Chapter Text
When Law asked Penguin to go to Dressrosa to do some reconnaissance before he went to Punk Hazard to do… something, Penguin didn't think much of it. Ever since Law had become a warlord, he'd been more apt to send crew on scouting missions. Penguin and Shachi were reasonably sure he was up to something, but why worry? Law would share the plan with them when he needed to. (Penguin also had a suspicion that some of the missions were entirely to throw some unknown party off Law's trail, but that was neither here nor there.)
This wasn't Penguin's first "stealth" mission, and there was nothing about it that seemed different than previous ones. Check in via snail a minimum of once every 36 hours, report anything that seemed strange (by Grand Line standards), and wait for further instructions. If Penguin's check-ins doubled as gossip sessions with Shachi or Bepo, everyone was polite enough not to call them out.
In retrospect, the gossip sessions were a good idea, Penguin reflected as he surveyed the cell he was currently imprisoned in, somewhere in a marine ship. At least he had a good idea where his crew was and what they were doing, since it seemed increasingly likely that he was going to miss his scheduled rendezvous with Law. Scratch that, he was definitely missing his rendezvous, he thought as he listened to the grinding that indicated the anchor was being raised. Okay, Plan B: wait until they dock in a quiet port and escape.
The marines hadn't searched him; some dramatic acting on his part to make him seem nonthreatening had been almost insultingly effective. His pride may have been stung, but he still had his lock picks and the porthole on the opposite wall looked to be just barely big enough to slip through if he didn't mind a bruise or three (he didn't). The room he was in held four cells, two on each side with a narrow corridor down the middle, and while it wasn't exactly homey, Penguin had roughed it in worse conditions than this. And at least the marines were feeding him regularly. So why not hunker down and wait for a good opportunity.
Marine imprisonment was a lot more boring than he'd been led to believe.
Two weeks after his capture, and Penguin was ready to climb the walls. So when the marines drew abreast of another ship (he guessed based off of the view through his tiny porthole) and he heard footsteps coming down the corridor, he perked up in interest.
When the door opened, a squad of marines dragged a man wrapped head to toe in chains down the corridor and dumped him on the ground in the cell next to Penguin. The new prisoner was someone Penguin recognized instantly, eyes widening.
That Killer, first mate of the Kid Pirates and one of the Worst Generation, was being held prisoner by the same marines that held Penguin did wonders to soothe Penguin's smarting ego. The part where Killer had clearly been searched thoroughly before being wrapped in chains while Penguin wandered his cell unhindered did not. That part made him want to borrow a page from Law's book and flip the marines off as they marched back out of the room, metal door clanging behind them.
Left in relative privacy and faced with the most interesting thing he'd seen in two weeks, Penguin moved forward to crouch by the bars nearest his new neighbor. He watched Killer heave himself into a sitting position to survey his chains (excessive), his cell (standard), the corridor (empty), and then Penguin himself (present). The Heart Pirate tried not to be offended that being at the end of that list meant the other pirate had instantly dismissed him as a complete nonthreat. After a brief survey of his new roommate, Killer went back to examining his chains, subtly testing and shifting them as though they might suddenly slide free.
Penguin in turn surveyed Killer, his mind churning. He was surprised that the marines had left his trademark mask in place, although he'd been obviously stripped of his other weapons. But more importantly, a high profile pirate meant that now he had to shift to Plan C. He didn't have a Plan C yet.
Apparently growing frustrated with the chains, Killer growled and shifted around, head craning to more closely examine his cell as if he expected to find a critical weakness just out in the open. Still crouched and staring at the notorious pirate six feet away from him, Penguin started to suspect he was being pointedly ignored as the striped mask pivoted back and forth, never pausing when it was tilted towards him. That was fine, it just meant more time to figure out Plan C. If he was also admiring how Killer had bulked up since the last time he'd see him, that was neither here nor there.
"What?" Killer snapped at him eventually, seemingly fed up with the silent staring. Penguin meant to start off by introducing himself, he really did. Sure he knew who the infamous pirate slumped across from him was, but that was no guarantee that Penguin was likewise known. His captain may be one of the Worst Generation, but Penguin was under no illusion that he was even near that level of notoriety. So yes, Penguin meant to introduce himself properly. If he was lucky, he might be able to establish some level of rapport that would help with the execution of Plan C (work in progress).
