Now takes place after the events of City and what I know of the Harley Quinn extension and in between City and Knight. A lot of what is to come will be my own twists on minor happenings within the games and what is considered 'canon' in between. I have never played Knight fully, due to not having an X-Box One, but I have watched videos and played my friends games a few times. I'll try and stay as close to the story as I can.

Farewell To The Fairground

Chapter Eighteen:

Yellow

Look at the stars
Look how they shine for you
And all the things that you do

Yellow - Coldplay

Cali used to hate the dark when she was little.

She would curl up beneath the covers of the bedroom she and Harley shared, her cold nosed pressed beneath the dinosaur printed sheets. She took the bottom bunk. Firstly, because Harley insisted she be higher up, and secondly, because Cali was always worried she would fall. That was the different between the two of then, maybe. Whilst Cali was always slightly more grounded, Harley always had her head in the clouds.

Their mom would insist they turn the lights off. No nightlights, no fairy lights, nothing. It was a waste of electricity, and something their three person family could not afford. So, they slept in the dark. It never bothered Cali, and usually it never bothered Cali. She would always fall asleep far quicker than her older sister reading chapter after chapter of Harry Potter and, in those times, the pressing darkness never particularly bothered her.

Cali got used to the darkness after meeting The Riddler. They would sleep in the darkest and dingiest of places, where things scuttled in the night and screams echoes down tunnels. Her fears melted into nothing, and Cali forgot that fear was a thing beyond flinching at Edward's cane, and worrying after Harley. Fear was a forgotten thing when impulse roared at her do so many dangerous, dangerous things.

Perhaps, now, she feared loss of things she loved.

Maybe that's why, when she opens her eyes into the pitch black darkness of her bedroom, her heart is thudding in her chest.

She hadn't dreamt the noise, she's sure of it. The definite click of the bedroom door closing was one that she had grown used to after three and a half months in the monotonous house at the end of a cul-de-sac. All of her noises seemed familiar, now. She hadn't, Cali thinks, had familiarity last this long in a while. How long did she and Edward stay in their run down apartments and hidden houses? How long had she called somewhere home?

In the darkness of the silent bedroom, Cali's hand curls around the bulging curve of her stomach, and she hears someone breathe.

It is not Edward. He would not, she knows, sneak into her room in the middle of the night and risk anything alarming her too much. Cali was two and a half weeks away from her due date, and she felt as if she might really be a ticking time bomb. But, perhaps, it was him. He was due to join her soon, and take her somewhere more central. Perhaps he was sneaking in, to not wake her. Perhaps he was hurt, and he didn't want her to see. Perhaps-

'Y'know, I can always tell when ya fakin' bein' asleep, Cals!'

She feels the baby move inside of her, most likely startled from the way in which Cali darts into a sitting position, gun from her pillow already in hand, and hisses at the sudden flare of light that engulfs the room. It stings her eyes and sends her reeling, and she knows that voice, knows that no matter how much she wants to, she can't shoot blindly at her older sister, her Harley...

And it is Harley. Standing at the foot of Cali's bed, face painted white and red lips spread into a wide grin. She's wearing clothes of black and red and her pigtails are pulled tight, and Cali's mind is reeling, her heart is thumping, her fingers grasp at the fabric of her shit when she can feel it, her, moving-

She thinks if she hadn't been half asleep, hinged on rage, and heavily pregnant, she might have seen the form standing directly to the left of her. She might have seen the butt of the gun swing at the back of her head. She might have been able to scramble and fight back.

She might have.

Edward always hated might's.

Cali isn't unused to waking up with a throbbing headache.

She remembers times of being thrown around like a rag-doll, and waking up in the back of Edward's van as he drove her away from where she had been swiped by another Rogue. She remembers hurling herself from buildings, knowing that her body would ache for days. She remembers being on the receiving end of Edward's sharp canes to the back of her skull.

Funny thing is, she had never woken up on the receiving end of one of Harley's injuries.

Harley is there when she opens her eyes. A hard reminder of what had transpired earlier, and her head throbs at the memory. Cali attempts to sit up with as much grace as she can, but her body aches from lying on a concrete floor, and there is movement inside of her that feels like relief. She reaches for the swell, beneath the baggy shirt and the pyjama bottoms, and Cali meets Harley's narrowed gaze.

Her sister is leaning against the wall, made up in a way that Harley and not Harleen, and Cali is, for the first time ever, truly aware how easily her sister could kill her.

