It's Irresistible

When the sun rises on a new day, Bex feels like a brand new person. Whatever melancholy feelings that were left over from her kill have been washed away by screams of Victor’s name, and her injuries don’t even hurt as much as she thought they would. Other parts of her body feel stretched and sore, but the dull aches make her feel a little lightheaded. Who knew sex could be so therapeutic? They spent hours locked away in the bedroom though, and she’s hungry. Nausea from the concussion has kept her from eating these past few days, but she’s feeling ravenous now.

“Eggs, definitely. Maybe sausage and bacon? Do we have any biscuits?” she asks as they walk down the stairs. She can feel Victor’s presence at her back, and his quiet hum sounds just above her head as they step into the kitchen. The sharp smell of coffee greets her, and she closes her eyes with a sigh at the delicious smell. Then it registers that no one has been downstairs since yesterday afternoon.

“Mornin’.” The greeting is drawled out, cheerfully slow in a way that she recognizes from early mornings after late nights, and Bex realizes that she’s holding Victor’s wrist in her right hand. The hold she has on him means that his gun is angled just above their guest’s head, and it takes her a moment to make sense of the scene. There’s definitely a man sitting at the kitchen bar, with a steaming coffee cup in front of him, and his brown eyes look amused. She’s not sure why. Victor is a tense line along her back, and she knows that it would only be too easy for him to break her hold and fire.

“Jackson?” The man in her kitchen raises his coffee cup towards her as he smiles, and she feels a headache starting.

“Concussion got you this out of it? Or is he just that good?” The sound Victor makes is feral and causes blood to rise in her cheeks, and she leans back against him.

“Trust me, he’s that good,” she hears herself say. Yep, that’s definitely Jackson sitting in her kitchen and drinking coffee. Why is Jackson sitting in her kitchen and drinking coffee? Wait, she hasn’t bought any coffee since moving to Gotham. Did he bring it with him?

“Bex?” Victor says her name in a low tone, one that causes her thighs to tense, and she looks over her shoulder. Victor’s eyes flick down to hers, but he doesn’t lower his gun.

“Jackson’s an old friend. I’m not really sure why he’s here though.” She directs that last part at the man in question, but he just takes another sip of his coffee.

“A friend?” Victor sounds unsure, which is reasonable. She’s never really talked about her life outside of Gotham. She’s never had a reason to. Jackson places his cup on the bar and then presses his palms flat against the countertop. It’s his way of showing that he’s not holding a weapon or planning on reaching for one, and she feels the tense feeling in her jaw subsiding.

“I owe Bex a debt. She saved my life a couple of years ago, and I’m here to make good on that,” Jackson says smoothly.

“He’s exaggerating. We had targets at the same resort. After I took care of my guy, I realized that Jackson’s guy’s bodyguard had a lover that was a little upset about his lover being assassinated. Jackson totally could’ve handled him, but I was bored,” Bex explains quickly. That’d been a fun week.

“He’d stabbed me in the back,” Jackson points out.

“You already had the knife out.” Victor makes a noise behind her, clearly not amused by her back and forth with Jackson, and she turns around to smile at him. “Jackson’s a professional, like us. He’d never hurt me. Not even for the right price. Right, Jacks?”

“Right, Bex.” She grins again, despite the flair of pain on the right side of her face, and then holds still as Victor searches her eyes. He must find what he’s looking for, because he returns the gun to the back of his sweatpants.

“Do I have to feed him too?” he asks. Jackson makes a noise between a laugh and a snort, but Bex ignores him and rocks up onto her toes. Her right hand grips Victor’s bare left shoulder, because he’s still shirtless, and she presses a kiss against his chin.

“If you don’t mind,” she says once her feet are flat against the ground. Victor grunts and walks over to the refrigerator, and Bex smiles to herself before smoothing out her expression and turning around. She walks carefully towards the bar, aware that she’s only wearing a pair of panties and one of Victor’s black button-ups, and hoists herself up onto a stool close to Jackson. There’s still one stool between them, some space, and she runs her eyes over the other assassin.

“Damn, that asshole got you good, didn’t he, sweetheart?” Jackson reaches a hand out like he’s going to touch her face, but the quiet growl from Victor’s direction stops him. She knew Jackson was a smart one.