But Killer's sudden outburst startled him enough that instead of an introduction, he blurted out, "Let's make a deal." Killer scoffed and Penguin fought not to flinch at his own awkward abruptness.
"A deal? Like if I get rescued, I take you along?" Killer's voice was scathing, the set of his shoulders hostile. Penguin sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.
"Not quite. When you escape, we escape together. Whoever finds their crew first helps the other get back to theirs." Penguin couldn't see Killer's eyes, but he could feel the flat stare he leveled at Penguin like a physical weight and it made him tug his hat down lower over his eyes.
"You seem more like the 'wait for rescue' type. What makes you think I'd agree to a dead weight if I escape?" Penguin cocked his head to the side thoughtfully.
"Sure, I might wait for rescue in the right circumstances," he shrugged, unashamed of it. He propped his cheek on a hand. "But these aren't the circumstances for that. And I do have my uses," he added with an attempt at a smirk. Killer said nothing and it was impossible to judge his expression, but his posture was unconvinced. Penguin bit his lip and plowed on.
"Look, I was expecting to wait on a marine ship that was doing a normal patrol until they docked in a nice quiet port and I could quietly slip away. But now you're here. You're one of the worst generation. They're not going to keep to their routine, they're going to get supplies and make a beeline for Impel Down lest you manage to escape. I have no intention of ending up in Impel Down because I happened to be on the same ship as you. And besides, I'm an opportunist and this sure as hell looks like an opportunity to me."
"So, you think I can get you out. You haven't said what you think you can do for me to get me to agree." Killer didn't sound intrigued, more annoyed, but Penguin decided to take the response as encouragement anyway. He listened for a moment to the marines stomping down the hall towards the door, likely bearing lunch. Penguin looked at Killer for a heartbeat more before retreating to the corner he'd taken to favoring in the last two weeks.
"Well for starters, I can get you out of those chains," he said just before the door slammed open, feeling rather proud of his own dramatics. The weight of Killer's attention became knife sharp for a split second before he swung his attention to the approaching marine instead.
The marine that entered the room (bearing dinner) was one Penguin had taken to baiting whenever he saw him. He had a slight North Blue accent and some rude gestures from Penguin that weren't commonly used in the Grand Line confirmed the marine's origin. Harassing the stiff marine had been his primary form of entertainment since he'd been on the ship. Now, the marine practically threw the food and water down in his cell, uncaring as they slopped over the edges of the tray.
"Well, there's no need to be rude about it," Penguin remarked as he watched the marine move to Killer's cell. The marine had glared at Penguin's remark, but jumped when Killer made a sound most accurately described as a growl. Penguin was miffed to see that Killer's lunch was placed gingerly, almost hesitantly on the ground of his cell.
"I know you're jealous that I'm about to spend some quality time with our new guest, but don't worry: you'll always be my favorite," he said with an attempt at a simper. He fought a grin when the glare returned.
"Laugh it up while you can, pirate. This one's worth a trip to Impel Down, and we may as well dump you while we're at it," the marine sneered, and Penguin endeavored to react as though the idea had never occurred to him while the marine marched out the door looking quite pleased with himself.
As soon as the door slammed shut again, Penguin dropped the act with a muttered curse and turned his attention to his less than picture perfect dinner. Unsurprisingly, supper consisted of a slightly spilled bowl of soup, a slightly soggy chunk of bread, and a cup of water that was less full than it had been, same as it had been for the last few days.
"If you can get me out of these chains, why haven't you escaped yet?" As soon as the marine's footsteps could no longer be heard, Killer had focused back on Penguin with an intensity that made the slighter man blush. He sternly told himself the blush was because he was awkward, not because he was imagining that intensity in another situation. Penguin might've had a habit of lying to himself.
"I told you, I was waiting."
"I thought you were waiting for rescue." Penguin sniffed. The Heart Pirate knew getting people to underestimate him was one of his better skills and ordinarily he was pleased when he managed to be unassuming, but it had been a long two weeks and frankly he couldn't wait to get back to his crew where people appreciated that a pirate could be unassuming and competent.
"I can't help what you thought. Think about it, I wasn't exactly going to jump ship in the middle of the sea; I might not be an anchor, but I'm not a fish either."
"So you have a plan."
"I have several." He eyed Killer. "Plan C largely involves me setting you free, you clearing a path off the ship for us with your ocean-renowned fighting skills, and then us stealing a boat to escape." Killer thumped his head back against the wall of his cell, clearly unimpressed.