She asses the room quickly, hoping that Harley will not notice the quick scan of her eyes. They're in a room; concrete and fairly small, with one door in the corner and stains on the walls that look like old coffee. It smells damp and cold, and there is nothing there to indicate that Cali is under any immediate threat. Other than Harley, of course.

Cali stands, with some ounce of struggle, because she won't die sitting on her butt.

Harley speaks first, head dipped to the side and red mouth stretched into a smirk. 'You've gotten pretty fat, Cals'.

It is such a typical, childish insult that Cali is almost disappointed. Sometimes, her sister could actually be quite quick-witted. She wishes Edward could see that side of Harley. Cali, rather than reply, frowns and cocks a brow, her mind whirring with thoughts and ideas. The door was the only escape - would there be any computers on the other side? She could hack a code, relay it to Edward and get help-

Harley pulls away from the wall, mouth pulling down at the sides in a petulant manner. She looks good, Cali thinks, as she looks her sister up and down. Her clown make-up is impeccable, and her outfit is true to Harley Quinn. The dips of colour of her hair seem recent, and her nails are clean. That was one way to tell if Harley was bad. Her nails would be bitten to shreds. 'You not talkin' to me, Cals?'

Cali finds that she is always honest about her feelings with her sister. Sometimes, she will omit them, but she won't outright lie. 'Right now', Cali answers, and her voice cracks a little. 'I'm scared of you, Harley'. She feels the swell of her stomach. She was so close to being done, to doing the gruelling nine months - she couldn't die now.

Harley's gaze, so like Cali's, flicks down at the motion. 'Ya know what it is?' She sounds genuinely curious, and there is no insult in her tone. Cali, for a second, feels as if she can relax. She doesn't, of course. Impulse won't let her. Harley looks back up at her, and Cali sees a hint of sadness in her older sisters gaze. She softens, takes a step forward, and nods.

'A girl'.

It still felt odd to say; to admit. Inside of her, nearly fully ready to enter the shitty world, was a girl. A child a perfect mix of herself and Edward; a child of Rogues and Gotham's darkest parts. Cali might feel guilty for that, if she wasn't so sure that the stupidity of others outside of herself and Edward would corrupt and ruin what she had inside of her. With them, the little girl could be brilliant.

Harley giggles, head swinging to the side and pigtails following. She scans Cali's body, and her tongue comes out to lick her lips quickly. 'I always wanted a boy'. She pauses, then, and shakes her head as if ridding herself of some nuisance. As if something was quietly whispering to her. Cali recognises the motion, because she herself had done it so many times. Harley straightens up, smile slashing, and chirps, 'But you knew that'.

Cali nods, careful and watchful. Harley, unlike Joker, was just slightly less on control of her emotions. One wrong move, and this calm could crumble. 'Harley...this wasn't on purpose. I didn't do this to spite you. You know me'. There is an edge of desperate in her tone. A pleading note that, usually, Cali would be far too proud to allow to slip through.

And, for just one moment, Harley's face flickers to something that looks like Harleen. 'I...I know, Cals'. She swings her hands, as if swinging that hammer of hers, and clicks her tongue. 'Y'know, I didn't believe it when Two-Face spread the word. Thought he was bein' his usually batty self, ya know? But then...then rumours didn't die. And you were never really seen, and everyone knows that Eddie is rockin' around in the sewers-' She cuts herself off, and grins fleetingly. Her eyes flash, and Harley is back. 'Figured you'd tell that aunt, Cals'.

Cali manages a small half smile at that. Inside, she is running through every possible outcome of every single thing that she says. 'You think anyone would let me live if they knew? The Riddler has enemies, Harls'.

Then, Harley's face is melting into a look of contempt, and Cali's is scared for just a moment. 'I'd have ripped their freakin' insides out and made a paintin', Cals'.

And Cali grins then, and she wants to cry. Wants to cry because maybe Harley won't think like this tomorrow, or the next day. Maybe, right now, she loved Cali. Maybe this love would be fleeting. Or maybe, just maybe, she really was becoming something Cali could love properly again, without the influence of the Joker. Maybe they could, sometimes, paint Gotham red and green together.

