Easing tensions

Oswald Cobblepot leaned over the sink and washed his face.

He raised his dripping face, and a gloomy expression stared back at him from the mirror.

Perhaps his still-boyish face had been too deceptive, or perhaps Maroni had been careless. Either way, Oswald had known the truth from the very beginning.

But he had still chosen to accept his fate and lie low in the club called the Iceberg Lounge.

Every day, he watched the guests coming and going, studying their clothes and secretly memorizing their faces as they blurred and shifted beneath the flashing lights.

Then, the next day, Oswald would buy a newspaper and see whether any familiar faces appeared in the news.

It was terribly inefficient, but for someone at the bottom like him, it was the only way to glimpse the shifting currents of power in Gotham City.

The transportation commissioner had once arrived carrying a case of money; a judge often met his mistress at the club; Councilwoman Mrs. Symes preferred tall, slender pretty boys.

None of that information was useful yet, but Oswald believed it would one day become the steps that carried him up to his throne.

And he had Maroni to thank for all of it.

Oswald slicked his hair back and admired his profile in the mirror.

He had a handsome, flawless face, with deep-set eyes and a prominent, aquiline nose.

But his prematurely born body let that face down.

At five foot four, with shoulders sloping at forty-five degrees, he had no choice but to stuff thick shoulder pads into his waiter's formal uniform.

"When will I ever have a perfect body too?"

His gaze fell on Stuart, who was washing his hands beside him. His rolled-up shirt sleeves hugged his elbows, and merely bending his arms naturally was enough to bring out the graceful lines of his muscles.

After watching Stuart leave, Oswald picked up his tray.

The call light on his collar began flashing, signaling that he needed to bring drinks to the guests in a private room.

He rounded a corner with the bottles held aloft, and a dark figure suddenly cut across his path.

Unable to dodge in time, Oswald was knocked to the floor, crushing the glasses beneath him.

The drunken guest did not even glance down. He stepped on Oswald's hand and walked away.

Sharp glass pierced the back of his hand. Oswald's face twisted with pain, his teeth clenched tight.

This was the best outcome he could hope for. He could quietly clean up the debris; if the head waiter discovered it, he would lose his entire night's wages.

But just then, a hand reached out in front of him.

"Are you all right?"

William had simply done what any decent person would do.

He had not even realized that the man before him was Oswald, the Penguin.

"I'm fine..."

Oswald wiped his hand against his trouser leg twice, then took William's hand.

"Thank you... Are you new here...? Sorry, I didn't mean to imply you were a servant!"

The moment he spoke, Oswald realized he had said the wrong thing.

William's young face had led him to the wrong conclusion. Only upon closer inspection did he notice that there was no waiter's identification badge on his chest.

William did not mind at all. His gaze settled on the man's bleeding left hand.

"I can help you take care of that."

"No, there's no need... Please, go about your business. You don't need to worry about what happens to a nobody like me..."

Oswald hastily hid his hand and lowered his head, as though trying to bury himself in the shadows of the corner.

"Are you sure?"

"Thank you very much, but there's really no need to trouble yourself!"

William did not insist. Instead, he asked Oswald for information.

"Do you have a waiter here named Oswald?"

At the sound of his own name, the young Penguin shuddered and began going over everything he had done.

Had someone caught him secretly watching the guests?!

Or had he overlooked some detail and offended someone?

His first instinct was to evade the question.

"I don't know. I just started here..."

Stuart's voice came from around the corner, urging him to hurry.

William could hardly linger there forever just to attach a Marking Beacon.

"If you get a chance to see him, pass on a message for me. Tell him to watch his back for a while."

He patted Oswald's shoulder and quickly disappeared down the corridor.

On the ride back, both Stuart and William had plenty they wanted to say.

Neither spoke until the Lincoln dropped them off at the entrance to Bowery Street.

Back in their everyday clothes, the two watched the taillights disappear into the rainy mist.

Stuart stole sideways glances at William, quietly studying his expression.

Not detecting any obvious anger, he pretended to stretch and casually broke the silence.

"Man, I'm not used to this. Back in this dump again."

"Sounds like you wanted to stay there."

"At first, yeah. But I've changed my mind..."

Stuart scratched his head, turning away from William.

"Sorry for the trouble. I won't do that again."

William had been ready for a proper argument, but Stuart had already apologized. What was left to complain about?

"I hope you remember that promise after tonight."

The words sounded like a threat, but William proved his sincerity through his actions.

He offered his hand first.

After that little incident, their life as roommates became much less contentious. Though they still argued occasionally, Stuart reined in his prickly nature and stopped using cutting remarks to provoke William.

After spending an entire year drifting through Gotham's East End following his memory loss, this was the first time he had genuinely accepted someone.

Of course, William had never given up on changing Stuart's outlook and getting him to willingly accept his identity as Batman.

To that end, he took Stuart deep into the slums to show him how people lived without adequate clothing or a place to call home.

He hoped the needles scattered on the ground and the old newspapers used for warmth would awaken Bruce's personality.

But the results were disappointing.

Stuart seemed cold-blooded by nature. Those heartbreaking scenes elicited nothing more than a cold snort from him.

The only good news was that he was gradually accepting the Batsuit.

Batman had returned to Gotham after disappearing for a year. That inspiring news soon spread through every street and alley, accompanied by a blurry silhouette on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.

As for that candid shot of the bat spreading his wings, it was naturally William and Gordon's handiwork.

"Good news! Street violence has dropped significantly these past few days, and the gangs have quieted down too! I told you he could do it!"

During their lunch break, Gordon excitedly waved the newspaper in front of William. He even singled out a paragraph to read aloud.

"There is no doubt that Batman is Gotham's beacon of hope, much like the mysterious metahuman who recently appeared in Metropolis. Although mainstream scholars remain opposed, arguing that their actions overstep the law and lack oversight, the facts will speak for themselves. Citizens do not care whether their authority comes from a legitimate source. That is a matter for sociologists to debate. They simply want a peaceful, safe place to live, without having a gun pointed at their heads in a convenience store in the early hours of the morning."

William, however, was not optimistic.

With Batman's rise, the supervillains were surely stirring in the shadows as well.

The peace was only temporary. Gotham was like a powerful spring.

Batman was the brute force pressing it down, while only Bruce and his charitable foundation could truly keep its force in check.

Helping Stuart recover his memories remained the top priority.

But tonight, William had something more important to do.

He had to sneak into Falcone's cocktail party and get his hands on the mysterious document that had drawn the attention of so many factions.