The E. Nigma Case Files

“I know you, Lina,” Edward said. “You wouldn’t have gone along with all this just because Wayne asked you to. You had your own reason to lie to me.” There was no anger in his voice. Just a hollow resignation. “What was it?”

Despite the heaviness in the room, Selina felt freer than she had in years. “You’re right. I did have my own reason. I did it for you.” Eddie let out a scoff and weakly shook his head. “It’s the truth,” Selina continued. “You had something other people in our world would kill for: a clean slate. Look at everything you have now: a new career, Doc, Ellen. You were safer and happier than you’d ever been before, in all the years I’ve known you. What good would telling you about al Ghul have done?”

Eddie stared at an invisible spot on his sheets. “My family,” he said softly. “My new persona. Edward Nigma, Private Investigator. Hero of the City Hall Attack. A man reborn. A Phoenix rising from the ashes. And it was all a lie.”

Instinct? No. A punch was instinct. Ellen had countered her movements, had tried to make up for their height difference by using fake hits. It was clumsy, amateur fighting, but it wasn’t instinct. She’d learned how to do that.

Someone was teaching her how to fight.

“I wish I didn’t have to be here tonight,” Wayne said, placing a gloves hand on her shoulder. Ellen stood perfectly straight, not letting on the revulsion. “You were the last person to speak to your father before he disappeared. If he said anything, anything at all, you need to tell me. The only way I can help your father is if you’re completely honest with me. Do you understand?”

You've got one advantage that your Dad didn't: When Wayne comes to you with a story, you'll know that every word that'll come out of his mouth is bullshit.

Ellen nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Wayne’s. “Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

Sharp wet his lip. “Lyle,” he said. “I know how much you’ve suffered already, my old friend, but I must ask for your help one more time.”

Bolton said nothing, but nodded.

Sharp wet his bottom lip. “I want you to find Edward Nigma. I want you to help me kill him. I want to make sure Penelope is there to see it.”

Marisol Sanchez. Clarissa Adams. Jonathan (and even now, after everything, how his heart clenched at that name) Grant. Joel O'Neal. These four were Ellen's oldest friends, ones she had known since kindergarten.

It shouldn't have taken until Ellen's graduation day for Edward to meet three of them.

Marisol, the only one he'd met, smiled at him as he entered the living room. His living room, he reminded himself. The children were guests. The other three stared at him in silence. Jonathan was visibly nervous, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat.. Joel, or rather, Joe, flashed an uneasy grin. Clarissa was the only one to make direct eye contact with Edward as he sat in his armchair. He scanned the couch that the four were sitting on, then up towards the stairs.

"Where's my daughter?" he asked.

"She's still getting ready," Marisol answered. "I think Batgirl called her, too."

"Batgirl called her," Joel said, shaking his head. "Ellen's on a phone call with Batgirl. How wild is that?"

Edward frowned. He disagreed with Ellen's decision to be open with her friends. It left her vulnerable. There was that trust of hers. "Keep that tidbit to yourself," he warned. "The wrong word to the wrong person will get her, and you, killed."

"Uh, yeah," Clarissa sassed. "We're not stupid."

"Clarissa," Marisol warned. "Be nice."

The brunette rolled her eyes. Edward swallowed his own sharp comment. "So," he said, in an attempt to change the subject. "You've known Ellen a long time?"

Clarissa was the first to respond. "Longer than you have."

Marisol leaned her head back and murmured softly in Spanish.

"Oh my God," Jonathan whispered. "We're gonna die."

Joel cringed.

Edward felt his eye twitch. Oh, that was how it was going to be? "I am well aware of my many failures as a parent," he hissed. "I don't need any further reminding."

Thankfully, Ellen's footsteps bounding down the stairs prevented any further verbal bloodshed.

As aggravating as her civilian friends were, they didn't, couldn't hold a candle to Ellen's other friends.

Edward was awoken from a deep sleep by the sound of loud cursing and the crashing of furniture. "What was that?" Penelope whispered, sitting up in alarm.

Ellen's voice rang from downstairs. "God fucking dammit, Cass! Give me back my ice cream!"

Edward grit his teeth. Not. Again. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, got his bathrobe from the closet, and stormed down the stairs.

Ellen's cursing only got louder. "I swear to fuck, next time I'll throw a knife at your face!"

Edward heard Cain's retort as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "You'll just miss me. Like always." Edward rounded the corner into the kitchen and was greeted with an all-too-familiar sight.