But then it all comes crumbling down. 'Stay here with me, Cals. Mistah J...he'd never let ya. But we can - can screw over the Bat together, when 'Crow takes Gotham in a few weeks-' Perhaps Harley sees the flicker in Cali's gaze, because her excited grin melts like snow in spring. She sneers suddenly, and Cali wants to drop to her knees and sigh and groan and hide her bump from her sister. 'Right,' Harley bites. 'You've got Riddles'.

Jealousy and rejection, Cali thinks, are two emotions that could send Harley Quinn into a homicidal rage.

'Harley,' Cali starts, and knows right away she's done the wrong thing. She's started it in that voice, the one that is horribly reminiscent of the way Edward speaks to others, and the way he used to speak to Cali. Calm and condescending. Cali hates herself a little bit for using it.

Harley must hear it too, because she snarls and takes a step forward, booted heels clacking against the floor. 'Y'know, I sometimes think I love that you saw the light like me, Cals! That you croaked mommy and found your own Mistah J, but you're just like Eddie now, ain't ya? You're so high and mighty, and now - now you've got everythin' I shoulda got-!' Her voice cracks, as if she might cry, and Cali takes a large step back. Something twinges inside of her, something that feels like those pains she was getting a few months ago that went after an hour, and she swallows. Harley's eyes are wide and blue and watery. 'You think you're so much better than me, that you're so much - oh, shut up!'

She screeches the words, hands flying to her blonde pigtails like claws, and Cali watches with a tilted head and knowing. Harley, then hears something inside of her head, too. It's nice, Cali thinks, that she is not alone in that fact. She wonders if Harley hears herself, too. Maybe she hears the calm and knowledgeable voice of one Harleen Quinzel.

'Harley,' Cali says. 'Are you going to let me go?'

Harley glares to look up at her, lips pulled back and jaw clenched. 'Y'know what, I will,' she drawls, all high-pitched and biting. 'But not yet. I reckon I'm gonna make Eddie squirm a little but, don't ya think? I mean, c'mon, you must wanna piss him off sometimes, Cals'. She laughs, long and drawn out, and points a quick finger at Cali. 'I'm gonna show ya, Cals. Show ya that it wasn't just Mistah J who made me great. I'm gonna get the Bat for what he did-'

'Harley, I've always thought you were great'.

Harley stares, mouth a little open and finger pointed in the air, and her face spasms for just a moment. She glares, then, and drops her head and turns swiftly on her heel, opens the door (and Cali catches a glimpse of a burly clown on the other side) and slams it shut behind her. The first thing after that, that Cali hears is a hiss of air, and she sits down quickly, knowing that a fall would hurt her now more than ever.

The gas that Harley ordered to be put through the air vents makes her pass out within seconds.

She wakes up to what feels like a twist in her abdomen. It reminds of menstrual cramps, memories that draw up images of Edward sneering at her when she grew red at his prodding to what was wrong with her, to which he would smartly reply, 'I am a genius of epic proportions, Quinn, do you think something as natural and mundane as a woman's cycle will embarrass me? Fool'.

She is lying on her side, and she is wet and cold. The realisation makes her drug addled mind reel in confusion for a moment, before sheer and utter shock at how terrible her sister could truly be makes Cali nearly sob with sadness. Harley, a woman Cali had known since the day she was born, had left Cali on a street corner, tucked away in a wet and foul smelling alleyway.

Another wave of pain hits her, and this time she groans, her skin prickling with warmth from pain and her eyes watering. Cali scrambles to sit up, her back hitting the wall and her teeth clenched, and knows what is happening, but perhaps admitting it would only make it happens faster.

It has stopped raining now, but from how wet Cali is, she guesses she had been lying in the downpour for a good hour. She is soaked to the bone and shivering because of it, and she thinks she might hate Harley right now. She thinks she might hurt her sister if she saw her again. She would never, in this lifetime, kill Harley, but Cali knows full well that this is an unforgivable act her sister has committed, and she thinks that Harley might know it too.

She knows this, because she is wearing an oversized raincoat that smells of sweat, one that she had not been wearing before.

She stands, hair wet strings around her ice cold cheeks, and stumbles to the end of the alley. She knows this area, and wonders if it was really anywhere near where Harley had obviously holed up. Her sister was smart enough to know that if she showed Cali where she was staying, that Cali would surely tell Edward. That was, if he did not already know.

She was on the far Eastern part of Gotham's Bleake Island.

