#detective riddler

‎۫*͟ living in a city like gotham wasn’t exactly… ideal. things were constantly stolen. people were killed. vengeful people dressed in costumes hunted the big, bad bat, who protected the city. yet, amidst the terrible things and constant gloomy weather, a few sunspots managed to shine through—even if only for a moment. edward didn’t trust the goodness in people, despite his recent attempts to leave behind chasing the bat after nearly a decade. even the kindest hearts, he believed, hid something tainted and filthy within their pure souls. he knew he did. at times, he lashed out, killed an uncooperative man for a case, or snapped at those who vexed him, even slightly. he was not pure or kind; his heart had soured over the years, perhaps even grown mold. he still held onto the evil—the riddler. people lately mistook him for something soft, which irritated him endlessly. the riddler didn’t do soft. he loathed sentiment, mainly because of the hidden, gnawing need to be someone’s sentiment—or at least, to be appreciated. attachments were tricky—always had been. friends, lovers, were one riddle he couldn’t quite solve. edward was thorough. things had to have patterns, a code—something to decipher, even the simplest things in front of him. it had to have an order he understood. that vexed him, because even friendships or dating became complicated.

for example, just recently, after cracking a case, the gcpd celebrated his triumph, his gift. he asked a few officers to dinner, just to feel… normal, or included in their mundane lives. excuses rolled out like a truck, and his lip twitched just barely. too busy. he could hear faint laughter as they walked away, hushing like gossiping teenagers. he felt a twinge of embarrassment, so he left work early and hid in his lair for a few days. edward nygma, the riddler—the most genius man in a city of idiotic scum—didn’t do embarrassment. no. and yet, even now, as a man learning to shed the riddler, he still felt like a joke.

but not to you. you were bright, far from his tainted, sick heart that still held evil. he thought hiring an assistant would help his detective work, lighten his load, and give him someone to talk to without the urge to throw a chair. you became more. you were eager to help—polite, all smiles and questions. he adored your piqued interest. he amused you, but you never mocked him. instead, you looked at him with genuine kindness, making him wonder if it was a ploy to humiliate him, as others had. he sensed no malice from you, but he worried. he was enraptured by your brightness. “mr. nygma?” you called, your voice strained but pleasant; to him, it was honey, saints calling to him. he adored it in his own way. he straightened his posture, elbows propped on his desk, the one he’d earned with his new title, detective nygma, and smiled. “yes, my dear boy. i heard. you and i will have quite the chase tomorrow with cobblepot, so get your analysis done by tonight, if you can.” his charming tone was reserved for moments like these—when mindless muses didn’t vex him. you didn’t, probably couldn’t, even if you tried. “have you finished your menial tasks gordon handed you?” he asked, observing your gentle demeanor. he pondered how you ended up in something as twisted as police work. maybe you had a sense of justice. would you ever tell him why?

“just barely,” you tittered, and god, for just a moment, he felt weak, “but i powered through! as you said, laziness is for the inept.” your tone was lighthearted; you aimed to please him, he could tell. you didn’t do it because you were scared of who he used to be, who still lurks in his dark corner, but out of connection. it was endearing, he pondered briefly how well the people around you treated you—if he could treat you better. shaking himself out of his thoughts, his grin softened, offering you his sincere praise for your work. “indeed, my eager sunshine.” taking a brief pause, he stood from his chair, adjusting his tie. even now with his new self, he couldn’t bear to throw out his things. “i do admire your work ethic, very thorough.” a simple praise, small, but you beamed, because you knew he was sincere. he was an honest man, you knew, if he didn’t like someone? it was terribly hard for him to hide. you’d seen the way he scowled at police officers in the precinct, gordon, the bat—oh, the bat was the worst. because he didn’t trust edward still, and it made edward seethe, he had to restrain himself, reminding himself, no, that’s what riddler would do.

