Chapter Text
The back room of Chen's bodega had changed.
What was once a cramped space filled with dusty boxes and a single flickering light had become something else. The boxes were still there, stacked against the walls in neat rows, but now they were organised and labelled with dates and contents in a handwriting that had become familiar.
You were sitting behind your desk as chen walks in. You had your sleeves rolled up, and your hair tied back.
With a pen between your fingers, you had the ledgers open in front of you, filling up the columns of numbers. It wasn't difficult anymore.
"Marcus called," you said, your voice flat. "He wants to meet tomorrow. Something about his uncle's shipment."
Chen grunted, hanging his coat on the hook by the door. "What time?"
"Eight. At the Iceberg Lounge."
"He's pushing it. We don't meet there unless it's important," Chen said.
"Maybe it's important."
"Or maybe he just wants to see you."
You looked up, raising an eyebrow, giving that "seriously?" look. "He wants to see you. I'm just the messenger."
Chen's mouth twitched. "Sure, kid. That's what he said."
You ignored him and went back to the numbers. You fidget with the pen, with intense focus continuing to observe the books.
Chen walked to the desk and looked over your shoulder. His eyes scanned the ledgers.
He was still in his coat, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the scar on his forearm, the old knife wound, pale and raised against his skin. His hair was greyer than it had been a year ago, but his posture was the same controlled posture.
"Find something?" he asked.
"Three accounts," you said, not looking up. "The numbers don't match."
"Where?"
"Suppliers. East Dock. West Dock. And the one in the Industrial District." You tapped the page with your pen. "Each of them shorted us this month. Not by much. Maybe a few hundred each."
"Maybe it's a mistake."
"it's not."
Chen was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled out a chair and sat down across from you. He didn't speak. He just watched you work.
You flipped through the ledgers, cross-referencing payments, deliveries, and dates. Your hand moved quickly, familiar with the patterns. You'd been doing this for over a year now, tracking Chen's money, his shipments, his information. You'd become fluent in the language of numbers a language that you once didn't know. You'd become fluent in the language of his world.
"There," you said, pointing to a line. "Look at this. The East Dock supplier his invoices are consistent. But the payments? They don't match. He's undercharging us."
"Undercharging?"
"I assume on purpose. Look at the pattern. Every other shipment, he shorts us by about five per cent. Then he makes up for it with the next one. But the numbers are fudged. He's manipulating the totals to hide something."
You saw chen studying the page. You also saw that his jaw tightened.
"That's not the only one," you continued. "If you look at the West Dock, it has the same pattern but with different supplier. And here. In the Industrial District the numbers are clean, but the dates are off. Deliveries are marked as received three days before they actually arrived."
You looked up at him.
Chen leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked under his weight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes Manchester Red. He held it, rolling it between his fingers.
"How much are we short?" he asked quietly.
"About twenty percent overall."
"That bastard..." he said, his voice low and cold. "Thinks he can trick us again."
"What do we do?" you asked.
"Like what we always do. We send a message."
He stood up and walked to the filing cabinet. And unlocked it with a key he kept on a chain around his neck the only key to the cabinet, the one he never let out of his sight. He pulled out a thick and wornfolder, and set it on the desk.
"This is everything from the East Dock supplier," he said. "His family, business, debts, his secrets. Every mistake he's ever made. Every person he's ever crossed."
He slid the folder toward you.
"I want you to read it. Memorise it. And then I want you to tell me what to do."
You stared at the folder. Then at him.
"You want my opinion? You want me to tell you what to do?"
"I want your strategy."
You opened the folder. The pages were filled with Chen's cramped handwriting it was messy. But still readable. It looks like it was written years go. Names, dates, amounts, connections. A spiderweb of information that stretched across Gotham.
You took your time to read it, taking notes. When you had questions you asked them.
By the time you finished, it was late. The bodega was closed and the street outside was dark and quiet.
You looked up from the folder. Your eyes met Chen's.
"We don't hit him directly," you said. "That's what he expects. He's prepared for a fight."
"Then what?"
"We hit him where it hurts. His family."
Chen's expression didn't change. But you knew you interpreted it wrong.
