It's Irresistible

The next five days are uneventful and follow the same pattern, but Bex has enough fun that she doesn’t mind the routine of it all. It goes a little something like this.

Victor and Bex wake up sometime around noon, and they take their time getting out of bed. Once they’re adequately dressed, Victor will call Max and Jade before starting on brunch. The two women usually arrive just as Victor is finishing up, and they eat together out on the patio. Bex enjoys getting to know the women, and the two of them seem to genuinely like her. After they’ve all eaten, Victor and the girls will leave to take care of whatever needs to be done that day. Max and Jade usually show up around eight to help Bex get ready for work, which is really just an excuse for the three women to laugh and kill some time.

Like a true gentleman, Victor walks her to work each night. He never stays, so she spends an hour or so just talking to Oswald about little things. People in the nightclub, how she’s enjoying Victor’s company, and sometimes Oswald even complains about the idiots working for him. She keeps singing and is surprised at how much she actually enjoys it, and Victor always shows up before she finishes singing. He normally checks in with Oswald when he first arrives, and the two men sit at their usual table as she finishes up for the night.

She always joins them after she’s done singing, and she loves the way that Victor pulls her into his lap each night. It’s clear to everyone in the nightclub that she’s taken, and people have stopped touching her when they compliment her. (Which is a relief to her, because she doesn’t like being touched.) Mark is usually hidden in the nightclub somewhere, so that he can gather information for Hawthorne, but he always goes back to Max and Jade when he leaves the nightclub. Victor and Bex stay to talk to Oswald for a while, until he shoos them away to enjoy the rest of their night.

Every night, Ivy waits for them outside. The girl has warmed up to Victor, somewhat, and she questions them both as they eat at the same diner. (Victor and Bex talked it over, and they’ve agreed that having an obvious routine with repeated movements is a good idea. It makes it easier for them to be tracked, which is what they want.) After they eat, Ivy goes on her way while Bex and Victor start towards Bex’s apartment. They end their nights pressed tight against each other, skin to skin, and Bex always falls asleep completely satisfied and content. She’s thinking of sending Mister Carmine a thank-you card. Possibly a fruit basket.

The fifth days goes the same as the previous four, but the script changes after they reach Oswald’s. Victor walks her inside like he always does, but Oswald is sitting at the bar instead of in his office. Butch is nowhere in sight, and Oswald watches them with narrowed eyes as they walk farther into the nightclub. Once they’re close to him, Bex reaches out and grabs Oswald’s hand with her left one. (Her right hand is currently tucked into Victor’s jacket pocket.) Oswald gently squeezes her hand, because the two of them are used to this kind of contact by now.

“Is everything okay, Oswald?” She still calls him sir or Mister Cobblepot if people are around, but he’s given her permission to use his first name if it’s just the two of them. Well, just the two of them and Victor.

“I’m afraid that Victor and I are going to have to miss your performance tonight.” Oswald makes a slight frown after he finishes speaking, and Bex feels her brows pull together in faux confusion. If they’re both leaving, that means Victor is in for a fun night. It’ll be good for him. He gets antsy when he doesn’t have any work to do.

“I hope it’s nothing too dangerous?” she asks. Victor hums, and Oswald folds his hand over their already clasped fingers.

“Nothing that you need to worry about, my dear. Victor and I are just going to have a long talk with a little problem maker.” Oswald smiles at her, but the look in his eyes is downright cruel. There’s the criminal she’s heard so much about. He’s always so gentle and kind with her, but she knows that he’s got a mean streak that’s a mile wide. Possibly several miles wide.

“I promise to sing as if you’re sitting right in front of me,” she says with a grin of her own.

“Excellent!” Oswald’s eyes move over to Victor for a moment but quickly return to her. “We may not be back in time for Victor to escort you home. Would you like for me to arrange a car for you?”

“Or one of my girls can pick you up,” Victor adds. Bex looks between the two of them, a few times, and then smiles at Oswald.

“As much as I love the two of you as my shining knights, I can walk myself home. The offers are appreciated though.” She’s dressed in a pair of ripped black skinny jeans and a black band tee shirt, paired with heavy black boots and a black leather jacket, and she can move easily in the clothes. If something were to happen, she can take care of herself.

