Obligatory Disclaimer: Own nothing of DC's, not making any money.

A/N: So, this story takes place in a different universe than Museum Studies, if you're reading that one. It might even be the same reality as Bat-teen28's Junior Sirens and Swordstitcher's Dead Switch, if they like the idea. (Hint, hint?) Anyhow, this story… In Museum Studies, the Penguin is my OC's father. I read Penguin: Pain and Prejudice, which casts an illuminating and sympathetic light on his character even though the Penguin from that tale is obviously not the same as the Arkham City/Origins Penguin, it got me thinking.

In Origins, while Ozzie treats his male subordinates just as vindictively as in City, he's much nicer to his female assistants even beyond the implied fun'n'games. So this is going to be a romance of sorts taking place during City between Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot and another OC, Ruth, rather older than Adele, (and obviously not his daughter!) with greater experience of life, and not quite as incisive, either. I would also like to state that in real life, I would not want to date him, and that my life does not resemble Ruth's. That's what makes this fiction. While there is no graphic sex in here, because, well, ewww, I'm not describing the Penguin doing that, there is a fair amount of innuendo and things happen off screen, as it were.

"I think the Boss would be in, ya know, a better mood if he could get laid," said the thug to his buddies.

"Yeah? Well, so would I, but that don't change nuthin'" said the nearest.

"I'm serious. I think we oughtta find him a woman," said the man whose idea it was.

"In here? There ain't a whole lot of skirts in here, in case you hadn't noticed," a third pointed out. "The doctors in the medical center are under guard, Harley's taken and anyway he wants to kill her, Ivy's literally poison, and Catwoman's outta his league."

"Not necessarily," the first pointed out. "Some of his assistants, man," he whistled. "Catwoman had nothin' they didn't."

"Catwoman's got her own money, even if she takes it offa other people," the previous speaker reasoned. "His assistants earn theirs. In and outta bed. That's the difference."

"Getting back to the point," the Idea Man raised his voice, "there are some women who get thrown in here too."

"Yeah, one for like every thirty guys, and they disappear damn quick," the second thug said.

"Somebody said there's this Armenian or Albanian, mighta been Romanian, who runs a whorehouse somewhere in the Mile, and he has guys who hang around the entry yard ready to snatch up any snatch what comes in." the third man added.

"Funny, I heard the same thing, except it's pretty young guys they look out for," the second rebutted.

"Yeah? Well, I also heard there's a butcher shop in Industrial where you can get fresh meat almost any time you like, as long as you don't mind it tasting kinda like pork but not quite," the first man told them.

"Anyhow, the Boss is particular about his tail," he continued. "If she was ever in a house, he won't wanna touch her. What I'm thinkin' is, there's the three of us, and they only send in new inmates Monday through Friday. If we take turns hangin' out around the entrance, armed of course, then when one of us sees something the Boss might want, we cut her out of the herd, call the others, and get her back to the Museum before the Armenian or whatever he is can get a look-see."

"Fair enough, but again, I'm gonna bring up his assistants. I ain't never seen him with nothin' less than an eight outta ten, and she was a jazz pianist, which explains the upgrade. From what I unnerstand, except for the costumes like Ivy and the Cat, mosta the women they send in here are meth-heads, crack-whores and the one who killed seven foster kids and her grandma so's she could keep collecting the checks without doin' none of the caretaking, " the third man argued.

"She didn't kill the old lady, she just hid the body after she died of natural causes," pointed out the second man.

"Whatever. The point is, what are the chances we're gonna find somethin' up to his standards?" Third rebutted. "And that bein' the case, why bother?"

"First, the circumstances. Being in here and alive has gotta upgrade a six to a ten, so we just hafta find one who's reasonably young and healthy. Second, the boss's gettin' meaner than when he had to have a root canal a few years back, because he could take Vicodin for that, so it's worth making the effort for that reason alone. Third, if he likes her he'll be grateful, and when he's grateful he's generous."

"Well, if you're gonna put it that way…"

A few weeks later:

"I dunno. Are you sure that's really a woman?" the second thug asked. "I mean, I know that Tyger guard next to her. The Boss had me pick up a package of black-tar heroin offa him a few weeks ago. That guy's six feet tall with plenty of muscle. She's bigger than he is!"

"Look at that coat she's got on. It's freakin' turquoise! No man, whatever side he likes to play on, is gonna wear a turquoise coat around this town. And it's one of them puffy down things, so it makes her look bigger than she is underneath," the first thug, the one whose idea this was in the first place, replied.

"Remember that guy named Harry who used ta hang out in M'lachlan Corners in a pink kilt and fishnets? He was six-six and big with it. A'course, he also wore them with a Mohawk, Doc Martens, and tribal scars, so nobody messed with him. He'd have worn a turquoise coat. That can't be a woman. If she is, she's friggin' enormous." Second pointed out.

"She's not enormous," Idea Man gave him a dirty look. "Just tall, and he likes 'em tall. Maybe she's bigger than most, but she's…proportionate. It ain't like she's got two fried eggs in the front and then an ass as wide as a loveseat."

"She ain't that young."

"Neither is he."

"She ain't that good-lookin', from what I can see."

"Neither is he."

"She ain't what you'd call hard-bodied."

"Neither is he."

"Will you friggin' cut that out?! Except for the T&A's, his assistants have all been skinny chicks. He's not gonna be grateful to us for draggin' that back. If that really is a woman, which I still don't think is the case," Second Thug groused. "Besides, who knows what she did to get sent here?"

"She's still got her coat on. That means she's political. They only let them keep their coats if they're political." Idea Man argued.

The third thug arrived then, bringing not just his gun but also a pair of binoculars. "Which one is she?"

"Fifth in line B. turquoise coat." Second Thug said.

"Okay…" Third raised the spyglasses. "Hey, I know her. Well, I don't know her to speak to, but I've seen her before. You know my girlfriend's got a kid in elementary school, right? That's one of his teachers."

"A school teacher, huh?" Second asked. "How's a school teacher manage to piss off Strange or Sharpie enough to get thrown in here?"

"How should I know?"

"Is she good-looking?" Idea Man asked.

"She's not bad," Third shrugged. "A six or a seven, going by the face. But man, if all of what she's got under her clothes is her, she puts the 'bust' in robust."

"Fat, then?" Second asked gloomily.

"Uh. Not exactly. Let's say she's a big girl. Real big. All over. I think she's about six foot-two, and she probably weighs like, two hundred pounds. I went along to a Back-to-School night, and she had on one'a those tops that ain't low cut but where you keep waiting for her ta lean forward. My girl kicked me in the ankle when she caught me starin', and I was black and blue for a month. I think she chipped the bone."

"So what's her name?" Idea Man asked.

"Don't remember."

"Would you hit that if you had a chance?"

"I already said I got busted for staring."

"How old do ya think she is?"

"I dunno. Women do whatever they can to keep you from tellin' how old they are. Thirties, I guess."

"And you're sure she's a woman?" That was the Second Thug weighing in again. "Cause that guy who used to go around in pink kilts went over to Thailand, and now Harry is Harriet."

"Not with her hips," Third Guy said. "They can turn a sausage into a sheath, but they can't turn a pitcher into a catcher, if you get what I mean."

"…No, I don't."

"Enougha this," Idea Man said. "Here's the plan. We're not gonna stick a gun in her face. She's got to come along willingly, cause I think those are the Armenian's guys. What's your girlfriend's kid's name?"

TBC, if people like and review it.