One of the kitchen chairs was lying on the floor. Cain had Ellen pinned on the floor with one hand, while holding a small ice cream container inches above her, taunting her. "You want it?" she asked. "Take it from me. If you can."

"Fucking bitch!" Ellen spat out. "It's too goddamn early in the morning for this bullshit!"

Edward cleared his throat. "My sentiments exactly, ladies."

Both girls' heads turned. Edward tried to ignore the flush on his daughter's cheeks. Cain huffed, then got off the floor. "We're training," she explained.

"Not in my house, and not at three in the morning, you're not!" Edward snapped. "If you two want to spar, go do it in the Narrows! Penny and I have work in the morning!"

Cain left, taking the ice cream with her.

As far as Ellen's Gotham friends went, no one could top Cain.

Then there were Ellen's out-of-town friends.

As far as personality went, Owen Mercer was nowhere near the rudest of Ellen's friends.

Which either said a lot about the boy, or about the rest of Ellen's friends.

Within a few days of their meeting, they had become partners in anti-heroics.

The irony of this wasn't lost on Edward.

Unlike the first meeting of Riddles and Boomerangs, this partnership had blossomed into an actual friendship. A meeting of soulmates.

Platonic soulmates, of course. Edward had never been more grateful that Ellen was a lesbian. No world in the Multiverse was ready for that genetic combination.

No, the problem with Owen wasn't his personality. Edward actually liked the boy.

The probem was that he and Ellen together inevitably led to chaos. The kind of chaos that caused property damage, got government agencies involved, and resulted in Edward getting irate calls from Barbara Gordon.

The latest irate phone call had Edward making the trek to Ellen's still unnamed revamped headquarters in the Narrows. Her 'inheritance'. How many other fathers could claim their twenty-year-olds were property owners?

He rapped his knuckles on the apartment door. "Ellen!" he called out. "I'm here! Open up!"

The door opened in an instant. Ellen was on the other side, holding her sketchbook under her arm. "Hi, Dad!" she chirped.

"Hello, sweetheart," Edward greeted back. He looked past her into the living room, where he saw Owen hastily pulling his shirt back on. "Was he modeling for you again?"

"Sure was," Ellen replied, walking into the apartment interior. "He's the subject of my latest portrait series."

Edward looked at Owen and nodded. "You can say no to her, you know."

"I know," Owen said with a shrug. "I don't mind being objectified."

Oh, he definitely was Digger's son alright. He took the seat Ellen offered with a grunt. His left knee was being a pain today. "Well then," he said, fixing the pair with a level stare. "We need to have a little chat."

"Boomer's already had the sex ed talk, Dad," Ellen quipped.

"You stop that," Edward scolded, pointing his finger at her. "It's about the super yacht that 'mysteriously' sank overnight in the Gotham River. The owner, one Chase Harrington the Fifth, has hired me to look into the matter." The pair shot each other a look. "I know it was the two of you," Edward continued. "Don't try to deny it." He pointed at Ellen. "You put together a device to blow up the hull." He pointed then at Owen. "And you used your super speed to place the explosive without being caught by the security cameras."

Ellen narrowed her eyes. "Chase Harrington is a spoiled nepo baby who got away with killing people in a drunk driving accident. Sinking his boat is the least he deserves."

"I don't disagree," Edward said. "Given that no one was hurt and that his boat was the only one damaged, I'm certainly not going to issue any consequences. There are other parties in Gotham who were less than enthused." Edward paused and massaged his brows. "I just got off the phone with Oracle. Did you two really sink that yacht without giving the Bats any warning?”

As always, Owen looked to Ellen to answer for them. Ellen crossed her arms and huffed. “I gave them plenty of warning! Boomer, you were there: what did I say to the Bats when they told me that super yacht was going to sail down the Gotham River?”

As always, Owen backed her play. “You said, and I quote, ‘I’m going to sink that bitch.’”

Edward sucked in a breath between his teeth and internally counted to five. “I don’t think they knew that you meant it.”

"Black Bat was there," Ellen retorted. "She damn well knew I meant it."

Which meant that the Bats' visit wasn't them trying to discourage Ellen. It was them giving her tacit permission. Which meant he'd spent ten minutes arguing with Gordon over his daughter's 'reckless, disrespectful behavior' for no reason. Christ, at least Wayne had learned by now to give Ellen a wide berth most of the time. Gordon still seemed to think that Ellen could be properly molded to be a member of her team, or the Outsiders.

"You're not going to rat us out, are you?" Owen asked.