“He got lucky, and he’s been dealt with.” Jackson grins at that, shows his teeth and crinkles the corners of his eyes, and she rolls her eyes. Others in their profession whispered about how she was crazy, took things too far, but Jackson always laughed and just called her eccentric. It’s one of the reasons she likes him. “What are you doing here, Jackson? I know you didn’t drop in for a friendly visit.”

“I’ve been hired by Gavin Hawthorne.” Her entire body goes still, she even stops breathing, and she hears Victor pause in the middle of cracking an egg. She takes a measured breath and never looks away from Jackson’s pretty brown eyes. You look like some kind of demi-wolf on your way to save the damsel with your pretty gold eyes, she’d mumbled after they spent three days dodging bullets and grenades in some country she couldn’t pronounce the name of. Jackson had laughed and said the correct term for the color was sweet as honey before shooting a man between the eyes, and now he’s come to Gotham to work for the man she’s set on killing?

“And what’s this got to do with me?” she asks carefully. Jackson drops his elbow onto the counter and then rests his temple against his fist, a look of ease, and she waits for him to explain.

“Officially, I’ve been hired to bring in Zsasz alive. From what I’ve gathered, Hawthorne believes that Zsasz is responsible for killing his family some years ago. One of his men has reported that Zsasz has grown close to a nightclub singer. I am to grab this nightclub singer, maybe rough her up a little, and draw Zsasz out. Hawthorne wants to be the one to kill him. I’m supposed to stay as insurance.”

“Sounds like quite the job.” Jackson hums quietly, and Bex can hear the muted sounds of Victor cooking breakfast. She has no doubt that he’s listening to every word though.

“It took a couple of nights for me to recognize you. You look different without all of the tac gear.” She always stayed covered up on jobs; she always stayed covered up around people that could recognize her.

“I decided to go au naturel.”

“Also took me a little while to recognize the name. Hawthorne? The whole family had your signature.” That makes her flush a little, and she shifts on her stool.

“Signature?” Victor asks from the stove. Jackson raises a brow at her in question, and she stubbornly refuses to meet his eyes.

“All assassins know Bexley Barba’s work. It’s the fingers that give it away.” There’s a trace of amusement in Jackson’s tone, and she groans quietly in something that almost feels like embarrassment.

“You always break all ten fingers,” Victor says without turning around.

“It wasn’t a conscious decision. It just sort of…happened,” she mumbles. She never planned on having a signature, but Jackson isn’t wrong. Most people in the business know her work because of that one little quirk in her killing ritual. “How’d you know about the Hawthorne family though? That was before I started attaching my name to kills.”

“Are you suggesting that I don’t do my research? I’m a fucking professional,” Jackson grins.

“Point, but I still don’t understand why Hawthorne hired you. Gotham has no shortage of assassins.” Victor huffs from his place at the stove, but it’s true. There’s a whole network of assassins in Gotham. Jackson flicks his eyes over at Victor, and Bex takes a moment to watch the way that the muscles in his back shift as he moves.

“Because Hawthorne wants to take on Victor Zsasz. No assassin in Gotham is stupid enough to go after the top dog.” She narrows her eyes at that particular phrasing but still feels a fissure of pride in her chest. Damn straight no one is stupid enough to go after Victor. “I almost told Hawthorne to shove it when I recognized you, but he’d just find someone else. So I thought I’d stick around and offer my services to you instead.”

“What do you think, Victor? Think we can use him?” Victor looks over his shoulder to meet her eyes, and she likes the way his lips curve into a smile. Pair that with the dark look in his eyes? She might have to kick Jackson out for an hour or two.

“I think we can work something out.”


As far as plans go, it’s pretty simple and straightforward. Which doesn’t surprise Jackson too much. Bex has always been the straightforward type; it’s one of the things that makes working with her so enjoyable. Her assassin seems to be cut from the same cloth. Maybe a little more controlled, but Jackson can easily read the death in the other man’s eyes. (He won’t admit it to either of them, because he’d never live it down, but he doesn’t think he’d win against Zsasz. It’s a good thing that he’s on their side.)

“So I’ll take you when the time is right and keep you in one piece until Zsasz here shows up. Gonna have to put it off for a little while though.” Jackson drags his biscuit through some syrup before popping it into his mouth, and Bex’s left cheek is puffed out from all the bacon and eggs she’s been shoveling in.

