The Flightless

Going On Strike

Loren and I pace around in my office. We silence each other's doubts and fill the anxious space with friendly conversation. I test her on a medical textbook and she bombards me with names for the baby. So far I've come up empty. I was planning on consulting Oswald on it. It's his child, too.

Our afternoon is interrupted by Barbara Kean. Her scream can be heard from the back of the factory. She guns down any worker who dares to get in her way. Oswald chases after her. Loren runs out to diffuse the situation.

For the first time in 3 months, I take in a deep breath of polluted air by unlocking my choker. I'm strong again— not weak, or silenced, or even nauseous. The leader of the Sirens knocks Loren to the ground. She storms into my office, hardly speaking at a level I can comprehend.

Barbara screeches, "He killed her! He killed my best friend! And now I'm going to kill you! If I have to live without Tabitha, he has to live without you!"

My hands raise in innocence when she points the gun against my forehead. "Wait just a minute—"

"If you lay a single hand on her, I swear I will never forgive you! I will skin you alive, Barbara Kean!"

"Why?" She demands. "Give me one reason not to kill you."

"I'm pregnant for starters," I begin. "Have you forgotten he killed my best friend, too? That's what got us into this mess, Barbara. He shot Butch, my best friend, and tricked me to do it. He put this choker around my neck so when I screamed, it incapacitated me."

Kean lowers her weapon, but I don't stop.

"If anyone ought to get revenge on Penguin, it's me. Not you. Not anyone but me! You don't get to storm into my house with your entitled outcries, shooting my people to get revenge on him when you don't even deserve to! I dare you to come—"

"Sera." Oswald stands at the door. His ears bleed with the pulses of my scream.

Barbara's ears drip, too. She dabs the crimson with her fingers. "This isn't over, you two." She stops at the doorway to scoff in my husband's face. "I think she might hate you more than I do. That's almost punishment enough."

I lock the necklace around my throat and pop a ginger candy into my mouth. Loren scrambles to the top of the stairs. Penguin remains a statue, eyes trained on the stained carpet. My friend points at Cobblepot's leg.

"You're bleeding."

"I was shot," he explains, "by Captain Gordon."

I look up from the tin on my desk. "What? He shot you?"

Oswald narrows his eyes. "Oh, don't act like you care."

"I do care and I'm sorry," I say, "for what I said to Barbara. I— I must've lost my temper there."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was listening to myself speak."

I choose not to respond to his quip. Instead, I rise from my desk. "Follow me. I'll get you stitched up."

He obeys in silence. Loren trails behind to do the actual stitching part. Even after all the time that's past, I still have hardly any use of my hands. Sometimes it feels like the only thing I can do with them is punch. Even that has it's side effects.

I give him an oral anesthetic and she begins. The entire process is silent except for his occasional wince. Loren doesn't look up from her work. Oswald doesn't peel his eyes from his hands. I remain trained on his face.

When it's done, she wraps up the wound and rolls down his pant leg. I dismiss her to clean up the bodies Barbara left in her wake.

"Do you really feel that way about me?" Oswald whispers once we're alone.