"Of course I'm not going to rat you out," Edward said. "I am going to have to resort to blackmail to get my full fee from Harrington." He frowned when he heard the pair snicker. "I know you two think this is amusing, but there was a purpose to my visit." Ellen and Owen fell silent. "Oracle mentioned to me that you two are building a notorious reputation for yourselves. You're becoming something of an infernal duo."

"Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?" Owen asked.

Edward shook his head. "More like Hawkeye Pierce and Trapper John MacIntyre." He paused, waiting to see if they understood the reference.

Oh, they understood it alright. Their eyes lit up. "That's it!" Ellen said, clapping her hands. "We'll call this place 'The Swamp!'"

"We'll build a still and everything!" Owen joined in.

"No, you are not!" Edward shouted. "For one, that's a fire hazard. Two, there are plenty of liquor stores within a ten-minute walk of here, and three, you, Missy, are still not of legal age to drink!" Ellen sulked. Edward took a breath. "I think you're missing the point. There is some concern that the two of you might one day go too far. That one of your stunts will get you on the radar of people outside of your weight class."

"You mean we might get shipped off to the Suicide Squad," Ellen said.

Sharp girl. "That is a possibility, yes."

Owen shrugged. "At least I'd get to see my Dad." Something in his tone suggested that he wasn't joking. Ellen's face softened.

"We'll be careful, Dad," she said, turning back to Edward. "I promise."

The apartment was indeed dubbed 'The Swamp', and eventually became a hangout/support group for other hardluck cases Ellen happened to meet in her adventures. Fellow children of Rogues, young people who didn't quite fit anywhere else, or people in transition between teams, sooner or later graced the doors of the Swamp.

For many of them, the stay was temporary. For a few, it was longer-term, joining in with Ellen and Owen's mischief, until a consistent team began to form. Wayne didn't like it. Gordon didn't like it. Even Stephanie had her concerns. So did Edward. Ellen trusted them, however. All he could do was trust her and hope that her trust would be repaid.

Somehow, miraculously, it was.

Edward staggered out of Ellen's hospital room, the doctor's words washing over him. Appendicitis. Not some unknown internal injury. Not cancer. Simple, routine appendectomy.

His daughter wasn't going to die today.

His knees felt like they were about to give way underneath him, but he composed himself. Penny was waiting for him outside the room, holding David tightly against her chest. "Well?" she asked.

"She'll be alright," Edward said, believing the words for the first time since the ambulance had come to take his little girl away. If she hadn't been home last night, if she'd stayed at the Narrows, she would have-he shook his head. "They want to keep her at least two days for observation.

Penny nodded, her shoulders sagging in relief. Edward turned his attention to the drowsy toddler in her arms. "You hear that, sport? Sissy will be home soon."

Poor David had cried himself sick. "I wanna see," he whined, rubbing his eyes.

"Soon, sweetheart," Penny soothed, kissing the top of his head. "Ellen needs to rest." David let out another whine. "Are you ok if I take him home? Mom should be there by now. I can drop David off and come back."

"I'll be fine, Darling," Edward assured her. "You need to rest, too." He hooked his thumb down the hall towards the waiting room. "I'll handle the peanut gallery. Has anyone else shown up?"

"Nina and Diedre got here about ten minutes ago. Bruce hasn't come by, but he sends his regards." Penny's face darkened. "Cassandra said she spotted Jason."

Well, that couldn't be helped. He must have been in Gotham already if he got here so fast. "Did she throw him out?"

"No, but she's keeping an eye on him. He hasn't approached anyone else."

Edward nodded. "Alright, I'll go give them the news." He dipped down to give his wife a kiss before he walked down the hall. He could hear the loud, overlapping voices before opening the door.

"It's not a chest-burster alien, Joe, shut the fuck up! She's never even been to space!"

"Hey! Watch your language!"

"Maybe it's some virus she picked up when she went to the 31st century!"

"Dude, that was over a year ago, and no one else who was there got sick!"

"It's probably her appendix. The symptoms are consistent-"

"Who died and gave you a medical degree, Drake?"

"Okay, kid, seriously? Chill."

"Don't call me kid, I'm 18 years old!"

"Who let the kid bring his cat in here?"

"Are you going to tell Klarion he can't bring his cat?"

"I'm sorry, but who are you exactly and how do you know my granddaughter?"

"I like her house parties."

There have to be over twenty people in that room. Twenty people who cared if his little girl lived or died. Who were here for her, who would likely fight over who got to see her first.

Hell, Cain would probably sneak in while the rest argued.