“Of course, Bex,” Oswald says and stands up. He quickly knocks back the last of his drink and then looks up at Victor. “Say your goodbyes and meet me outside.”

“See you tomorrow, Oswald.”

“Tomorrow,” Oswald says and presses a kiss to her knuckles before walking off. Victor waits until Oswald is outside to look at her, and she grins at him as she rocks up onto her toes.

“You heard the boss. Say goodbye.” Her hair is down around her shoulders, so it’s easy for Victor to grip a handful and pull her head back. She hooks her fingers into his shoulders as his lips move against hers, hard and nearly violent, and she’s breathing out of rhythm when he pulls back. His other hand comes up to press against the left side of her neck, where an ever present dark mark is on display, and she shivers as she looks up at him.

“See you at home,” he whispers against her lips. She uses the hold on his shoulders to pull him down for one last taste, and she nips his top lip before she lets him go.

“See you at home,” she echoes and takes a step back. She leans back against the bar as he walks away, and she doesn’t move until he walks out the front door. Now…time to prepare for another night on the job.


The night seems to pass a little quicker than usual, and she’s amused when people are still careful not to touch her after she slips off the stage. Ever since the first night that Victor pulled her into his lap, people have made sure not to touch her. It doesn’t seem to matter that Victor isn’t here tonight; they smile at her and tell her that she sang beautifully, but they don’t even brush against her accidentally. Since Oswald and Victor are still absent, she doesn’t hang around the nightclub after she’s done singing. Instead, she goes outside and greets Ivy.

“Where’s Victor?” The girl looks at the space all around Bex; she even leans to the side to look behind Bex and then frowns when there’s no one there. Bex knew that Ivy was warming up to Victor.

“He’s working tonight, so it’s just me. That cool with you?” Ivy’s head tilts to the side as she looks up at Bex, and she holds a hand out. With a small smile, Bex reaches out and lets Ivy grip her hand. The girl starts walking after that, and Bex walks next to her since they’re still holding hands. “So, why the touchy-feely tonight?”

“Victor holds your hand, but he’s not here,” Ivy explains simply. She’s very observant, and Bex grins even though Ivy is looking forward and can’t see it. They make it to the diner without exchanging another word, and Ivy looks at the waitress right after they walk inside. “We’ll have the usual.”

“What she said,” Bex agrees as Ivy leads them to their usual table. The girl doesn’t let go of her hand until she moves to sit down, and Bex watches as she places her small hands on top of the table. She taps her fingers a few times, and Bex notes the way that her eyebrows are furrowed. Something is on the girl’s mind. She could ask, but she’s learned that it’s better to wait. Ivy will talk when she’s ready.

“How was the singing tonight?” Ivy asks her. That’s not what’s on the girl’s mind, but Bex answers anyway. She talks about some of the more interesting looking people that she saw tonight as they wait, but they’re both quiet as they eat. As usual, Bex lets Ivy eat half of her food. When there’s nothing left except for a few fries, Ivy squares her thin shoulders and meets Bex’s eyes.

“Everything okay, kid?” Bex finally asks. She’s used to Ivy’s blank stares by now, but something is clearly on the girl’s mind.

“I know what Victor’s job is.” Bex and Victor have talked about Victor’s job very vaguely, which is to say that they haven’t explained it at all. They just told Ivy that he works for Bex’s boss. Nothing more.

“Oh? What is Victor’s job?” Bex pops another fry into her mouth as Ivy gathers her thoughts and then nearly chokes when the girl answers.

“He kills people.” It takes two big gulps of her vegan milkshake to dislodge the fry and get her to breathing normally again, and she blinks rapidly to help clear up her watery eyes. Once she’s back to normal, she holds up a finger and then digs around in her pocket. She gets out the money for their bill, lays it on the table, and then leads Ivy out of the diner. She doesn’t talk again until they’re outside on the sidewalk, where no one can overhear them.

“Where’d you hear that?” They’re facing each other now, and Ivy props her hands on her hips as she tilts her head back to look at Bex. It’s the same way that Bex is standing, except she’s looking down with her hands on her hips.

“Heard some people talking about a tall bald guy that works for the Penguin. They said he kills people. This old guy said he was a monster. Is Victor a monster?” That’s…a hard question to answer. Compared to most people, Victor probably is a monster. Bex doesn’t see him that way though.