"Well, it's better than Plan D," he said defensively. "If we time it right, we should be able to get away in the confusion of docking. They'll expect you to try to escape after we're docked, but if we get out during docking, it might buy us some time. Are you a strong swimmer?"
Killer nodded once but asked, "What's Plan D?" Penguin looked away, tugging his hat down out of habit.
"Plan C is better." A flat stare from the mask across the room forced him to add, "Plan D is like Plan C except I let you loose as a distraction and go back to Plan B."
"Explain how Plan C is better."
"They're going to look for you a lot harder than they're going to look for me, but any escape is still going to involve both of us avoiding a frankly absurd amount of marines to make it off whatever island we end up at. I stand a better chance of avoiding recapture if I stick with someone who's better at fighting than me. You stand a better chance of not dying if you stick with someone who knows how to avoid attention." Killer snorted, and Penguin chose to believe the sound was amused and not derisive. He continued thoughtfully, "Besides, do you know where your crew was headed and how to get there?"
"Do you?"
"Well, I know how to get where they should be heading next and the Straw Hats tend to cause a fuss wherever they go, so it should be relatively easy to track their progress if we miss them." One of the last updates from Bepo had involved their captain's new alliance with the Straw Hat Pirates. Law had apparently been lamenting his poor choices every minute since it was formed, which Shachi and Penguin found hilarious.
"The Straw Hats? What, did you change crews or something?"
"Oh, you haven't heard? The Heart Pirates and the Straw Hat Pirates have formed an alliance." Whatever reaction Penguin was expecting to get from Killer, it certainly wasn't the one he got. The moment the word "alliance" left his lips, his brawny neighbor stiffened as if he'd been stabbed. Penguin watched the man forcefully relax himself to his previous stance, realizing he must have hit a tender subject.
"And you trust them?" The sneer in Killer's voice caused Penguin's eyebrows to shoot towards his hairline.
"Of course not, but I trust Bepo," he said with a shrug. "And from what Bepo says, Straw Hat has a very unique idea of what an alliance means." He paused for dramatic effect. "Apparently, Straw Hat thinks that an alliance means we're friends. And I'm sure you remember from Sabaody how Straw Hat feels about his friends."
Killer tilted his head to the side, seemingly thinking this over. Penguin let him think, drinking his soup to keep from rambling and trying to keep his posture from betraying how desperate he was for the brawny pirate to agree.
"Fine." Penguin smothered the urge to pump his fist and cheer by sipping on his water.
"Great! So now we just have to wait for a port. Aren't you going to eat?" Killer huffed exasperatedly and tilted his head in a way that implied he was rolling his eyes.
"And how exactly do you propose I do that?" he asked, flexing his tightly chained hands. He looked between the Kid Pirate and the food tray a few times.
"Are you going to be okay?" he asked doubtfully. The guy looked like he had a monstrous metabolism. Killer snorted and flopped himself back down so he was lying, face towards the ceiling. Penguin waited a minute, but there was no further response. "I suppose if I offered to help, you'd refuse."
Penguin eyed his new acquaintance for a moment longer, but when no response was forthcoming he shifted his attention to Killer's untouched dinner. He flopped himself onto his front and shoved his arm through the bars, straining until he could pull Killer's tray towards himself. At the sound of the scraping, Killer tilted his head towards Penguin as if to say, Really? but Penguin ignored him.
When the marine came back to collect their trays, he blinked at Killer's empty tray, then at Killer, before turning a glare on Penguin. Penguin shrugged and did his best to look innocent. The marine scowled at him as he collected the trays. As he straightened, the Heart Pirate made a rude gesture at him and then fluttered his fingers as the marine stormed out.
"Why do you bait him?" Penguin was surprised by the question, but he tried not to show it.
"Being imprisoned is boring."
As Penguin expected, when the guard shift in the hallway changed at 10pm, a marine entered the room just long enough to extinguish the lights. The only remaining light was a yellow beam filtering in through the porthole, enough light to make out shapes but not enough to see clearly.
"Hey," Penguin said quietly. "If I take the chains off your hands so you can eat, am I gonna regret it?" He could hear Killer shifting, metal chains clinking softly.
"Is that a hypothetical?" Killer eventually asked. Producing the bread he had stashed earlier from his boilersuit, Penguin grinned.
"Not really."
"Are you gonna get yourself caught and ruin the plan?"