“Why?” Bex asks after she washes the food down with some orange juice. Fresh squeezed orange juice too. Jackson is only a few bites away from asking where he can find his own Victor Zsasz.

“You need some time to heal up,” he says and points at her face. The concussion alone needs at least a week, and he doesn’t like the idea of abducting a woman with half of her face all banged up. His momma raised him better than that.

“You think I can’t handle it?” Zsasz is watching the two of them with a blank face, but Jackson can see the man thinking behind his dark eyes. He’s analyzing everything they say and how they act, reading them, and Jackson is impressed. Hawthorne’s been calling Zsasz a mindless beast, but Hawthorne couldn’t be any more wrong. Zsasz is clearly intelligent. The man probably knows everything within his reach that can be used to kill Jackson without jostling Bex, who is sitting extremely close to the other assassin, but it’s more than just killing intelligence. Jackson makes his living killing people, sure, but a part of that is reading people. He’s reading smarts on Victor Zsasz.

“Ain’t about handling it, sweetheart. I’m a gentlemen. Can’t kidnap a woman with a face like tenderized hamburger meat.” The ball of Bex’s foot kicks out against his thigh, just above his knee, and it’s enough pressure in just the right place to make the lower half of his leg go numb. His right leg hangs uselessly from the stool, and he narrows his eyes on Bex’s grinning face.

“You deserved that,” she says and then leans back against Zsasz. Her back curves against his front, so that the back of her head is cradled against his shoulder, and his arm wraps securely around her middle. The fingers of Bex’s right hand come up to dance around the tallies carved into his arm, and Jackson smiles at the sight. “What’s that look for?”

“The Bex I remember used to break arms for accidental touches. Never thought I’d see you all snuggled up to someone.” He’s crossed paths with people who have worked with Bex, and they all looked wary when her name was mentioned. Jackson just thinks they misunderstood her. Once you understand her, she’s pretty simple. When Bexley Barba smiled up at you and said no touching, she meant no touching. Half of his fond memories come from watching Bex expertly breaking bones whenever someone grabbed at her, or tried to. She’s such a fast little thing.

“Victor’s special.” As if to emphasize her statement, she turns her head and lightly nuzzles against his throat. Zsasz just drops his cheek to the top of her head and keeps his eyes trained on Jackson.

“I can see that.” His smile is a little gentler this time, not one of his usual grins or smirks, and Bex smiles back in an easy and carefree way. He’s seen her in the middle of a kill shrieking with laughter and then watched on as her eyes clouded over; he’s seen her skipping around dead bodies and then pulling at her hair as she asked her dead mother for forgiveness. He’s never seen her at peace. It’s a good look on the young assassin.

“You need a place to stay, Jackson?” Zsasz tenses up at that, like he’s preparing for Bex to offer her home, and Jackson realizes that she probably is. He’d consider accepting, but now isn’t the time. They have a plan to stick to. Also, he doesn’t want to wake up to Zsasz smiling down at him before pulling the trigger. (In this scenario that exists entirely in his imagination, Zsasz would want Jackson to know who was killing him. He seems like that kind of guy.)

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I got a place.” Zsasz doesn’t make any kind of expression or any kind of sound, but something about the atmosphere changes. Maybe because he keeps referring to Bex as sweetheart? Old habits and all.

“I’ll stay under the radar for a few days, so Mark won’t be able to report anything new. Keep in contact?” Bex asks him. He nods and then commits her phone number to memory, and he tips an imaginary hat to the both of them before leaving the apartment. He’s full from a good breakfast and has a solid plan in motion. His stay in Gotham is looking pretty promising.


“You trust him?” Victor’s washing the dishes, since her left hand is bandaged, so Bex props her hip against the counter next to him.

“I do. I’ve worked with a lot of people over the years, but Jackson is the only one I worked with more than once. He thinks I’m eccentric,” she says with a smile. For a time, she didn’t think that assassins could have friends. How could they? How do you trust people who kill for a living? Jackson is the closest she ever came to having a friend. She never told him what she did before leaving for Europe though, even when he asked.

“Is that all?” She reaches out to touch Victor’s arm, feels the way the lean muscles shift under his skin, and corrals her thoughts.