“No, he’s not. Victor’s a human being, just like me and you,” Bex answers. Ivy’s stare doesn’t waver, not even a little.

“But he does kill people.” It’d be easy to lie. There’s no reason for her not to lie. Ivy’s a child, and the last thing a child needs to know is that there are people in this city that will kill anyone if the price is right. (Or if they’re just in a killing mood.) Then again, Ivy is an orphan living on the streets. Telling her the truth can’t hurt. It’s not like Victor’s profession is a secret.

“Yes.”

“Is he going to kill me?”

“No.”

“Is he going to kill you?”

“No.”

“Is he mean?” That one stumps Bex, until she remembers the first time she ate with Ivy. The girl mentioned that her father got mean after he married her mother, and Bex is smart enough to add that up. Ivy’s father was abusive, so that’s what Ivy is asking. Victor is capable of cruelty, he’s an artist at it actually, but he’s not mean. He’s simply efficient.

“No, Ivy, he’s not mean,” Bex says and slowly reaches out. She places her hands on Ivy’s shoulders and hates how thin the girl is. Feeding her once a day isn’t enough. “Victor’s job is to kill people, but that doesn’t make him mean. It’s just a job. You don’t have to worry about him hurting you.”

“Or you?” Bex smiles at the quiet question and pulls Ivy closer to her. Small arms wrap around her back in a tight hug, and she gently moves her arms around Ivy’s shoulders.

“Victor will never hurt me.” Ivy’s face is pressed against Bex’s chest, so her next words are muffled but still clear.

“I knew he wouldn’t. I knew they were lyin’,” she says and holds on a little tighter. The girl really is just too cute. Bex pulls back but keeps her hands on Ivy’s shoulders, and the girl’s arms fall back down to her sides.

“You’re a good kid, Ivy. You hear me?” There’s a part of her that wants to take Ivy home with her. Give her a warm bed and three meals a day, but she’s not the right person to raise a child. She’s a killer. Victor is a killer. She’s currently setting herself up as bait, and she doesn’t want a kid caught up in that.

“I hear you. Take care, Bex.” Ivy slips away from her and starts walking off, and Bex turns to watch her go.

“Take care, Ivy,” she says quietly. Maybe, once things with Hawthorne are handled, she’ll talk to Victor about taking the girl in.

The walk towards home is quiet, even more so without Victor, and she tucks her hands into her pockets as she walks. Her thoughts are jumbled and keep bouncing all over the place. She thinks about Victor and Oswald, wonders if they’re okay. She thinks about Ivy, walking alone to sleep on the street. She thinks about Hawthorne, anticipating getting rid of that particular thorn in her side. She thinks about Max and Jade, worried that they’re on their own tonight. She thinks about Mister Carmine, hopes that he’s happy down south now that he’s away from here. Each thought keeps trying to push its way to the forefront, and it’s starting to give her a headache.

When she first hears the quiet fwump, she thinks that something in her brain has finally snapped. Then she hears it again followed by a cut-off scream, and she hurries her steps. Five long strides later she’s standing in the mouth of an alley, and she has to squint to see in the darkness. The first thing she sees is a body slumped up against the brick building on the right, clearly dead. He’s missing half of his head. On the other side of the alley, there’s two more people. Going by the red heel she can see scrambling against the ground, the person on their back is a woman. A large form is lying on top of her, and Bex feels anger bloom in her stomach.

Her foot knocks into an empty bottle as she walks closer to them, and the man straightens up and looks around. When his eyes meet hers, she raises her hand and wiggles her fingers in a wave. The man has blood streaked across his face, and the woman under him is rapidly bleeding out. Stabbed in the abdomen. Several times. Her dress is pushed up above her hips, exposing her, and Bex flexes her fingers as the man lumbers to his feet.

“Get outta here!” he yells and points a bloody knife at her. It’s been too long since she got to kill someone. Twenty-four days, to be exact.

“Sorry. No can do,” she says and shrugs. She takes another step forward and watches as the man looks behind her, and she doesn’t have time to react before a pair of arms wrap around her from behind. The tight hold traps her arms to her sides, and hot breath fans across her cheek.