"Of course not. The guards won't be back for hours now." Assuming they didn't change their procedures because of their new captive, Penguin thought but did not say.
In the dim light, Penguin quickly picked the cell locks and slipped out of his own cell and into Killer's. Quietly, he set to work on the manacles, one ear still straining to listen for any worrying sounds in the hallway. The manacles took only a little more time than the cell locks and Penguin scoffed derisively as he began to unlatch them.
One minute Penguin was crouched next to a large blond pirate and the next he was face down beneath him. Penguin wasn't sure whether it was the low light or if Killer had actually moved too fast to see. Either way, we was now largely crushed beneath the larger man, arms pinned behind his back and something that felt suspiciously like an elbow digging into his ribs.
"Kinky," he wheezed, and immediately lamented his inability to keep his mouth shut as Killer froze above him, increasing the pressure on his back temporarily. An awkwardly long moment passed before Penguin commented, "You know, much as I enjoy being pushed down by blond beefcakes, you're going to have to let me up if you want any water."
There was another pause and then the pressure began to ease off his back. The grip on him shifted until one large hand gripped his right bicep and the other slid up to grip the back of his neck firmly. Penguin decided not to focus on the warm, calloused hand on the bare skin of his neck. Instead, he focused on following the nonverbal directions that guided him up to his knees, facing away from Killer. Slowly, carefully, he reached into his boilersuit and withdrew a canteen.
"It's probably stale, but still better than nothing," Penguin told him, trying not to react to the obvious tension from the other man.
"Set it down." Killer's voice was oddly soft in the air between them, and Penguin realized with painful clarity exactly how close they were. He put down the canteen and was firmly guided back to the floor. Killer shifted above him, left hand still firm on the back of Penguin's neck, elbow pressing down on his back, and body trapping Penguin's arm against the floor.
Penguin was trying not to think about why Killer would trap him this way when he heard a click followed by a thud, and the reason became clear when he caught a glimpse of Killer's helmet in his peripherals. It was rapidly followed by Killer wolfing down the bread. After his first sip of water, Killer paused.
"How old is this water?" Penguin attempted to shrug, but wasn't sure how well it came across. Honestly he was busy appreciating being able to breathe. He was also trying desperately not to comment on the thumb that was idly stroking over his pulse point, since he suspected it was not intentional and this was not an ideal position to needle a supernova from.
"…Did they not search you before throwing you in a cell?" Killer asked after a moment, sounding slightly incredulous.
"Sure they did, they weren't thorough about it though," Penguin responded, smirking even though he knew Killer couldn't see it. "There are some advantages to being an unknown quantity, you know."
"You're a member of the Heart Pirates who wears your name on your hat, I wouldn't exactly call you an unknown quantity."
"Well sure, I'm recognizable as a member of the crew, but I'm no supernova. The marines don't pay much attention to my skills. Seriously, do you know what my role is?" he asked pointedly. Killer shifted but did not respond, which Penguin took as a victory.
"Anyway," Penguin continued briskly, "If you have anything else you need to do, I'd appreciate it if you'd get on with it so I can tie you back up."
"Kinky," Killer echoed him, and Penguin would have bet money he was smirking.
"Hm. Well, I wouldn't put it past the marines to change their routine now that you're here, so unless you're into me being tied up too I suggest we keep our rule-breaking as brief as possible." Killer hummed thoughtfully, but it wasn't more than a breath before Penguin hear the scrape of a helmet being picked up and the pressure on his back eased enough that he could stand. From there it was only a minute or two before they were both back where they were supposed to be.
The next day dawned much the same way as the previous fourteen, save for the addition of newfound company. He took full advantage of that as soon as he confirm that his taciturn roommate was awake by rambling on about whatever came to mind. By doing so, Penguin quickly learned several things. First, it was a lot more fun to talk to an audience than to himself even if the audience mostly elected not to respond. Second, Killer largely pretended to ignore Penguin unless he was talking about their plans for escape. Third, Killer was very bad at actually ignoring Penguin and had a variety of sighs that Penguin elected to treat as actual verbal responses (mostly because it was more entertaining that way).
One story in particular (about why Penguin no longer eats cotton candy) elicited a snort from his quiet companion that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. The sudden noise startled Penguin into silence for a fraction of a second, before he sputtered.