“Jackson was my mentor; he took me in and trained me after I left Gotham, and he was very patient with me. Some of the others didn’t like my up-close-and-personal way of killing, but Jackson never minded. He’d just sit back and let me do whatever I wanted. He understood that I didn’t like to be touched, but he’d still dance with me when the high from a job well done didn’t fade immediately. Dancing without touching, with dead bodies everywhere. And then he’d just sit quietly when I got all melancholy. I liked working with him,” she shrugs. She was only seventeen when she met Jackson, and he was more than just a mentor. He was a friend, and some days he was the only thing that kept her sane. He looked out for her.

“Without touching?” There’s a touch of possessiveness in Victor’s question, and it makes her light up inside. Feels her up with warmth. She rubs her cheek against his arm and tilts her head back to meet his eyes.

“Without touching,” she confirms. “I trusted him, but we had no reason to be physically close. You’re more his type than I am.”

“Hmm.” It’s a quiet hum, and she can see Victor’s cheek twitch like he’s fighting down a smile. She likes it when Victor smiles. “And he does good work?”

“He taught me, so I’d say he’s pretty good.” She picked up a few things while killing the Hawthorne family, but she was still an amateur despite her body count. Jackson is the one that took the time to teach her how to be a real assassin. Made her even more deadly.

“What’s his story?” She’s not sure it’s her place to tell Jackson’s business, but this is Victor. She knows whatever she tells him will be between the two of them.

“Nothing complicated. Originally from Kansas. Only child raised by a single mother. We bonded over that. He joined the military when he was eighteen, but he refuses to tell me which branch. His mother got lung cancer, and the military didn’t pay enough to cover all of her medical bills. So after he was honorably discharged, he became an assassin. Better pay. He was able to pay off all the debt and keep his mother comfortable until the end. Then he just stuck with the assassination gig. Said something about familiarity.”

“You’ve never mentioned him.” Bex watches as the water from the sink slowly drains and then as Victor uses a dish towel to dry himself off. When he turns around to face her, she presses her right palm flat against the left side of his chest.

“I didn’t think I’d see him again. Last I heard, he was working in Australia.” They parted ways about a year ago, and Bex thought that was the end of it. Especially since this thing started with Victor, because she’s not planning on leaving Gotham. “You do realize that we have today all to ourselves, right?”

“I could have errands to run.” Victor’s hands are on her hips, under the shirt she’s wearing, and she can feel his fingers lining up with the bruises already pressed into her skin. She smiles as she raises up on her toes and then nips at Victor’s jaw. When his hands tighten against her, she knows that he’s not going anywhere. Not for a good long while at least.


“Is that who I think it is?” Bex’s voice drifts out of the closet, and Victor finishes slipping on his shoulder holster as he goes to join her. She’s looking at one of the monitors, and he props his chin on top of her head so that he can see the screen. It doesn’t take more than a quick glance for him to recognize the man about to knock on the front door.

“Want me to answer it?” He stays pressed against her as he slips his guns into the holster, and she hums a little as she arches against him. Like a cat.

“If you don’t mind. I’ll be right down.” She’s dressed in one of his plain black button-ups, and he carefully rolled the sleeves up to her elbows after she slipped it on. She’s not wearing any pants though.

“Take your time.” He whispers it into her hair and then bends down just enough to bite the tip of her ear. It makes her squeal and then laugh, and she pushes at him with her right hand. He feels light on his feet as he makes his way down the stairs, and he hears the quick rap of knocks against the front door as he enters the kitchen.

“Sir.” He says the word easily after the door swings open, and Cobblepot looks up at him with the barest hint of a smile.

“Victor. How is Bexley?” He’s already stepping to the side so Cobblepot can walk inside, and he watches the way that he looks around the room.

“She was able to keep her breakfast down. Stitches are still in place. The concussion gives her a constant headache and has her a little off balance. Other than that, she’s perfectly fine.” Sometimes it takes her a minute to answer a question; he can see her thinking things over slowly, but he knows that will clear up soon. It would help if she would agree to take something for the pain, but she says she doesn’t like the way they make her feel.

“And the man responsible?” Cobblepot looks around the kitchen as he asks, and Victor crosses his arms as he leans back against the bar.

“Dealt with,” he answers easily.

“Oswald!” Bex’s voice echoes in the room before either of them can say anything else, and Cobblepot smiles outright as Bex walks into the kitchen. She’s wearing a pair of baggy purple shorts and has her hair pulled up on top of her head, and Victor quickly looks over her injuries. Left hand is still bandaged. Stark black stitches along the right side of her neck. Right side of her face is still a little swollen and purple. More stitches along her hairline and blending in with the bruises.

