Chapter Text
You had just killed a man, his blood pooling at your feet: thick and crimson. There was so much of it. So much so that you couldn't see the floor directly under you unless you turned your head to the side. You stumbled backward out of the sticky liquid with a groan of pain as you heard the sound of uneven footsteps, suddenly feeling the heat of warm blood dripping from your nose and covering the bottom of your face. The metallic taste of blood finally kicks in and reminds you of sucking on paper cuts from the tips of your fingers. But that had always been a drop or two at most. Having the dark liquid almost fill your mouth was an entirely different feeling. It was something that made the blood in your body rush with adrenaline and forced your hands into an iron grip.
You wanted to scream, scream at the lifeless body below, scream at the man that just tried to kill you, but all you could do was stare at the blood surrounding him and the blood on your hands.
You're in one of the back rooms of the Iceberg Lounge, a little room across from the bar. Even with the club's loud music in the background, you could hear the footsteps as they got closer. A man brushed past your shoulder, bending down with a soft groan and looking at the body that lay at your feet. He pressed the tips of his fingers against the side of the man's neck and checked for a pulse.
Pointless.
"Well, ain't this unfortunate." the man says, raising his head slightly to look up at you.
His face was chubby and scarred. It looked like someone played tic tac toe on his face with a knife.
"For him or me?" you stumble out.
"For me. I'm not here for you if that's what you're worried about, hun," he says flatly, his voice thick with a Jersey accent and far rougher than you had imagined it to be.
He stands again, moving to the side after getting one last look at the man. He pulls out a cigar from his coat, lights it, and looks at you again. You take a moment to look at him. His weight was to one side, mainly resting on his left leg, but he didn't seem to be in pain as far as you could tell.
That's why he waddles.
Oswald Cobblepot or "The Penguin" by his associates. He's commonly referred to as Oz by his employees.
You've worked the bar for the past two years, but you've never actually met him or seen him up close. He knows all of the girls who worked at the Lounge; he never overstepped or made them feel uncomfortable, always keeping a close eye on them. You may not know him, but he knows you.
It was always quick glances as he walked through the club, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. But here he was noticing you because you just killed one of his goons.
"He owed me some money. But, obviously, I ain't gonna get it off him now, am I?" he continues as he smirks at you, gold shining in his mouth.
"No…" you mumble as you trail off, your voice growing increasingly small as you go on. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't-"
"You're fine, kid, didn't like the fucker anyways, I only kept him around for small things." He spoke genuinely, his accented voice now softer than it was before.
You stared at him, eyes wide and hands slightly shaking. You felt like you were on the verge of tears, yet anger still raged through your body.
"Told ya it was fine, don't look so shocked," he assured, clearing his throat before taking a long drag from his cigar.
You simply nodded in acceptance.
Oz looked up at you with an odd expression, something between surprise and annoyance marring his face.
He removed his fingers from the cigar in his mouth and reached up cautiously, and placed his hand on the side of your face. The gentleness in his touch surprised you, and you felt your face warm. He pulled you toward him, and you shuffled forward until you were standing right in front of him. He was warm, heat radiating off of him in waves, and you wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch and sob.
You didn't, though.
You knew how much violence his hands were capable of, but at that moment, it was as if you'd never felt safer in your life.
"He hit you pretty good, didn't he? Messed up your pretty face…" he noted with soft admittance, his brow furrowing as he kept his gaze on you. His large hand easily covered the whole side of your face, his thumb edging dangerously close to your bottom lip; it made you shiver.
"I missed my shift, I've-" you stupidly start, the urge to apologize for something that you couldn't have controlled.
He merely nods and squeezes your face slightly.
"Shush, it's fine…you were obviously preoccupied with other things, sweetheart." he soothed.
Why did I even try to apologize…
He studies you carefully, the seconds feel like hours, but you know that to be otherwise. After a second or two, something shifts.
He lets go, and you're left there stunned.
"Come with me. You need to get cleaned up."
With you? What about the damn body in the middle of the floor?