"Don't laugh at my pain! And anyway, let that be a lesson to you about accepting food from Shachi during June." He trailed off then, half hoping that Killer would make some further response beyond his suspiciously shaky breathing but no response was forthcoming.
The marine who brought it (disappointingly not his favorite target) pointedly put Killer's tray out of Penguin's reach, but the joke was on them. All it took was a promise on Penguin's part refill his canteen and Killer shifted enough to push the tray over to him. This was apparently either troublesome enough or undignified enough in the large man's eyes that when lunch and dinner were brought, Killer simply growled at the marines until they put the tray on the side of the cell nearest to Penguin. In return, Penguin stashed what food he could for that night on his person.
With the exception of occasional interruptions from the marines apparently checking to make sure Killer was still subdued and contained (they certainly never checked this often when it was just Penguin), the rest of the day passed in much the same fashion. Penguin talked, Killer huffed, and occasionally Killer asked for clarification on Plan C, though he refused to refer to it as such.
That night once the lights were out, Penguin beckoned Killer over to the row of bars that separated them, waving his lock picks enticingly. Killer made an aggrieved sound, but eventually relented and awkwardly shifted and rolled his way over. Penguin pointedly refrained from laughing, but he did allow himself a smirk.
"Is there a reason you made me come over here instead of going over there?" Killer asked, annoyance clear in his voice as he shoved his wrists towards the smaller man.
"Two, actually," Penguin replied calmly, and proceeded to enumerate them as he reached through the bars to work on the locks. "First, everything about this is risky. I don't need the added risk of the marines finding me outside my cell and possibly doing a more thorough search of my person. I mostly did it last night to get a better feel for the cell locks. Second, dignity is a luxury granted to nice people who don't smash the people helping them into the floor."
The moment one of the shackles unlatched there was a hand around Penguin's neck, not tight enough to choke but firm enough to indicate that it could. Penguin paused in releasing the other shackle and frowned at the blond across from him. Killer shrugged.
"I'm not nice."
"Clearly," Penguin answered drily as he finished unlocking the other shackle. Pocketing his lock picks, he produced food and water for the other man. He wasn't surprised when Killer's hand guided him to lay face down on the ground again.
"You're not as afraid of me as I would've expected," Killer commented with what sounded like a mouthful of bread. Penguin huffed.
"It's not like I don't have to deal with people stronger than me on a regular basis. If I was scared of everyone stronger than me, I never would've made it this far. Besides, for now you need me and that's a certain amount of security. I don't trust you, but I trust that you want out of here as much as I do." Killer hummed, and it sounded thoughtful. His thumb was stroking the skin of Penguin's neck again, and the smaller man wasn't sure if that was supposed to mean something.
Meal consumed and helmet replaced, Killer released Penguin. When the Heart Pirate sat up, Killer handed the flask back at him and there was something almost apologetic in his posture.
Later, once Penguin had helped Killer back into his chains, he eyed the Kid Pirate thoughtfully.
"You know, it's not like I don't get it," Penguin commented, flicking his own hat. "You could just ask me to turn around instead of manhandling me." Killer grunted at him, but Penguin could tell the brawny man wouldn't be trusting him that far anytime soon. Penguin sighed and let it go, it was better to sleep now since they would need to be ready at any moment in case it was time to spring their plan into action.
The time came the next evening after dinner. Penguin had goaded the marines into revealing they were nearly to a port when they dropped the food off, but it was almost an hour after their trays had been collected that he heard the telltale grind of an anchor. He had already unlocked both cells and Killer's chains but the blonde had left them in place until this cue.
"Ready?" Penguin asked. He didn't get a response, but with the way Killer's head was tilted towards the door he'd bet it was because the blonde was listening for any approaching footsteps as he slipped out of his chains. Wordlessly, Killer looped some lengths of chain to use as makeshift weapons and moved towards the door Penguin following close behind.
This was the part of the plan Penguin was most anxious about. Killer was emphatic that he was going to retrieve his weapons prior to jumping ship. Penguin could either accommodate that or make his own way and, given that his best chance of survival still involved sticking with one of the strongest fighters of his generation, the choice was obvious. The guards posted outside the cells were efficiently dealt with, and Penguin was relieved to find that there were no immediately obvious alarms set off, though he kept his ears and eyes peeled.
Their progress was surprisingly stealthy, which Penguin credited to the bulk of the marines being above deck to assist with docking and loading. Still, it wasn't a surprise that they encountered marines during their search and by the time Killer found his weapons it felt as though they were fighting the entire ship, and maybe they were.