“Shoulda ran,” the second man whispers.

The first man starts walking forwards, and she takes a slow breath as she watches him creep closer. Once he’s in grabbing range, she brings the heel of her boot down on the second man’s foot. She snaps her head back at the same time and listens as he starts to wheeze, which means that she nailed him right in the throat. The first man jumps forward with his knife held out, faster than she was expecting, and she manages to twist to the side and catch the blade just as it reaches her. A thin line of heat runs along the right side of her neck, but the cut isn’t deep. She tightens her fingers along the long blade and ignores the feeling of the knife cutting deep into her fingers. She uses her other hand to hit the first man’s wrist, causing him to release the knife, and then snaps her leg out. Her boot catches him on the chin, forcing him back and onto the ground, and she quickly turns around.

Wide eyes meet hers as she pushes the knife into the second man’s torso, between his ribs, and she grins as she twists the large blade. She’s willing to bet that she just punctured a lung. It’s not necessarily fatal, but it hurts. The man looks stunned, like he can’t believe the turn of events, and she twists the knife once more for good measure. Just when she’s getting ready to pull it out and maybe stab him in the neck, hands grip her shoulders and throw her. The right side of her face cracks against the brick wall with a sharp thumping sound; the blow makes her ears ring, and she groans quietly as she starts to slide towards the ground.

“C’mon, Kenny, move it!” Her vision is fuzzing out a little, but she can see the first man pulling on the second. She loses a few seconds of time, maybe more, because they’re both gone when her vision clears a little. She can hear quiet gasping sounds though, which means that the woman is still alive.

Bile burns her stomach and the bottom of her throat, but she fights off the nausea as she crawls to the other side of the alley. The woman’s eyes are wide, showing white all the way around, and she’s breathing too quick and too shallow. The amount of blood shining on the ground all around her isn’t promising, and the blood slicks across Bex’s right hand as she pulls her body closer to the dying woman. Her left hand is currently out of commission, and she’s seriously hoping that none of the tendons or nerves have been damaged.

The woman flaps a hand towards her, but Bex can’t reach out to her. Not yet. Instead she digs into her pants pocket and does what any other average citizen would do. She calls the cops. She talks frantically into the phone, tells the operator that a man is dead in an alley and that a woman is dying, and she rattles off her approximate location. The operator promises her that someone is on the way and asks her to stay on the line, but Bex hangs up and hurriedly stuffs her phone back into her pocket. With her now free right hand, she grabs the woman’s hand. Her hold is weak, but she’s still crying steadily.

“Sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” Bex says quietly. It’s loud enough for the woman to hear, and the woman’s breath stutters as she looks up at Bex. She realizes that the woman is trying to talk, so she shuffles a little closer and then leans down to put her ear next to the woman’s mouth.

“P-please. Pull. My dress. Down. Don’t want them. To see me. Like this.” The words come out slowly, too quiet, and Bex sits up straight. She keeps holding onto the woman’s hand as she raises her left hand and carefully flexes her fingers, and she feels a small amount of relief when her fingers bend. It causes blood to pump out at a faster rate, but it also means that her fingers are still functional. With a quiet hiss, she grips the hem of the woman’s dress and pulls it down over her hips. She wants to put pressure on the woman’s wounds, but there’s too many. It wouldn’t do any good.

It’s too late for her.


The cackling sound of the radio goes quiet, and James Gordon looks over at the driver seat. Harvey is already looking at him, getting ready to say something, but Jim just shrugs and slides out of the passenger seat. They’re still on the clock for the next twenty minutes, and the approximate address is right around here. He can hear Harvey grumbling behind him as he looks down alleys, but he hasn’t seen anyone yet. Maybe they got the address wrong?

“Here! We’re here!” The shout comes from the other side of the street, and Jim quickly crosses the empty road and runs right into the alley. There’s one dead body on the right, and there’s two women on the left. The one lying down is struggling to breathe, and the woman sitting up next to her has half of her face covered in blood. Harvey is calling for a bus behind him, so he drops down next to the women and starts to shrug out of his jacket.

“Don’t, Jim. She’s gone.” Harvey’s hand is on his shoulder, stopping him, and he looks down. The woman lying down isn’t breathing anymore, but the other woman is still holding her hand. Jim slowly reaches out, but the woman flinches back. She groans after she does it, a quiet painful sound, and Jim drops his hand.