"What about him?" you stumble out, completely confused by the sudden change in his demeanor.
"I'll have one of my boys clean it up, now come on baby, promise ya I don't bite."
He turns and holds out his hand to you, a shit-eating grin on his face. It makes you weak in the knees.
What the fuck. What the actual fuck was that? How hard did that asshole hit me?
You eventually take his hand and move to leave the room you're in.
His hand is rough, but his grip is so soft. It's comforting…
You turn to look back at the lifeless body in the middle of the floor as you pass through the double doors and exit into the hallway. Oz takes you around a corner, and you enter an elevator. You were still shaking. The only difference this time was that you were alone with your boss, and he was holding your blood-covered hand.
Why am I still shaking? I don't have any reason to think he's going to hurt me…not yet, at least.
You exit the elevator and finally enter the 44 Below. It was the "club in the club" where all the corrupt politicians and government workers came to get a quick fuck and get high. The music was so loud it felt like your bones were vibrating. Unfortunately, the lights are too bright for your currently sensitive eyes.
It was sickening.
You hated everything about this place. You didn't hate Oz because he didn't give you any reason to hate him, but you sure did hate the men that work here. Perverted and so aggressive that sometimes you would rather live on the streets than work around them, it constantly left you in a state of panic whenever you were within ten feet of the building.
You had been so far in thought that you hadn't even noticed when you arrived at his private area or even when he showed you to the bathroom. His words snap you out of your trance.
"There's a tub and shower past that door, and there's a bunch of soaps and shit so you should be fine on gettin' cleaned up. I'll have one of the girls bring ya some clothes."
You wondered for a second if he was going to stand there and watch you undress. He didn't, of course. He could take advantage of you if he really wanted to, he outweighed you by at least 150 pounds, and he was a good few inches taller than you. You couldn't fight back even if you wanted to. The adrenaline had worn off, and you were so tired and sore that you could simply pass out right here and now.
But instead, you just stood there like an idiot and stared at him.
I'm totally not fucking crazy, sir! Just admiring the view! Definitely not on the verge of tears!
He stared back, and you wondered if he would just grow annoyed with your bullshit and throw you out or even just kill you.
"You're safe here, I don't want anything. I just gotta make sure you're okay." he admits, and before you can say anything, though, he has already left.
Tears fell down your face and you finally broke, your arms closing around yourself as you moved to sit in the middle of the floor. You can't remember the last time someone had given a damn about your well-being and the fact that it was coming from a criminal who has killed made it so much worse.
Why me?
You don't know how long you sat there, but it must have been a little while because at some point your tears stopped falling and you just wept into your knees. Your bottom felt raw and your back ached, the dull headache that was festering in the back of your head finally emerged into a full-blown migraine, and it resulted in a slight ringing in your ears. You stand and stretch slightly before heading to the sink and turning on the tap. The water poured from copper pipes in a heavy stream, the water flowing over your blood-stained hands. It burned but you didn't care, it kept your mind off your migraine for a little bit. After you washed your hands, you made your way to the tub to run some water, a shower sounded amazing right now, but you couldn't trust yourself to stand on your feet any longer.
The hot water soothed your aching bones, the scent of rose and geranium rising from the bath foam you had found. You looked around for a moment, taking in how big the bathroom was and the dark colors of the room; it was fitting of Oz. Taking a bath felt like a true luxury, and you stayed in there until the water was tepid, wrapping yourself in a thick towel when you were done. You felt yourself shake ever so slightly as you stepped across the bathroom floor, nervousness accumulating in a tremble as you opened the door to emerge into Oz's office.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
You scrunch up your nose as you turn in his direction.
"My body hurts…he threw me around a bit," you respond, not meeting his eyes.
He hums and then points his thumb at the couch beside him.
"Had one of the girls bring you some clothes, might not fit though…"
"Thank you, sir."
He stared at you for a moment.
"You don't gotta call me sir, Oz is fine."
"Okay." you reply tiredly.
With that, you move towards the couch to pick up the clothes but before you could make your way back to the bathroom, he speaks again.