She had stayed with Edward here, once, when she was eighteen. It was a fairly desolate area, dotted with warehouses and old boathouses. It was where a lot of yachts carrying heroin would dock up for quick deals, and where Scarecrow had released a dose of toxin a good few years ago, back before Cali had even met Edward. Thing was, the place was filled with enough criminals who would not exactly who Cali Quinn was.

With that in mind, Cali draws her blonde hair underneath the collar of the beige raincoat, and-

And the pain. Again. A wave of it that hits quickly, sending Cali reeling against a brick wall and gritting her teeth and thinking, thinking, thinking. You need to find somewhere, Cali. Anywhere. You don't know how long you've been out. You could have been having contractions for hours, and you were so knocked out you didn't even know. I'm sorry, Cali. I'm sorry I did this.

It's kind of pathetic, Cali muses, that she has to create the voice of Harley in her head; one that can actually apologise for the awful things she has done.

It is when she feels a new warmth spread down her legs, warm and quick and wetting her already sodden clothes, that Cali realises just how fast this is happening. She braces herself against the dirty brick wall, turning so her hands are on the brick, and breathes for exactly five seconds. Five seconds, she thinks, will calm her enough so that she could do this.

So, she does.

She darts across the desolate and wet road, rain coat wrapped as tightly as it an be around her pregnant belly, and nearly dry sobs when she sees the cracked glass of a payphone booth. She had only does this once before, and didn't even know if it would work anymore. Edward was always changing his communication techniques by the week, be it what code to use, and or what to hack to get his attention-

Either way, she scrambles for the phone, cracks open the bottom of the box, crosses some wires, presses the correct buttons, and says to the voicemail tone, 'It's me. I'll be near this payphone. It's happening'.

And then, she hangs up.

With bright eyes and pain rolling again, Cali sees a ragged looking warehouse, with cracked brown windows and a broken gate in front of it, and she starts for it.

The pain comes and goes, and Cali knows there is no escaping this. Not now. Not ever. As much as impulse screamed and screamed for this not to be happening, Cali Quinn knew well enough that she was going to give birth in an abandoned warehouse.

She wonders if she might die, as she pushes herself into the corner of what might have once been an Office. Now, the place is strewn with papers and dirt, and the walls have a damp greenness to them. She thinks she'd rather die than lose it, her, and she thinks that says a lot. Death never frightened Cali, but self-preservation had it so she favoured her own life over others.

If she does, if the girl, her girl dies, she might change her promise. She might kill Harley.

She shrugs off the overcoat and kicks it onto the floor, spreading the edge of it so that she can, as steadily as possible, place herself over it. The dampness between her legs had dried to something sticky now, but Cali has little time to even tug down her bottoms and underwear before the pain comes again. She understands why people call contractions waves of pain. It feels like a tsunami, building and building until it hits, finally, and recedes like water on sand.

She is still shivering, and the rain had dried like a cold cheers against her skin.

The girl, the baby, moves inside of Cali. It all feels both natural and terrible, as if Cali's body knows exactly how to place itself. She leans her back against the wall, her shoulders heaving and her teeth gritted, and wonders if Edward had found her message. He had so many phones, so many gadgets, that she wonders if he even checks them all. Perhaps he wouldn't be looking, yet. She did not know, after all, when he was due to come visit her and take her away.

They had eaten dinner after finding out the sex of the baby, both quietly elated but too proud and too stoic to be overly affectionate. They had, of course, admitted their love for each other, and Cali feels quite mortified at it all.

Impulse purred, but Cali shrunk.

Edward stares as she moves, and Cali has to snap at him to fucking quit it. He cocks a brow easily when she does this, to which Cali says, 'You gonna make your pregnant girlfriend put away the dishes, Edward? I'm not your housewife-'

He stands, tall and lithe and working his jaw, and touches her waist with an ease that she hates. 'The term girlfriend makes me skin crawl, Quinn,' he replies, nasal and drawling. Cali stalls, pink and hot, and realises exactly what she had just said. She feels like smashing plates onto the floor at her own weakness. Edward tuts, and Cali glares up at him. 'So juvenile. So mundane. Perhaps I should steal a priest, or a sea captain'.

She knows exactly what those words mean, and pushes him away from her with a biting, 'You're becoming soft, Edward'. Inside of her, the traitor of a baby moves sporadically. Maybe it's because Cali's heartbeat is suddenly going a mile a second.

He had a smirk in his voice when she turns away from him. 'I am not the one who is turning a startling shade of pink, my Cali'.