“Miss, can you tell me what happened here?” She blinks as she looks around the alley, and she carefully places the other woman’s hand on the ground before meeting his eyes.

“I was walking home when I heard this noise. It sounded like a scream, so I stopped. Saw some guy on top of someone and that guy over there.” She turns just enough to look at the dead man but then faces him again as she continues. “I tried to stop him, but this other guy grabbed me. I tried to fight them off. Grabbed the guy’s knife when he tried to stab me. I stabbed the guy who grabbed me, but the other guy threw me against the wall. It was all kinda fuzzy after that, but I think they both ran off.”

“Probably worried all the noise would get someone’s attention,” Harvey mutters. The woman reaches up with a hand, her right one, and presses against the right side of her throat. There’s a line there, a cut, that’s bleeding sluggishly but steadily. There’s another cut along her hairline, about an inch along, on the right side. That side of her face is starting to swell too.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” the woman says quietly. Jim looks down and sees that all four fingers are split open, and he finishes shrugging out of his jacket. The woman looks like she’s going to flinch back again, but she holds her hand out instead. He carefully wraps his jacket around her hand and then presses down, and he apologizes when she hisses. She doesn’t move or flinch this time.

“What’s your name?” he asks her. Her eyes raise back up to meet his, and she’s starting to pale under the blood.

“Bexley Cavanaugh.” Her voice is steady, and she looks calm. Shock.

“Okay, Miss Cavanaugh, is there—”

“Bex. I prefer Bex.” Still steady and even, so she’s definitely going into shock. That’s not good. He smiles gently at her but doesn’t let up on the pressure around her hand, and he keeps a careful eye on the side of her throat and her head.

“Bex.” Her lips twitch into a smile before she groans quietly, as if that small movement is causing her pain. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

“I don’t have any family.” She glances down and sways a little, but there’s too much blood on the ground to determine what’s hers and what’s the dead woman’s.

“A friend maybe?” Her right hand reaches out, and Jim holds still as she grabs onto his shoulder. She’s trying to steady herself.

“My boss. I’m a singer at a club. You can call my boss.” He doesn’t like how pale she’s becoming, doesn’t like the way her lips are starting to tremble.

“Who’s your boss?” Her fingers tighten in the material of his shirt as she starts falling to the side, and Jim manages to catch her with one arm while still keeping pressure on her hand with his other one. She falls against his chest with a quiet cry, and her body jerks against his in one violent spasm before her eyes open again. Her stare is direct, and he can see the way she grits her teeth. It’s like she’s fighting to stay conscious, which is a good thing considering she probably has a concussion.

“Cobblepot,” she whispers and closes her eyes. Out cold.

“Great. Just what we need,” Harvey huffs. Jim can hear sirens now, getting closer, and he wishes that she had said any other name but that one. It always comes back to Cobblepot.


Victor is sitting in Cobblepot’s office, watching a clock while the other man counts out money, and he’s literally counting the time until he can leave. Should be any minute now. There are still people in the club, listening to the DJ and getting progressively drunker, but Bex has been gone for a couple of hours now. She’s already fed her street rat and made it home, which is where Victor wants to be. Tonight was a good night, he gets to add another two tallies, but he’s waiting until he’s with Bex to add them. She’d been disappointed when he added the last four without her. Said something about him taking away her chance to play nurse.

“I think that’s all of it, so you are—” Victor nearly growls when Cobblepot’s phone starts ringing, and the man raises a finger to tell him to wait while he answers it. He was so close to being gone too. “Jim! It’s so good to hear from you.”

“Why is it always Jim Gordon?”

“Say that again.” The look on Cobblepot’s face is serious and murderous, and Victor leans forward in his chair. Maybe his good night isn’t over yet. Cobblepot grits out a few more words and then hangs the phone up, and Victor waits on the edge of his seat.

“More work, sir?” he asks as Cobblepot gets to his feet.

“Bex was in an accident.” Victor is on his feet and around the desk before making the decision to move, which isn’t like him. He’s always in control, but this is Bex. Cobblepot has to tilt his head back to meet Victor’s eyes, and he can only imagine what he looks like as Cobblepot swallows nervously. “Detective Gordon is with her, and I do believe that it would be unwise for you to see her with him there.”