“You look radiant, my dear,” Cobblepot says as Bex reaches for him with her right hand. Their fingers lace together, and Bex doesn’t wince as her smile stretches her bruised cheek.

“I look like I got thrown into a wall,” Bex replies with a wide grin. It’s good that she’s in such a good mood. He likes it better when she’s smiling and laughing. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Do I need a reason to visit my favorite employee?” Bex’s smile is full of mischief when she looks over at Victor, and he lets one side of his lips twitch upwards.

“Hear that, Victor? I’m the favorite.” She’s teasing him, so she must be in a good mood.

“Only because the boss has good taste,” he says and straightens up. He has a few things to do before the day is over, and Bex looks over at Cobblepot with an expression that he can’t see. Whatever it is, it causes Cobblepot to release her hand. Bex easily walks over to him, quietly and up on her toes, and she winds her arms around his shoulders.

“Be safe?” she asks him. She knows that he’s going to meet with Max and Jade, to update them on the newest development, but she’s not going to say that in front of Cobblepot.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Her lips purse but she doesn’t say anything, and her right hand tightly grips the back of his neck when he leans down to kiss her. He keeps it light, because of their present company, and his eyes track the way her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip when he pulls back. He forces his eyes away from her face and over at Cobblepot, and he dips his chin. “Sir.”

“Try not to have too much fun, Victor,” Cobblepot says as he steps away from Bex. She grins at him as she stands next to Cobblepot again, and Victor grunts in place of an answer and moves towards the front door. He doesn’t have to explain himself to Cobblepot, and Bex already knows what his plans for the day are.

The rest of the day passes by without incident. He meets with Max and Jade, at his own private residence, and tells them about the assassin that Hawthorne has hired. When they start to look upset on Bex’s behalf, he explains that the man is an old friend of Bex’s and is going to work with them. They seem to relax at that, and they spend the rest of the evening making sure that Mark understands his job in the coming days. Once Bex has healed enough, they’ll prepare for her “abduction.” The sooner that all of this is over with, the better Victor will feel. Bex needs for this to be handled, and he doesn’t like the sound of Gavin Hawthorne. The man honestly thinks that Victor can be killed so easily and that he can take over Gotham from Cobblepot? Yes, he needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

By the time he leaves the house, the sky is dark and the city is just starting to come alive. He winds his way through the streets until he reaches Oswald’s, and cold blue eyes peer up at him from under a mop of frizzy red hair. Ivy’s face remains expressionless as she uncurls from the ball that she’s in, and Victor holds still as the girl looks him over. She makes note of the guns on his sides, still without any kind of discernible expression, and she clicks her tongue once before turning on her heel and walking off. Victor falls into step just behind her and replays what Bex told him about their last dinner together. Ivy questioned Bex, about him, because the little orphan has become attached to Bex.

“The woman with one eyebrow said that Bex was in an accident.” They’re sitting in the diner and already have their food in front of them, and it’s the first time that Ivy has spoken. She’s not even eating yet. She’s just staring across the table at him.

“She was.” Her small hands press against the table, and her fingers tap against the scarred tabletop.

“She fall down the stairs or something?” His head tilts to the side as he looks at the girl, and she copies the move so that their eyes stay locked. Bex told him that she was sure that Ivy’s father was abusive; definitely abused the girl’s mother and possibly the girl as well. Falling down the stairs is a common lie to cover up domestic abuse. Maybe the unhinged street rat is more intelligent than he originally gave her credit for.

“A woman was attacked in an alley, and Bex tried to help. The guy hurt her, but she’s okay.” It’s the simplest way to explain what happened, and he can see the way that Ivy’s hands shake against the top of the table. She’s probably starving, but she’s holding back.

“You kill the guy that hurt her?” Nothing about the child’s face changes. She could be asking if it’s raining outside.

“He’s dead, yes.” Bex would probably try to sugarcoat the answer for the child, but he doesn’t see the point. Her father was framed by the mob and killed by police, and her mother committed suicide. She lives on the streets of Gotham. Sugarcoating things will just get her killed quicker.

