"I hope things start to work out for you." Aunt Sharon wraps her arms around my neck one last time.
"I know they will." I smile.
"It's a shame you have to return to so much chaos. I can't wait to see you more often."
"I feel the same way," I say. "Tell Matthew goodbye for me, will you?"
"Of course, darling. Now go on. I don't want you to miss your destiny across the harbor."
A new attendant helps me get settled like last time. Jim calls as soon as the assistant shuts the door.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"I have to be in Gotham. You know that."
The defeat is clear in his voice. "Just please tell me you're not going back to Falcone?"
"I'm not," I promise him, resting a hand on my pocket watch. What option would I have there? I can't even write my own name. How can he expect me to handle stitches and syringes? "I'm not."
"Good. The council has changed its vote. Maroni has their support, now. He won't be happy that you're back. Maybe we can arrange some way of getting you constant protection. It's not good here."
His placid nature is even more terrifying than his rage.
"Are you okay? You sound very calm."
"I need to be. We'll talk later."
Even though he doesn't tell me why he needs to be calm, I assume the worst. Maybe something's happened. Maybe the Falcone family as fallen apart. Maybe they've finally killed Penguin.
Worry pollutes the scenic route to Gotham. When I return home, things are going to be different; they have to be.
"How was the trip?" Lee packs my bags.
"Fine. Quiet."
I must admit, it's very good to visit with her. My initial assessment of her has been proven wrong. She's perfect for my brother.
Do people say the same of Oswald and I?
"Jim will come by the house after work. I have to get to Barbara's. Ready to go?"
My pulse returns to the same pace as the city. This is where I belong.
"I'm ready. Thanks for doing this, Lee."
She explains what happened with The Ogre, and what she knows of Barbara's condition, which is not much. I tell her a little bit about our extended family and that they're moving to Gotham. She's excited to meet them.
Lee leaves without coming inside. I unpack my things and soak in my mother's house once more. It smells of old boxes and books. The windows are dusty and in desperate need of a cleaning.
The evening rolls around, and I still haven't heard anything from my brother. He always calls if he's working late. Just as I'm about to give the GCPD a ring, someone knocks on the door.
I've been in this situation before. Terror strikes deep within my chest. This time, I grab Jim's spare pistol to open the door.
"Hello?" I grip the weapon as best I can.
"Whoa!" Butch raises his hands. "It's me. Thank god you're here."
"Butch!" I drop the gun. "What are you doing?"
"They're in trouble." Sweat drips down his brow. He jerks in small spasms.
"What? Who's in trouble?"
Butch is very confused. He can't make out what's true and what's not. "Fish! Wait, no. Fish is back in town. She has him and— and Oswald and I came to tell you because—"
"Because why? Talk to me, Butch!" What if Fish sent him to retaliate against Penguin?
"I don't know if I can!" He cries. "I can't save him or her!"
My words slow. I ease the worry in my voice to calm his excited nature. "Where are they, Butch?"
"By the docks in one of Falcone's old warehouses that no one knows about."
He looks like he's about to collapse.
"You need medical attention. Go to a hospital."
"Yeah, right!"
"Then come in and lay down," I say, "I'll take care of you. How did you get away from Fish?"
"No, no. I can't do that. I told her I was going to lay down and I did, and then my memories started jumbling. I couldn't remember if you had left or not. You may be the only one that can sort this out."
"Me? I'm sorry, Butch. I can't handle this. Where is Falcone?"
"She has him too! And Bullock. She's calling up Maroni to get her territories back."
I hate the gang world. It's full of liars and cheaters. Only the best liar gets the throne.
"Is Falcone willing to hash out a deal with her?"
"Maroni has full control, now. Falcone has all but lost."
"Maroni can't run the city."
"No, he can't!" Butch's thick fingers cover his face. "I have to go now. I'm not feeling so good."
"Wait!"
He's already to his car.
"I need the warehouse location!"
And he's gone.
What can I do? Sure, I could call the GCPD, but everyone is probably preoccupied with other tasks. I feel the weight of Jim's, Harvey's, Oswald's, and Falcone's fate on my hands.
"Ed!" I call up the one person I can think of.
"Hello, Miss Gordon. Would you like to hear a riddle?" His smile bursts through the phone.
It whiplashes me back into myself. "I would love to, but I can't right now. Can you find out any information on Falcone's warehouses by the docks?"
"I think I can pull something up for you," he says. "This really isn't my division. Wouldn't you rather call your brother?"
"You're the only person I can trust with this."
"I'm flattered. Hang on, let me see what I can find."
I'm racing against the clock. Every minute I'm not at the docks is a minute that someone I love could be killed.
"Sorry it took so long. We don't have much on the warehouse locations. Nothing is specific. I mean, the only thing I'm seeing is which warehouse is which."
"Have any of them been idle recently?"
"I don't have that information. Sorry, Miss Gordon."
"That's okay. Thanks for your help."
Think. I just have to think. I have to find someone who would have this information. What do I have at my disposal? I could call Jim, but that's risky. Maybe Oswald would— I got it.
Driving feels odd. I can hardly grip the steering wheel, so I mostly rely on my elbows to drive.
I greet the bartender, who lets me in the back. With a backpack of supplies, it's a bit cumbersome to weave through the busy club without being noticed.
"Hey!" He says. "Have you seen the boss?"
"No, I haven't. You're in charge until he gets back."
"Yes, ma'am!"