“Why?” Jim can’t do anything to him.

“Because you’re a known assassin,” Cobblepot points out. When Victor just continues to look down at him, Cobblepot squares his shoulders and speaks slowly. “It’ll be easier for Bex if you’re not there. I will call you as soon as the detective leaves.”

“I’ll drive,” Victor says and turns around. He can hear Cobblepot walking behind him, so he doesn’t slow down as he leaves the nightclub. The car they used earlier is still parked in the same place, and he quickly moves to sit behind the wheel and then grinds his teeth while waiting for Cobblepot to get in. As soon as the passenger door closes, he takes off.

“He said she’ll be okay. Just a few minor injuries,” Cobblepot says as they get closer to the hospital.

“What happened?” Bex is careful and deadly, so he can’t think of what might have happened. Unless Hawthorne made a move. He doubts that, because Mark would have told them. It had to be something else.

“He didn’t say.” When they get to the hospital, Victor parks around the back where he can’t be easily seen and watches as Cobblepot hurriedly opens the door. He pauses before stepping out and looks over his shoulder at Victor. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

Victor just grunts in place of an answer and looks straight ahead after the door closes. To keep himself calm, he thinks about how he’ll kill whoever hurt Bex. The how doesn’t really matter, because he’s going to make sure that it’s slow and messy.


“What’s your name?” The quiet whisper is a surprise, and Jim feels his brows raising as he turns around. The woman, Bex, still looks too pale but a little steadier. The blood has been cleaned off of her, and there’s stitches on her forehead and on her throat. Her left hand has been stitched and heavily bandaged as well, and she looks young and small in the too big hospital gown.

“Detective James Gordon.” He pauses after that and then tries to smile for her. “Jim.”

“Jim. That sounds a little nicer.” She’s leaned back in the hospital bed with monitors and an IV hooked up to her, and she looks like she’s been in a hell of a fight. She has been in a hell of a fight. Despite that, she seems calm.

“You did a brave thing tonight, Bex,” he says as he moves to stand at the foot of her bed.

“If by brave you mean stupid, yeah. Who grabs the blade of a knife?” He moves around the side of the bed until he’s standing on her left side, since the right side of her face is swollen and starting to darken, and holds out his left hand. The cut across his palm is faint now, and he watches as her eyes trace along the faint scar.

“Maybe we can start our own club?” She smiles up at him but then winces when her right cheek dimples, but he still thinks that she looks younger when she smiles.

“Idiots who grab knives blade first. We can make tee shirts.” Her voice is getting quieter, but she’s fighting to stay awake. Because he was right about her having a concussion.

“I’ll get right on it,” he says just as the door to her room opens. Oswald Cobblepot walks inside, and he watches as Bex smiles and reaches her right hand out. Cobblepot grabs it instantly and then smooths the hair away from the left side of her face, and it’s not what Jim was expecting from an employee-employer relationship.

“Sorry for bothering you, sir, but I didn’t know who else to call.” Her eyes flick over at Jim for just a moment, but it’s too quick for Jim to read her expression.

“You’re not a bother, Bex. Tell me what happened to you.” This time her gaze stays fixed on Jim, so Cobblepot looks over at him too. It’s the first time that the known criminal has looked at him, and he shifts under the combined stares. He summarizes what happened and then mentions that he came along with Bex to the hospital, which Bex quietly thanks him for.

“We have officers out looking for the men responsible.” Cobblepot’s expression changes, it goes from somewhat comforting to cold, and Jim can’t help but to wonder if the men responsible are going to disappear into the river.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Detective.” It sounds like a dismissal, and it’s something that Jim would normally ignore. He’s still wearing clothes covered in Bex’s dried blood and his shift ended a couple of hours ago, so he’s not going to argue with Cobblepot. Not tonight. Or, rather, not this morning.

“If you need anything, feel free to call me,” Jim says and looks at Bex as he places one of his cards on the table next to her bed.

“You got it, Jim.” He smiles and nods at her before walking out, and he doesn’t take a full breath until he’s standing outside. Shower and sleep. That’s all he cares about right now.