“Good.” With that said, Ivy digs into her food. After a moment’s thought, Victor pinches off a bite of his own vegetarian burger. Like Bex usually does. Ivy doesn’t say anything else as she quickly eats her food, and it’s almost like watching Bex eat. The girl barely pauses long enough to take a full breath in between bites, and her plate is clean in minutes. Once her plate is clean, she reaches across the table to eat the untouched half of Victor’s meal.

“If Bex wanted you to come home with her, would you?” He can see the…longing look in Bex’s eyes whenever she talks about Ivy. Something about the little orphan eats at her, and he’s surprised that she hasn’t brought the kid home yet.

“My foster parents wanted to change me. They even gave me a different name.” She’s eating what’s left of his fries now and drinking his milkshake.

“Bex wouldn’t ask you to change anything.” He knows he can’t speak for Bex, but he knows her well enough to know that much. Bex likes the kid, just the way she is.

“I’ll think about it,” Ivy says and slides out of the booth. Victor pays for their food, and he’s surprised to see Ivy waiting for him outside. She tips her head back so that she can look up at him, and Victor stands still to see what the strange girl will say next. When they hit the one minute mark, he grits his teeth and realizes that she’s waiting on him.

“Take care, Ivy.” It’s what Bex normally says to the girl. Her smile is sudden and somewhat mechanical; the muscles in her face expand, but her eyes stay cold.

“Take care, Victor.” She easily steps around him and heads back towards the Narrows, and Victor resists the urge to shake his head at the girl’s odd behavior. Instead, he starts walking towards home.

He’s halfway there when a figure appears in the corner of his eye, and he’s impressed that the man was able to get that close without making a sound. When he looks over, Jackson has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his plain black jacket. Once he realizes that Victor is looking at him, he purposefully scuffs his boots against the sidewalk and hunches his shoulders forward against the wind. Victor’s determined to not be the first one to talk this time, so he waits the other man out. He doesn’t have to wait long.

“The first time I saw Bex was in a bar in Bremen. Electric blue hair in a mohawk, full tac gear, and surrounded by sixteen bodies. She was dancing on the bar and singing along to some German song, off-key, while her seventeenth kill played a piano with ten broken fingers. I didn’t even think she’d noticed me, her back was to me anyway, when she asked if I was there to dance. I’d been hired to kill her. She made some assassin network nervous; they kept saying she was sloppy because she preferred to kill with her hands, but they were idiots. Bex is efficient. She doesn’t just kill her target. She kills everyone around her target and takes pride in her work. I taught her how to shoot, how to fight strategically, how to cover her tracks…but I didn’t teach her how to kill.”

“And you’re telling me this because?” Jackson has an easy way of speaking. His voice isn’t deep but still pitched low, his tone flows up and down so that it always sounds like he’s telling some kind of story, and his lack of an accent makes each word crisp and clear. Listening to him is easy, and Victor can almost picture the scene he described. Can see the smile on Bex’s face as she dances around dead bodies.

“Because she’s the boss.” At Victor’s sharp look, Jackson grins and then reaches up to scrub a hand through his black hair. “Body language doesn’t lie. Usually. She moves and you follow. I ain’t saying there’s anything wrong with it. That girl is a force of nature.”

“You’re not wrong,” Victor admits. He’s only seen her kill twice, but that’s still enough to convince him that there’s something different about her. Something more.

“I didn’t know about the Hawthorne family. Didn’t even know she was from Gotham. I don’t know what her actual body count is, but I’ve personally seen her drop sixty-seven. I might have served as a mentor, but that woman is damn awe-inspiring.”

“As fascinating as I find this, I’m not seeing a point.” The Hawthorne family alone had to be at around forty people; he remembers seeing the list in a newspaper. Her kill count is well over a hundred by this point. It’s double his own tally, possibly three times his tally.

“My point, Zsasz, is that she’s special. She needs someone that can understand her and keep up with her. I think you can be that for her. If you can’t, get out now.” For just a moment, a millisecond, his vision darkens. When his eyes clear, his hand is fisted around the collar of Jackson’s plain white tee shirt and he has the man pinned against a building. Brown eyes, an unusual shade that’s both lighter and brighter than Bex’s eyes, look up at him calmly. Jackson has the gall to smile up at him, because he’s a few inches shorter.

“I’m not leaving her.” Victor’s voice is calm, his tone perfectly level, but his entire body is tensed up in anticipation of a fight.