Penguin was under no illusions, Killer's search may have brought the full force of the ship down on them but he now Penguin's only hope for survival. Which was the only reason Penguin could give later for what happened next, beyond that he did somewhat like the grumpy blond.
Killer was locked in a fight with three marines who were a cut above the common sailor, hindered by the narrow confines of the hall when Penguin, watching their rear noticed a marine take aim at the massacre soldier. For the most part the marines had refrained from firearms since they were as likely to shoot each other as the pirates in the confines of the ship. Penguin didn't even blink before he shifted slightly, catching the bullet in his own right shoulder rather than let it hit Killer and possibly hinder the fighter's skills. He couldn't stop his grunt of pain at the impact but managed to fire off his own bullet from a gun he'd picked up at some point during their progress and down the ambitious marine.
He glanced over his shoulder and noted that Killer had finished his own fight and was progressing down the hall. Penguin followed, still covering the rear. The sight of open air had never been as welcome to Penguin as it was when they reached the end of the hall and found an exterior door.
"Let's go," Penguin muttered, pushing past Killer to throw himself off the ship and into the water. The wound in his shoulder meant the dive was not as graceful as it should have been, and the impact followed by cold saltwater left Penguin biting lip in an effort to keep quiet. Killer surfaced beside him and they began a series of swims, ducking below docks and swimming beneath boats until they were sure they weren't being followed by marines.
It was longer than Penguin would have liked before a long pause with ears straining did not yield the sound of marine boots stomping after them, but when they finally lost their pursuers (however temporarily) Penguin couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief. He immediately winced when the deep breath aggravated his throbbing shoulder. Killer's head swiveled sharply towards him.
"How bad?" he asked with what seemed to be his trademark brevity.
"Not great," Penguin bit out, humor having temporarily deserted him. "But it'll have to wait. We need to find a boat."
It didn't take long, not least of all because Penguin was in no mood to be picky. When they found one that was small enough for two people to sail but well stocked and sturdy enough for an open-sea voyage, it was enough for Penguin haul himself wincing over the side. A glance told him that he was losing a lot of blood (as if he couldn't already tell), but he didn't have time just now for proper treatment. He'd need to settle with staunching the bleeding just enough to give him some time to create a diversion.
Penguin zipped off his boilersuit and noticed Killer freeze beside him. Glancing at the larger man from beneath the brim of his hat as he bent to untangle his boots from the baggy fabric, he felt a flush start creeping up the back of his neck when it became apparent that the mask was focused intently in his direction. He ignored the stare as he eased black tank he wore beneath his coveralls off as gently as he could, biting his lip again to keep from crying out as the wound was jostled. He tossed the fabric towards Killer and moved to shift through a promising trunk that sure enough held clothes.
"Can you tear that in to strips please?" he asked when Killer caught the fabric apparently out of instinct alone as his helmet was still fixed firmly on Penguin. "I don't think I can manage it just now," he added with a wry smile over his shoulder before digging through the trunk with his good arm. A series a rips sounded behind him, and when he eventually fished something satisfactory from the trunk he turned to find a pile of black strips. After fashioning a makeshift bandage from the strips (not good enough to stop the bleeding but enough to buy him some time), he donned the dark, baggy shirt he'd found. Penguin shoved his feet back into his boots and looked around until he spotted a floppy hat.
"Get ready to sail and wait for me. And if you have time, try to find a medical kit or something I can use once we're out of the harbor." He turned his back to switch out his trademark hat with the one he'd just found and checked the pockets of his shorts. Confirming he had what he needed, he moved to jump from the boat to the dock.
"Where do you think you're going?" Killer stopped him with a hand tightly wrapped around his wrist (his good arm he couldn't help but notice). Forcing himself not to focus on the large calloused hand, Penguin turned halfway back.
"I told you there were advantages to being an unknown quantity. Who's gonna recognize me without my uniform?" he informed the blond. When the hand didn't immediately loosen its grip, he continued, "To get out of the harbor, we need a distraction. You're too recognizable to cause one without bringing an admiral down on our heads. I'm leaving my stuff here, so you know I'm coming back. You just stay here, get ready, and try not to get yourself arrested before I get back."
Killer tightened his grip as if he wanted to ask something else, but no question was forthcoming and eventually the larger man sighed and loosened his grip.