DC: I Became A Godfather

When it came to the Riddler's love life, Adam had never paid much attention. After all, in a city like Gotham, dating was just another kind of mental illness. Still, if you had to rank the villains by relationship status, Nygma actually wasn't doing too badly.

Unlike the Joker and Harley, who could've opened a couples therapy clinic for the criminally codependent—or Mr. Freeze, who might as well have been cryogenically married—Nygma had settled down early. Yup. The man actually had a kid. A daughter. Enigma.

She made her debut with the Teen Titans in 2006, popped back up in Batman #708, and had a memorable run mentally torturing Raven in Dream Prison before Beast Boy knocked her lights out. Father-daughter bonding, Gotham style.

In the Gotham TV show, Nygma even had a semi-sweet romance with a redhead office clerk. Of course, it ended like a Grimm Brothers reboot—he killed his romantic rival, she found out, and he silenced her before she could cry for help. That murder also flipped the final switch in his psyche. Good times.

But the version of Nygma bawling his heart out in Adam's car right now, he wasn't a killer.

He looked more like a rejected high schooler who'd just found out his prom date went home with the football team.

"Adam… you wouldn't believe it… my angel… my Maggie… she picked Fras over me," Nygma sobbed into his hands, tears and snot dripping freely. "I saw them after work, giggling like schoolkids. He even touched her butt!"

Adam winced. Not at the heartbreak, but at the sound of the Riddler blowing his nose with a crumpled napkin like it owed him money.

It was like having a dying goose honk directly behind your head.

"Uh… her name's Maggie?" Adam tried, keeping both hands on the wheel like he was defusing a bomb. "Or is it… Madeleine? Margaret?"

Truth was, Adam had never been in love. Never cared to. He didn't even know what to do when someone else was suffering heartbreak. His idea of romance was offering to split takeout and not hiding his weapons under the bed.

But he also knew one thing: if this was what a lovesick Riddler looked like, then one wrong word could send him spiraling into villain mode.

And Adam was not in the mood for a riddle-themed murder spree.

"Maggie," Nygma moaned dreamily, voice quivering. "Red hair… porcelain skin… delicate freckles sprinkled across her nose like divine geometry… and pince-nez glasses—the precise type popularized during the 19th-century Arts & Crafts revival. She's smarter than anyone else in the Archives Department. After me, of course."

Adam blinked. "Wait. She works at the station? I passed her?"

He racked his brain. Nothing. Zero memory of a Maggie.

Then again, Adam had trained himself to filter out any woman who didn't hit at least a six on his internal scale—face, curves, attitude, voice, the works. His years of watching Japanese imports with no censorship had warped his standards forever.

So a flat-chested, underfed intellect with Victorian glasses?

Yeah. She got filtered out as background noise.

"Why?" Nygma wailed, slamming his fists into the glove box. "Why would she love a man who can't even recite the multiplication table backwards?!"

Each word came with a fresh spray of spit across the back of Adam's head. The scent of cheap cafeteria curry wafted up. His veins twitched.

"Okay! Okay! Here," Adam said, flailing blindly beneath his seat and handing over an old bottle of rum. He discreetly dropped in a couple mints to mask the staleness. "Drink. Grieve. Repeat."

As Nygma began sipping and sobbing again, Adam's brain shifted to Fras.

He remembered the guy. Batman: Year One had this meathead all over the pages. Ex-Special Forces. Strong as a pit bull and twice as annoying. Captain of the GCPD's Special Ops Squad. Smart enough to suck up to superiors and keep his subordinates loyal. One of those guys who always smiled like he knew you couldn't touch him.

Even Gordon didn't trust him. That said something.

Plus, rumor had it Fras was prepping to jump Gordon in two weeks.

Physically strong. Smooth. High income. Authority. Leadership.

In terms of dating, Fras hit every box.

Meanwhile, Nygma?

Skinny, pale, and mumbled riddles to himself all day. Looked like a starving librarian who'd just escaped a Renaissance fair. Not exactly Chad material.

"Don't worry, Ed," Adam said with fake solemnity. "If that bastard Fras lays a finger on your girl again, I'll personally make him regret it."

"That's kind of you, Adam," Nygma said with glassy eyes. "But technically speaking, Maggie and I aren't legally married. In fact, she's unaware that I consider her my woman."

Adam's eye twitched. He held back the urge to crash the car into the nearest wall.

"Also, Fras is a fifth-degree black belt, and I'm pretty sure he could snap your arms like linguine."

"Cool. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Just being honest. But it's okay. I still appreciate you trying," Nygma sniffled.

Adam clenched the wheel tighter.

"Okay, listen," he said, trying his best to sound like someone who had a plan and not someone who wanted to leap out the window. "Two weeks from now, Fras is going down. Trust me. I've got a plan."

The plan was to wait until Gordon confronts Fras… then swoop in to steal credit and maybe score the Riddler a favor or job out of it. Two birds, one smug douchebag.

Nygma looked at him, awestruck. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course. Bros before captains."

Nygma blinked, moved beyond measure. For the first time in a long while, someone actually cared about his broken little heart.

Then, like a puppy recovering from trauma, he asked, "So… where are we going now?"

Adam's mouth curved into a grin—just a little mad, and evil.

"The cure for heartbreak…"

"A new girlfriend?"

"Nope." Adam slammed on the accelerator. "Healthcare."

"Healthcare?"

"Body care. Skin detox. Sweaty therapy rooms. Foot rubs with suspicious endings. We're gonna let loose, brother. You're gonna feel reborn."

He flashed a grin in the mirror.

"Let's go remind Gotham who really owns the night."

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