"Not them, not literally," you said quickly, reading his face. "We hit where it hurts. His reputation or his business. Hes got a wife right? Two kids thats in private school. This family has an expensive taste. But what we also know is that he's been hiding money from her. His wife. Maybe a mistress, maybe. Or maybe something else. But we hit somewhere that he would be scared of losing what he’s built."
You tapped the page.
"If we expose the affair and send anonymous proof to his wife. She'll leave him and take the kids. She has the rights to take half of his assets. And when he's scrambling to keep his business afloat and his reputation going, that's when we move."
"And if he comes after us?"
"He won't. By the time he figures out who did it, it'll be too late. He'll be too busy picking up the pieces."
Chen was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Good," he said. "Do it."
You closed the folder and stood up. Your legs were stiff from sitting. You stretched, rolling your shoulders. You caught your reflection in the dark window older and sharper, and less tired than you used to be. Brutal tactics like this didn't make you feel pity anymore. You've grown to it. Hitting where it hurts? When you fight, you go all in or you don't at all.
Chen was still watching you.
"When did you get so good at this?"
You shrugged. "You taught me well. And….”
“And?”
Marcus showed me how to think like them. To enjoy this side of gotham"
"Marcus."
"Yeah. He talks a lot. Most of it's useless. But some of it's useful."
Chen nods."Go to bed, kid. Big day tomorrow."
You watched him walk out, his footsteps heavy on the stairs.
You sat there, alone, surrounded by ledgers and files and the hum of the refrigerator.
Your phone buzzed.
Marcus: Still on for tomorrow?
You stared at the screen.
You: Eight. Iceberg Lounge.
Marcus: Can't wait to see you.
Marcus: And Chen, obviously. But mostly you.
You let out a scoff with a smirk.
The next day, you walked into the Iceberg Lounge like you owned it.
The club was Oswald Cobblepot's territory build like a showcase of a monument to all his ego. Everywhere was fmade by marble, crystal and velvet. Huge chandeliers, casting warm light over the crowd. The crowd og Gotham’s elite mingling with gotham’s underworld.The line between the two had always been thin and blurry in this city.
The bouncer at the door recognised you. He nodded once and stepped aside.
You were dressed differently than you used to be. You didnt wore thrift store jeans or dresses anymore. You had an imagination, and it shows. Tonight, you wore a black, fitted blazer over a silk tank, with tailored trousers that were comfortable and sharp. Your hair was down, and it curled at the ends, with a necklace. that hung against your collarbone.
Marcus was already at the table when you arrived. He stood up as you approached, his smile wide and easy. He is effortlessly handsome, with dark hair, bright eyes, a jaw that could cut glass. He wore a suit that was tailored to complement his hight and build.
"Y/N," he said, reaching out to take your hand. "You look incredible."
"You say that every time." you smile.
"Because it's true every time."
He kissed your knuckles gently. You let him. It was harmless, and he was harmless, and you knew he meant nothing by it.
Chen walked in behind you, and Marcus dropped your hand. His smile didn't falter; he was smart enough to know Chen was the one he needed to impress.
"Chen," Marcus said, extending his hand. "Good to see you."
"Where's Oswald?" Chen asked, ignoring the handshake.
"Late. He sends his apologies. Something about a shipment at the docks."
Chen grunted. "We wait."
The three of you sat down. A waiter appeared, and you ordered water. Chen ordered whisky. Marcus ordered a glass of something expensive that he never finishes.
"So," Marcus said, leaning back in his chair. "My uncle's been talking about you, Y/N."
"Should I be flattered?"
"Absolutely. He doesn't talk about people he doesn't respect."
Chen looked at him. "What does he want?"
Marcus's smile flickered just for a second. "He wants to expand. More territory, influence, and more connections. He thinks you could be useful."
"Useful how?"
"My uncle's operations are shifting. The usual routes are getting too hot, and he needs someone who knows how to move things without being noticed. He's heard about your... network."
Chen's expression didn't change. "My network is not for sale."
"I'm not asking you to sell it. I'm… asking you to partner with him."
"Partnership implies trust. I don't trust him."
Marcus leaned forward. "You trust me?"
Chen frowns slightly. "I trust your mother. I don't trust anyone else."
Marcus genuinely laughed. He wasn't good at faking anything. "Fair enough. But my uncle is serious. He's willing to offer a lot."