“I wanted to call Victor, but I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to have him in the same room as a cop. I really am sorry, Oswald,” Bex says quietly. Her head is absolutely killing her, and she can’t wait to get her hands on the men who did this to her. Well, hand. Her left hand is going to be a little useless for an unknown amount of time, which makes her very irritable since she’s mostly left-handed.

“He’s waiting outside. Before I call him up, how hurt are you?” Bex hasn’t depended on anyone in a very long time, and she decided when she was sixteen that she was never going to depend on anyone to feel safe. She can keep herself safe just fine, thank you very much. Still, knowing that Victor is so close by makes her relax just the tiniest bit.

“The cuts on my fingers are pretty deep. The tendons are okay, but they don’t know about nerve damage yet. My neck’s fine. I’ve got a concussion and a bruised face, so nothing too major. I don’t think I’ll look too pretty for a while though.” The right side of her face is bruised from her hairline to her jaw, and she’s lucky that nothing fractured. She’s just heavily bruised.

“You look beautiful to me.” She smiles at the kind words, even though she knows she looks horrible, and Oswald squeezes her hand before letting go. “I’m going to go call Victor and talk to your doctor.”

“You’re a good friend, boss.” Her words cause him to pause at the door, but he doesn’t say anything. After he walks out, Bex closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing. Being in an actual hospital is weird. She never went to a hospital for her worst injuries; she patched those up herself. She doesn’t need to be here now, but normal people stay in a hospital after being attacked and concussed. Hopefully they’ll let her leave tomorrow. If not, she’s walking out anyway.

Time slips away from her as she waits for…someone to come into the room, so she jumps a little when the door suddenly opens. She’d been drifting off, but her eyes open fully at the sound. Dark eyes meet hers, and she smiles on instinct as Victor crosses the room in a few strides. His hand immediately goes to the left side of her face, and she sighs quietly as his hand cups her left cheek. Her whole head is pounding in pain, but she always likes it when Victor touches her. He sits next to her right hip, which causes her body to rock to the side and bump against him, and she watches as he quickly looks over her injuries.

“Max and Jade are looking for the idiots who did this. They’ll find them before the cops even get close,” Victor says quietly. His jaw is clenched, which must make talking difficult, and she reaches up with her right hand to grab his wrist. She pulls his hand away from her face so that she can lace their fingers together, and she rubs her thumb across his knuckles.

“How? I didn’t really get a good look at them.” They’d looked average to her, nothing distinguishing, and there’s a lot of lowlife criminals in Gotham.

“You stabbed one of them. He’ll need a doctor, but he won’t risk going to a hospital. Only a few places for him to go.” That makes sense, especially since she’s sure that she got his lung. That’ll need medical attention. She tells Victor that and then watches as he uses his free hand to pull out his phone. He sends a quick text to Max, telling her what kind of injury to look for, and he’s returning his phone to his jacket when Oswald returns.

“I made sure the doctor and staff know that you are not to be left alone, so Victor can stay as long as he wants. They’ll give you whatever you need,” Oswald says quietly as he looks down at her. She also notices him noticing the way that Victor is holding her hand, white-knuckled, but she doesn’t have the energy to care. To Oswald, she’s only been with Victor for a week. They haven’t actually been together for much longer than that, but that doesn’t matter to either of them. Victor is hers, and she’s his. So she’s not letting go of his hand.

“Thanks,” is all she can think of to say. She’s getting sleepy, and it’s getting harder for her to hold her eyes open. She knows the doctor will come check on her soon, so she can get a little sleep. Can’t she?

“Victor, I trust that you’re going to take care of this?” It sounds like a question, but all three of them know that the answer is obvious.

“Of course, sir,” Victor answers anyway. Oswald makes a quiet noise of agreement as he moves to her left side, and Bex manages to open her eyes as he leans down. He presses a quick kiss to the top of her head, and she blinks up at him as he pulls away. She wasn’t expecting that.

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow.” Oswald bids them both a goodnight, and her and Victor are quiet after he leaves. After a couple of minutes, Bex squeezes Victor’s hand and then grins up at him.

“I want to kill them.” It’s not a request. It’s an order. She knows that Victor can tell, because his grin matches hers.

“You got it, boss.”