My warehouse is overflowing with the injured. It pains me to see them aching. I feel as though I abandoned my own children. Instead of weeping, I prepare myself. I cannot appear weak.
"It's the doc!"
I run up the stairs. "Give me your attention!"
The nurse Falcone mentioned stops in her tracks. I wonder if I looked as frightened as she.
"If anyone knows about Falcone's territory on the docks, come see me right now."
Hardly anyone is high enough on the hierarchy to know about Carmine's wide network of warehouses. The nurse rolls over a woman who's groaning and moaning.
"He has a warehouse that no one knows about on the northern side of the docks. You'll find it on the closest street to the water."
That's exactly what I need.
I leave Lee a voicemail on the way to the docks. She needs to know what's going on, even if she can't get to us. This might be the only account of tonight's events.
I park a block away just in case Fish has her men out. Maybe I could appear as a wounded creature. It would give me the advantage to get away.
As soon as I get out of the car, I make a run for it. I notice how bright the street lamps are tonight. In a moment of blissful forgetfulness, I think of how the street almost looks like it's been paved with glass.
A gunshot pulls me out of that thought. Then another. I start to panic. A blood-curdling scream fills the air, but it's not mine; it's Fish's. There's a loud clasp against the water, and then silence.
She's gone for good this time.
I run into the warehouse that stinks like death. There's not a sound to be heard through the massive building. A multitude of bodies takes up the floor. There's been a war here.
I search for anyone I know. My chest fills with relief when I see a bullet wound in the middle of Maroni's forehead. There's no one else down here.
A distant cry comes over my ears. It's resonating just above the warehouse.
I climb up the stairs as fast as possible. Maybe it's Jim! Instead, I see Butch whimpering against the wall.
I run to him and sling off my backpack. "Are you okay?"
He can't do anything but cry and complain of something happening to his head. There's a massive knot near the back.
I crack open an ice pack and hand it to him.
"Alright, lady. Time to go." A gun clicks against my head. I immediately raise my hands.
"It's just me."
"Doc?" Zsasz lowers his gun. "What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be long gone!"
"I was," I say. "What are you doing here? Don't you have assignments to be taking care of?"
He frowns, holstering his gun. "My only task is to finish off anyone in the warehouse."
"There's no one down there." I stand, keeping an eye on my friend. "I was just there."
"How disappointing! Hey, have you heard? We're under new authority!" Victor nudges me with his elbow as if I was his best friend. "There's a new king in town!"
It's Oswald. He leans against the edge of the roof. His breathing is pained and his eyelids are drooping. He's wounded; he's been shot.
At the time, I don't even recognize him as the king. I run over to him, dragging my backpack along with me. The wound only grazes his side. There's no internal bleeding or major organ damage that I can see.
"Hey." I tap his face with my cast. "You need to stay awake."
His eyes are the bluest I've ever seen them. "I must be dreaming."
"No," I say. "I couldn't stay away."
I pull things from my pack.
His hands wrap around the neckace he gave me. Oswald opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it before he does, as always.
"I need you to talk to me and stay awake. Tell me what happened."
I motion for Zsasz to help me sling him over my shoulder. I'm already aching with my previous wounds, but it's apparent he's lost too much blood. I can't stop.
We stop right before traveling down the stairs.
"Take care of Butch," he says to Zsasz.
If I had the energy to argue, I would.
Butch's screams reverberate through the air. Tears pour down my cheeks.
"What's wrong?" Oswald asks, getting into my car.
"What do you think?"
Jim shakes his head at the sight of us. "He cannot come here."
"He's going to die, Jim."
He's torn but eventually lets him in. That's what enemies are for, right? My brother swears to leave as soon as he knows I'm not being forced into this.
"I should take him to jail," he says. "I really should."
"You should go see how Lee is doing. He'll be gone by morning." I insist.
Jim is appalled. "You're going to let him stay here? Please promise me you're not about to sleep with him!"
I raise my casts. "Does it look like I can do that?"
He shutters.
"That's what you get for asking questions you shouldn't be."
Jim puts on his coat. "Call me if you need me."
I shut the door behind him. Am I sure this is the route I want to go? Am I sure that I'll be okay with this divide between us? He's lied to me so much, should I even care?
Now to the biggest problem: the bullet wound. How can I expect to stitch him together when my hands are broken?
I unbutton his shirt to disinfect the wound. Fear makes my hands only shake more. I don't know if I can do this.
Oswald takes my hands in his.
"Tell me what to do. Guide me through it."
"This is going to hurt, and it's not going to be pretty," I say. I have nothing to ease his pain.
He takes the needle and prepares himself.
"Insert it into the skin right here." I point to the site. He does as I say, but it's not easy. "Now bring it over here." Again, he does so with great difficulty. "Tie it together and pull it as tight as you can." This is easier for him. It gives him a break from the agonizing pain.
We have to repeat the process three more times. His pained cries fill my ears until it's all over.
Long after he's passed out, I still hear Oswald's aching even from the restroom. It fills the halls similar to a phantom. I change into pajamas and address the status of my various wounds.
A quiet knock comes at the door.
"Come in."
He waddles in, exhausted and half asleep. Instead of saying anything, he simply wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my shoulder. We look like night and day opposites. I'm awkward and uncomfortable with the touch. He seems as natural as can be. In any other state, wouldn't the stances be slipped?
I stare at the image of us in the mirror before wrapping an arm around him, too.
Oswald looks up at me and presses his lips against mine.
Every single warning sign rings in my head.
Am I sure I want to do this?
Yeah. I am.