upon standing, he reached for his cane—pushing his weight onto it as he sauntered over to you, getting a better look before he headed out, having errands to run. menial things, but important. he admired your features, the crook in your nose, your growing adam's apple. he remembered when you first started working for—no, with him, you told him a bit of your personal life. your medical journey of transitioning, and goodness, how you’ve grown beautifully in your skin. he even told you that with all the filthy money he’s stolen over the years, he’d pay in full for procedures, should you ever want them. it was a rare thing that he cared for someone so deeply, like a jewel, and yet, you were important to him. “what are you doing after work?” it was so forward, he knew, but again, he was troubled with conversing at times. you seemed shy when he inquired, but when you smiled sweetly, he almost melted. “don’t have any plans. i’ll either go to the gym or just chill in my apartment. what about you?” you wondered about his life outside of work, how he managed as a new man, despite his wrongdoings of the past; he almost beamed. it was a simple question, and yet, everything. “errands, simple things, perhaps a little robbery later.” he waved his hand, and when you tilted your head, curiously, he cleared his throat, charm faltering. “that was a joke,” he deadpanned, and you caught on and chuckled warmly, hands folding in front of you out of habit. “oh! sorry, sorry, my head is just… all over the place. busy day, mr nygma.” he quickly raised his hand, halting you kindly, offering his usual charm. “please, sweet thing, we’re past pleasantries. call me eddie,” he mused, tipping his head just slightly, as you gave a firm nod, wry smile cracking at your features. he had such a natural charm, even if it was just casual talk, part of you wondered if he was single. he couldn’t have been, surely, he’d be married.

he was observing your manners, so drawn to every sculpted feature of your face, hair, and figure, like a gorgeous statue, carved with care. he didn’t even hear your question until your gaze softened, almost luring him like a dazzling creature, enraptured by his simple attention. “apologies, repeat what you said, i didn’t quite catch it.” staring at you with pools of inquiry, as he always did, you tittered, and he couldn’t get enough of such a simple sound. “i said, um—i was wondering if, maybe, you’re not doing anything after work on sunday, we can go to dinner?” you raised a brow, treading carefully around the question, considering, in a way, he was your boss. “as coworkers, of course, i wouldn’t want to insinuate something. or upset your partner.” dancing around such a simple ask, his brows scrunched in confusion, lip curling as if you’ve spit in his food. did you think a man like him, the riddler, was romantically tangled? surely, you were tugging his leg. “i have no partner, my dear boy, i’m single. i don’t have the time nor the concern for a romantic escapade. such things are so base to me. not worthy of my time.” now, at that, he internally cringed. you looked at him with relief, with a twinge of glumness—he quickly recovered, clearing his throat and waving his hand in a nervous flutter. he wasn’t good at this. “forgive my wording, i simply meant that… i don’t exactly date often. i’m out of practice, i suppose,” he fiddled, just slightly, eyeing anything around him but you. he’d wondered if you thought less of him. eyes raised to once again meet your gaze, you only cracked a smile at him, stepping closer, offering your understanding. your you. “well, it can just be a simple dinner. get to know each other outside of work, in a way.” your tone was inviting, and he was eager, too quick to take it from a hanging tree of tempting fruit. “i’d like that.” 

getting a green light, no jabs intended, your smile brightened, stretching from ear to ear—and oh, how he beamed at your eagerness. were you certain it was just coworkers eating dinner? in a flurry of fluster and excitement, you stepped forward, pressing a peck to his cheek, just grazing his sideburn. stepping back, you gave him a wave and made your way out of the building to your car. now, again, he wasn’t one for sentiments, nor did connection come so easily to him; in turn, he didn’t know how to take the gesture. a simple act of affection. but just barely, in his office, his gaze softened where you once stood—he’d make it a mission this evening, to text you, asking you your favorite things, and commit them to memory, just for keeps. he fell to such a simple vice, like a man under a spell—and part of him, the evil in his corner, wanted to ignore you. fire you the next day, in worry his mold would taint the goodness in you. he’d sit and think about it overnight, and yet, as he made his way out of the building, taking care of small errands, the evil quiet, he found himself hoping you’d understand him as edward, not a joke, or the riddler.

perhaps he wouldn’t mind standing in your sunspot, amongst the gloomy weather of the city. doing himself a selfish act since his reform, just this once.