“Oh, right.” Abigail moves her bookbag off her shoulder, unzipping it and pulling out a notebook. “I’m working on an essay and was wondering if you could help?”
Oswald looks intrigued now, “You want my help?”
“Yes, I was hoping I could ask you some questions if you don’t mind.”
Oswald tilts his head in thought, “What is the topic of this essay that would require my assistance?”
Abigail pauses before answering, not sure how Mr. Cobblepot would take the response. “Gotham’s gangsters…”
“You came all the way here ‒ a place run by a criminal and full of illicit activities ‒ just to make inquiries for your report?”
“Uh...Yes?”
Silence ensues. Oswald is watching her, but Abigail isn’t sure he’s really looking at her; instead, his mind seems to be somewhere else, like he’s lost in a memory from a long time ago. She clears her throat, “Mr. Cobblepot?”
The noise startles Oswald, and brings his attention back to the present. “Does your father know you’re here?”
The question throws her off guard; she didn’t expect the subject of her father knowing her whereabouts coming up in the conversation. “I-I...Uh-”
Before she can even stutter out a response, Oswald is already pulling out his phone from his pocket, dialing a number. “Hello,James. No, this isn’t about that… just thought I’d let you know that your daughter is here at The Iceberg Lounge.”
Abigail winces at the shouting on the other end of the line, but Oswald just rolls his eyes. “She’s okay. Just come and get her.”
“Would you like to drink something till your dad gets here?” Oswald asks, and Abigail splutters. “Not alcohol, young lady, what do you think I am? I have apple and orange juice.”
“Uh, apple is fine, thank you,” Abigail says, and watches curiously as Oswald pours her a glass, then disappears in what she assumes is his office. So Penguin has her father’s number… interesting. Although she assumes it’s not that difficult to get a hold of the Commissioner’s number. A couple of minutes later, Oswald returns with a bowl of peanuts for his guest, and a thick book under his arm.
Abigail cranes her neck, and notices that it’s a ledger. How boring, she’s sitting with the biggest criminal lord of Gotham, and he’s doing his accounting. She sighs, and thinks she should try to ask for his help again. “Mr. Cobblepot? Won’t you help me?”
“No, I don’t think your father would approve of it.”
“Why are you so afraid of him?” Abigail exclaims, and taps her fingers against the counter.
“Afraid of him?” Oswald scoffs. “Please. I’m the furthest away from fear.”
With a sigh, Abigail resigns to asking other questions, and sips her juice. Not much later, her father bursts into the club, and the expression on his face would be best described as murderous. Abigail shrinks in her seat under Jim’s hard stare, and his hand feels heavy as he puts it on her shoulder.
“How could you be this foolish?!”
“Dad…”
“We’ll talk when we get home.”
She knows it was stupid of her to come here, and that her curiosity would get her in trouble. Abigail watches as her dad steps to Oswald, very close to him, definitely breaching his personal space. However, Oswald doesn’t seem bothered: in fact, he looks as if he’s expected this. He’s not submissive or defiant, no. He looks as if he’s playing a game he’s been part of many times before.
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing.”
Jim leans in even closer, and Abigail knows this is him assessing whether Oswald is lying or not. There’s a tension vibrating in the air, as the two keep staring at each other, until Oswald looks to his left at the counter. “I just offered Miss Gordon some juice.”
She doesn’t know why, but Abigail holds her breath. Her father glances at the glass on the counter, and then finally nods. He steps back, and then wraps an arm around Abigail, dragging her towards the exit.
“Goodbye, Miss Gordon. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Abigail looks back once more, Oswald Cobblepot watching them with a grin and sparks in his eyes. He sends her a little wave goodbye before she’s completely out the door.
She’s surprised to find Harvey outside the club, waiting by his car, arms stretched over the roof of the vehicle.
“Uncle Harvey, what are you doing here?”
“Was with your old man when he got the call. Never could pass up a chance to see my favorite niece.” Harvey grins.
“I’m your only niece,” Abigail says, sliding in the backseat. She feels a bit relieved that Harvey’s here, delaying the inevitable confrontation with her father’s wrath for a more few minutes.
Abigail has seen her father angry before, she has seen him frustrated over not being able to crack a certain case before, but nothing is worse than seeing him being disappointed with her.
“What were you doing at Penguin’s joint anyways?” Harvey ask, eyes catching hers in the rear view mirror.
Abigail throws a quick glance at her father in the passenger seat, hesitating before responding, “I was trying to ask him some questions for a history assignment.”
“If you needed help with your homework, you could’ve come to your Uncle Harvey. I may not look it, but I’m way smarter than that weasel you were talking to,” Harvey pauses for a second before adding, “and your dad too!”
Abigail can’t suppress the giggle that escapes her mouth. Her shoulders are shaking as she presses a hand to cover her mouth. Harvey shoots her a wink through the mirror, pleased at seeing her worried frown shifting into a smile.
“That’s enough, Harvey. This isn’t a laughing matter.” Jim reprimands. “What she did was absolutely reckless.”
“Relax, Jimbo. Nothing happened. She’s completely fine. Honestly, the whole thing reminds me of something you would do. How many times did you go to Penguin for help?”
Abigail’s ears perk up at that. Her father used to go to Mr. Cobblepot for help?
“That was different.” Abigail can tell her father is getting flustered by the way the back of his ears are starting to turn red. “I was a cop and it was always for a case.”
Even though she’s incredibly curious, she doesn’t ask anything ‒ it’s not exactly the best time. Harvey drops them off in front of their house, and shows his thumb to Abigail, who looks back desperately.
She sits down on the sofa, watching as her father paces a few times before he stops in front of her.
“Do you realize how absolutely irresponsible it was of you to go there?! How many times have I told you not to set foot in that part of the city?”
Abigail hangs her head. “I just wanted some help with the essay.”
“But from him ?! Are you aware how dangerous he is? How many people he’s killed? He’s been the number one crime lord for more years than I care to admit. Of course, he’s rich and powerful enough now not to do it himself, but he’s still a gangster.”
Tears burn in Abigail’s eyes, and the lump in her throat prevents her from saying that that’s not what she saw in Mr. Cobblepot’s eyes, and that he could have hurt her easily, but instead offered her juice and called her father immediately.
“I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Jim rubs his face. “You’re a clever girl, Abby. Don’t ever do anything reckless like that, okay? I have to go now, but I’ll help you out with the essay one of these days, okay?”
“Okay,” Abigail whispers, and pouts as her dad leaves and gets back into the car with Harvey.
She goes to her room, pushing the thousands of questions about Mr. Cobblepot to the back of her mind. Her father was right, she shouldn’t have gone there. She’ll do the research for the essay the right way, and hope for the best.