Chen was quiet for a moment. Then he glanced at you.
"Y/N," he said. "What do you think?"
You looked at Marcus. He was watching you with his head tilted to the side, a curious glint in his eyes.
"I think," you said slowly, "that we should hear him out. But we should also be prepared for him to try to screw us over."
The door to the private room opened. A familiar figure came in dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. A monocle glinted over one eye with a cigar was clamped between his teeth.
"Apologies," Oswald Cobblepot said, his voice carrying the weight of a man who never truly apologised. "Business never sleeps. You understand."
Chen didn't stand. He barely moved from his position. "You're late, Oswald."
"Fashionably so." Cobblepot settled into the chair at the head of the table. "I was detained by a shipment of... unusual items."
"Unusual how?"
"Let's just say the penguins have been busy."
Chen scoofs. "Penguins don't make excuses, Oswald."
"They do when they're trying to stay warm." he took a long drag of his cigar. "Y/N. Good to see you again. You're looking well."
You nodded. "Mr. Cobblepot."
"Oswald." He waved a hand dismissively. "We've been doing business for long enough."
"Old habits." You smile.
"Heard you've been handling more meetings lately. Keeping the old man in line, are you?"
"Someone has to."
Chen shot you a look and you held his gaze with a grin.
Cobblepot laughed a dry, wheezing sound. "She's got your fire. More than you had at her age." he said to Chen.
"She's got her own fire. I just gave her a place to put it." chen replied
"A wise investment you have made, Y/N," Cobblepot stated.
"He's not an investment." You said it before you could stop yourself.
The room went quiet.
"Not an investment," he repeated. "What is he, then?" Cobbelpot lean in smirking
You looked at Chen and he was watching you. Waiting for you to answer.
"Family", you said.
Cobblepot's eyes narrowed. Then he laughed again.
"Family," he said. "And here I thought the old man had no heart left." He looked at Chen. "She's good. You've trained her well."
"I don't train her. I just let her be."
"That's training in itself."
The tension broke with Marcus chuckled softly beside you.
"Y/N," he said quietly, "you just made my uncle laugh. That's not easy."
"Your uncle's not that scary."
"Woah okay, I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Cobblepot's eyes sparkled. "So. Business. Chen, I have a proposal."
"I don't like proposals."
"You'll like this one."
He laid out the terms. A partnership. Shared territory. Mutual protection. Chen listened without interrupting, his eyes fixed on Cobblepot.
"You want to share resources," Chen said finally.
"I want to share trust."
"Os, You don't trust anyone."
"I trust you. And I trust the girl." He nodded toward you. "That's two more people than I trusted yesterday."
Chen was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded.
"I'll think about it."
"That's all I'm asking."
The meeting continued. Terms were discussed. Prices were negotiated. You watched, you listened, and you learnt. Theres always more to learn.
But at the edge of the room, Marcus caught your eye. He smiled when you made eye contact. You almost smiled back.
After the meeting, Marcus found you near the bar. His drink was half-empty, his tie slightly loosened.
"You handled that well," he said.
"I just sat there."
"You were the one who made him stay. He would have walked out after ten minutes if you hadn't been there."
"I don't think that's true."
"It is." He tilted his head. "He trusts you. He doesn't trust anyone."
"He trusts you."
"He trusts my mother. I'm just an extension of her."
You looked at him. "That's not true."
"You think not?"
"I think you're more than that."
His smile softened.
"You're good at that, you know," he said.
"At what?"
"Seeing people. The real people, not the ones they pretend to be."
You thought about it. Chen. Rosa. Tim. Jason.
"I learnt," you said.
"From who?"
"From everyone. From myself."
He nodded. "That's a rare skill," he chuckles.
He took your hand and leant in pressing another kiss to your knuckles.
"Until next time, Y/N," he looks up at you
"Until next time."
—------------------------------------------------------------------
The ride back was quiet. Chen sat beside you, his eyes on the window.
"You meant what you said," he said.
"About?"
"About me being family."
You were quiet for a moment.
"Yeah," you said. "I meant it. Is that okay?"
He didn't respond. But you saw it, the way his shoulders relaxed. How his jaw softened.
"Good," he said finally. "That's good."