Cali has to clamp a hand over her mother the next time the pain happens, and she bites so hard that blood stings against her tongue.

You're going to do this Cals, Harleen tells Cali, and Cali nods into the cold air, eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared. She feels like a wild animal; like a lion giving birth to her cub in the wild. Is this how all women felt, she wondered? Was this the raw animal of protection and survival that came with birth?

'I can't do this, Harley!' Cali snaps, and she is seven and outraged at the prospect of doing math homework on a Saturday night.

Harley, with her ever patient smile and pretty face, scoots up next to her sister on the battered chair in their shared bedroom, and points at numbers and equations with an ease that Cali envies. Her sister smells like their Ma's perfume, and Cali wonders if their Ma will scream at Harley again. 'It ain't that hard, Cals. No, I ain't bein' mean when I say that. I mean, look-'

Cali does. She listens and listens, because Harley always knows what she is talking about. She is always right; right in a way that their Ma never was. Cali nods when she gets it, and she beams when Harley whoops for her, and says, 'I think I might pass the test on Monday, now!

Harley has grinned, youthful and beautiful, and kisses her sisters cheeks and said, 'You're going to do this, Cals'.

Something shifts, and Cali hardly thinks before she is crawling onto her knees. She nods to herself, her biting screams held back like an air pocket in her throat. This was better. This felt more natural. She bites her broken fingernails into the concrete, the overcoat bundled around her knees, and Cali thinks that this is when a Nurse would tell her to push.

So, she does.

She thought that she might become completely unaware of anything happening around her. That was what happened when pain ripped through you, right? The world became a blur and only hurt existed. Cali is reminded of the days when Edward would stitch her up and she would grit her teeth against the pain, a whoosh of blood roaring through her ears and she ignored whatever cars were whizzing past or whatever his - their - goons were saying to them.

As it turns out, she hears the creaky Office door swing open. She hears the pounding footsteps. She feels the lithe fingers gather her hair and press against her shoulders. She smells the gasoline, the gunpowder, and the oil.

She could cry, she thinks, because he found her.

She has no time to look at him; to mutter brittle words of him finally having located her. No, the only thing she can do, in this terribly wreaked state, his claw to find one of his hands and squeeze with all her might, the other hand still planted on the concrete and her hunched form bent forward, her scream bubbling her throat, her teeth biting it down-

'-Cali. Quinn. You must lean back. I need to see what is happening-'

She's not entirely sure how he helps her move. All that she knows is that the cotton trousers than had been bunched around her ankles are thrown to the side, and her knees are spread, and he is there. He is there, with her. His gloves are gone, his glasses are askew, and his hair is messier than usual. She looks at him, with her back pressed against the soggy wall and her screams burrowed against the flat of her own palm, and she gasps, lurches, bites out,

'Is she okay?'

Her voice sounds wet, like she might cry or already be crying, but Cali pays no mind. This is their moment, her moment, to bring life into the world. Life that is theirs; so much better and perfect and whole than anything else in existence. And Cali wonders if Edward is rubbing off on her when she thinks their daughter will be more perfect than any human in existence.

It doesn't exactly surprise her that Edward knows what he is talking about when he replies, his hands on her knees and his jaw tight, 'You have begun pushing. Good. In exactly three seconds, I am going to need you to do so again'. He looks up at her, face rather pale and fingernails digging into her knees, and Cali nods. She wonders if he can see her. Their daughter.

She pushes again and the scream nearly breaks through, this time. Edward murmurs things to her, murmurs encouragements and updates and, 'Her shoulders. The worst is over. Again, Quinn, again'.

It hurts. The thought is nearly surprising. She feels like she might be torn in half when this is over.

He looks up at her when Cali really thinks she might be on fire from the crotch up. He looks at her, blue-green eyes flashing, mouth slightly open, and his breathless with something Cali might think is excitement. He urges her in a voice that is so reminiscent of orders from when she was a young teenager, that she obliges without pause. 'Hard. One. Hard. Push. Now!'

She is a bloody mess when she appears into the world, in a rundown abandoned warehouse in the shitty part of Gotham. She is wrinkled and small and her screams undo all of the hard work Cali had done keeping quiet. Edward balances her like she is one of his precious explosives, his face tilted downward and his glasses slipping down his nose. When Cali captures a blurred, tired glimpse of his eyes, she sees something akin to wonder in them.