“Thought that’s what you’d say. Wanna let me go now?” He releases the hold on Jackson’s shirt and then smooths out the wrinkles, which just makes the man quirk a brow at him. When Victor resumes walking, Jackson falls into step next to him.

“Did you track me down for a shovel talk?” That’s what this was. Jackson feels protective over Bex, somewhat, so he’s looking out for her best interests. It’s the only reason why Victor is allowing him to keep breathing.

“No, that was just a bonus.” Victor just glances over at him, and Jackson’s quiet huff sounds amused. “Hawthorne is leaving the city for a couple of days. Something business related, I think. There was a lot of yelling and fancy words and something about shoes being shoved in unsavory places. I didn’t really pay attention to the actual subject matter. He wants me to keep an eye out for Bex and get a space ready for the big day. Any suggestions?”

“I’ll find something suitable.” He’s almost to the apartment building now, and he hears the quiet sound of Jackson zipping his jacket up.

“I’ll call Bex tomorrow to check in. Night, Zsasz.” Victor doesn’t say anything, but he is impressed when Jackson seems to just melt away. He’s quick and quiet, good at his job, and Victor thinks over all the new information as he rides the elevator up to the top floor. Such an illuminating day.

The apartment is dark when he walks inside, and he stops in the kitchen for a quick look around. There are two plates, two bowls, two glasses, and a large pot in the sink. The kitchen smells like boiled meat and vegetables, so it looks like Bex managed to cook something without setting the apartment on fire. He makes his steps loud as he walks up the stairs, and he can just see the foot of the bed through the open doorway as he reaches the top of the staircase. Bex meets his eyes as soon as he steps inside, and she looks comfortable sprawled out on top of the sheets. The blanket is kicked down around her feet, and there’s a book resting on her stomach.

“Fun day?” she asks him. The unbruised part of her face is resting against a pillow, and the fingers of her right hand tap against the spine of the book.

“Interesting,” he answers. As he changes out of his clothes, he tells her about his meeting with Max and Jade. By the time he’s moved on to his dinner with Ivy, he’s in loose sweatpants and lying on the bed next to Bex. When he tells her about his conversation with Jackson, her cheek is pressed against his chest and her book is discarded on the bedside table. She hums and taps against his ribcage as he talks, and he feels the edge of her smile as he finishes talking.

“Crazy assassin pulled up a stool at the end of the bar, helped himself to some top shelf liquor, and then asked me if I wanted to help him kill the people who put the hit out on me. It was the start of a fun partnership,” she says quietly. He curls his hand around her shoulder blade and listens to the sound she makes deep in her throat. Sounds close to a purr.

“And what did you do today?” Bex stretches against him and hooks her leg around one of his, and the tip of her nose drags down his sternum. Cold. Maybe he should turn on the heat before they fall asleep.

“I made sandwiches for lunch, for me and Oswald. We ate them and then watched soap operas for most of the afternoon. Then he made us some soup for dinner. It was kind of amazing, not gonna lie, and there’s leftovers in the fridge if you’re still hungry. It was a pretty peaceful day, considering I spent it with Gotham’s number one mob boss, but he had to leave for some kind of big important meeting. Said he could already feel the headache from dealing with so many idiots.”

“Which is why I don’t go to the meetings,” Victor says and starts to trace patterns across the bare skin of Bex’s back. His index finger stutters against the raised scar tissue, but it makes Bex sigh happily.

“How do you get out of that anyway?” She shifts so that her chin is propped against the bottom of his chest, and he raises his head just enough to look her in the eye.

“I send one of the girls. I think tonight is Max’s turn.” The girls go to the big meetings and report the important stuff back to him, so Victor doesn’t have to attend the meetings. Not unless Cobblepot asks for him specifically.

“Then I guess you’re making chocolate chip pancakes for brunch tomorrow.” His confusion must show on his face, because Bex smiles at him. “They’re Max’s favorite. I think you owe it to her.”

“Chocolate chip pancakes?”

“Mhmm. Jade likes blueberry muffins.” He has other girls, besides Max and Jade, but those two have been with him the longest. He doesn’t want to call them his favorites, but he’s sure that they are. Seeing Bex bond with the two of them, seeing how much they respect Bex, means something to him.

“I’ll cook, but you have to invite them.”

“Deal.”