"When you're done, I wanna talk about what happened," he says firmly, continuing. "Whatever happened, that is, I wanna make sure it doesn't happen again. I don't need my girls ending up dead."
You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip, and meeting his eyes, shaking your head briefly.
"No," you said. "No, that wouldn't be good for business."
He nodded, and there was a moment of silence. You fidgeted, looking awkward, but seemingly unable to break it.
You took that as your cue to leave.
When you enter the bathroom, you lay the clothes down on the counter. It was a pair of loose-fitting gray sweats and a baggy white hoodie. They were soft and comfortable; it's something you would wear back at your apartment.
He didn’t have to give me these. Shit he didn't even have to let me use his bathroom.
But of course, he did. Because of that, you had to resist the overwhelming urge to bolt out the door and run as far away as you could.
You were on edge, and for a good reason. You didn't really want to talk about what happened, didn't want to think about how a man tried to kill you because he was insane. More importantly, you didn't want to tell your boss that he was your ex.
Nonetheless, you finally garnered the courage to step out of the bathroom. Oz is still sitting on the couch but now there's a bottle of whiskey and two cups in front of him. There's also a yellow envelope beside it. He balances his tumbler of whiskey on his knee with one hand, and his free arm rests along the back of the sofa, his head back, looking at the ceiling and another cigar lit in his mouth. He barely noticed you, seemingly lost in deep thought.
"Oz." You prompt gently.
Your call of his name isn't loud, but it's loud enough to get his attention.
"Hm?"
He's still not looking at you, his eyes focused on the ceiling. You sit quietly at his side, folding your hands neatly in your lap and pulling your lips between your teeth to keep from frowning. You aren't sure how well you're doing.
"You said you wanted to know what happened."
He doesn't answer for several long moments. Then, lazily, he moves his gaze to you, grunting slightly as he readjusts himself in his seat.
Another long pause before, "Yeah, go ahead hun."
You don't even know where to begin.
"No one else gots to know, it'll just be between me and you, promise." he says.
"Okay," you begin cautiously, "um, well…Jasper, that's his name by the way…you probably already know that though-"
"Yeah, he's the other bartender," he admits. "I remember hiring him about a year ago."
"Yeah, uh, he usually works with me…anyways, he was coming onto me. We've dated before but I broke it off after I saw him with another girl," you shrug,
"My gut was urging me to leave anyways, he was an asshole anyway."
He chuckles at that, his eyes slightly shining as he looks at you.
It makes your stomach flip but you continue.
"He was handsy this time though, he wouldn't back off. I kept telling him it wasn't going to happen but he was so fucking persistent, he always is…was." you softly trail off.
You can feel yourself getting angry, but you can't help it.
He fucking deserved it! I shouldn't fucking feel bad.
"He started fucking grabbing at me, and I didn't want to deal with that shit, so I left to go to the backroom to grab a few bottles, but of course, he followed me, couldn't take no for answer." You shout as you stand up.
You're extremely aware of Oz's eyes on you.
You look to find him staring at you.
He blinks at you, "What else?"
Before you can control your anger, you're shouting.
"What the fuck do you think? He fucking tried to kill me after the tenth time of saying to fuck off!" you hiss as you fist your hands into the side of your sweats.
You're screaming at this point, and you can't seem to stop yourself. Yet Oz doesn't move to stop you.
"I was screaming for my fucking life and no one could hear me because of the fucking music. He had the audacity to laugh at me like he wasn't just begging to get back together five minutes ago."
You fall silent as the echoes of your brief shouting die away. And all that's left is the sound of furious breathing, mingling in the space between you.
"A few of the bottles broke," you murmur.
"I picked up a piece of glass off the ground from where he shoved me and I took my chance. You can guess what happened next." you continue flatly.
There's an extended silence.
You're looking at the wall now, fists in an iron grip at your sides.
"Sorry," you mumble before casting your eye around the room. "I'm really sorry."
"You shouldn't be," he says with a gentle smile.