Her cries are as oddly soothing as the hum of a computer is to Cali.

Edward looks up at Cali, and Cali looks at Edward, and she bestows him with perhaps the softest smile Cali Quinn has ever shown Edward Nygma. She thinks anyone else might sneer, might laugh, might take her moment of rare vulnerability to press a gun to the base of her head. 'I fear,' Edward murmurs, and Cali wonders whether his train of thought is similar to hers. 'The day I met you I was doomed to introduce weakness into my life, Quinn'.

He says it with such softness, that Cali thinks it means more to her than the riddled admittance of love had, weeks ago.

In any other moment, she might stutter over her words. Impulse might roar and Cali might bloom red, and the world might become a deafening orchestra of her jumbled thoughts trying to figure out a reply. Instead, Cali smiles, tired and numb and wondering if she might pass out, and reaches for her daughter with little effort. Edward moves toward her, some of her blood smeared across his forearms, and the cries and squawks come closer, and then, as if from nowhere, there she is.

Small. Wrinkled. Wet with blood. Blue eyes. Dark hair. A pink and squalling mess of limbs and squinted eyes. Cali holds her to her rumpled and messy shirt, and her chest blooms with utter devotion. For one second, just one, Cali wonders if Gotham would fear this. She thinks they should. In her arms, she holds the key to her and Edward's ability to ruin the whole of Gotham.

If she is taken from them, Cali knows that she will claw her way back to her daughter. There is nothing she would not do for this simple bundle of nerve, muscle, and too soft skin. Barely minutes old, and Cali is studying her, this mix of Riddler and Quinn, and considering the fact that enemies everywhere will spy out this weakness. She feels as if they might slink through the walls of this crumbling, abandoned warehouse. She wonders if anyone had heard the screeching cries as the pink bundle was brought into the world.

She wonders if they stutter and fall silent, knowing what such a sound can mean.

He presses a kiss to her tangled blonde hair, and Cali looks at him, her daughter held to her chest, and says, 'Eve,' as if she had known that was what their daughter would be called all along. Then, she smiles, an ironic, crack of a thing that she saves only for him. 'Eve Nygma'.

Edward stares at her, mouth shut and eyes unblinking, and Cali wonders whether his look of utter awe was because she had given their daughter his name, or because she had done exactly to her, to Eve, what Edward had done to himself the moment he had changed his surname from Nashton to Nygma. Out of her daughter, Cali had created a riddle that only she and Edward knew the answer.

Edward kisses the sweaty and wet line of her blonde hair, and Cali leans momentarily into the touch, their squirming daughter caught between them.

It does not take long for them to snap from their lovesick stupor, and despite the small person she carries in her arms, they revert back to the careful and watchful Riddler and Cali Quinn quickly. He has a van around a dark alleyway, he tells her, arm around her waist and dragging her and Eve's bodies close to his. The stairs to the warehouse creak under them, and Edward mutters a, 'You could not have picked a less stable place to give birth if you tried, Quinn'.

Cali, whilst pulled the dirty overcoat over Eve's face, promptly tells him to fuck off.

Her body aches and insides hurt, so when she is bundled into the car by a watchful and oddly gallant Edward, Cali tells him, 'I need a Doctor, Edward', to which he bows his head and replies,

'Quite obviously, Quinn'.

They drive, and the City lights blink around them. Cali has no time for the familiar sights, as Edward swerves around corners with more care than usual. She dips her head, blonde hair fluttering around her cold and dirty cheeks, and spies out the wriggling, pink bundle. Eve, Cali thinks, is quite like any other baby, but so entirely more beautiful.

'Is she well?' Riddler inquires, turning a sharp corner. 'She will need feeding. Soon. Do you know how-?'

Cali does not bother to look away from Eve when she drawls, 'Do I look like I have breastfed an infant before, Edward?' He titters, Cali smirks. She looks sideways at him. 'I'll figure it out'. That was how it worked, wasn't it? It was like how, despite her terrible pain, it seemed to insignificant when Cali pondered what her prize was. Sure, her inmate parts felt as if they might be a mangled mess, but now she had her.

Eve.

Eve Nygma.

So, yeah, it's probably a little cheesy. I tired to keep it as realistic as I could, because I always want to do that with my stories. But, here she is! Eve! I feel this story drawing to a close, and soon. Thank you to those who have stuck around!