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Jim was going to be a father.
In a way, this was really the greatest representation of the stupidity of Jim Gordon. Of course he got Barbara Kean pregnant, of course he did that. Not like there’s a million and one things falling apart around them, or that Barbara still very much wanted to murder Oswald for the whole Tabitha debacle.
Honestly, the fact that he’d chosen to sleep with her despite that stung a little. Oswald had thought they’d had a fairly good (at least, not outwardly hostile) alliance to deal with the military and Jeremiah Valeska. They’d been working well together and had spent nights trading strategy over the (frankly, god-awful) liquor that Jim kept in his desk. For the first time in a while, Oswald truly felt like Jim’s friend again. He’d… They’d…
Oswald was going to look, and when he undoubtedly found some contraceptives left on this rock, he was going to make Jim a lovely gift basket.
As he limped down the stairs of the GCPD—away from Jim’s office and out into the bullpen—and continued to consider the mess Jim had gotten himself and Barbara into, he rolled his eyes to keep the ache in his chest from taking over his expression. Some cops sent him sideways looks, undoubtedly in response to the high-pitched yells that had been coming from the Captain’s office not moments ago, but none of them said anything. They had become accustomed to the mob boss’s presence in their precinct. Besides, who wants to run the risk of setting off the Penguin yet again?
“Are you alright, Mr. Cobblepot?”
Oswald stopped short and, for a moment, wondered where exactly that voice had come from. But, a harder look at the shadows of the room revealed a familiar young man who was only leaning against the wall, but was somehow concealed from the eyes of anyone who wasn’t searching for him.
“Mr. Wayne,” Oswald said with a small chuckle, “You are getting quite good at hiding in plain sight.”
The corner of Bruce’s lip twitched upwards slightly, but he simply shrugged and looked down at his hands. He was wearing his familiar dark coat, but he’d removed his gloves to handle—Chocolate. Bruce Wayne had chocolate.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, before breaking a piece off the bar and popping it into his mouth.
“Just a—ah—robust discussion with Captain Gordon,” Oswald said, Bruce’s dark eyes flashing over to look him over at him for a moment, before they glanced very quickly at the office and then back to him. Without saying another word, Bruce broke off a sizable piece of his treat and held it out to him. For a moment, Oswald said nothing as he stared in surprise at the chocolate. Everything was a precious commodity in Gotham now, even to a billionaire, and the fact that Bruce so easily offered it said quite a bit about him.
Soon, Oswald regained his composure and he took a few steps to close a fair amount of the space between them; accepting the candy before leaning against the wall in an imitation of Bruce’s pose, taking a bit of weight off of his leg. For a moment, it was silent between the two men as they simply stood in each other’s presence and enjoyed a very rare luxury.
“I assume this is yet another gift from your secret admirer,” Oswald finally said, Bruce humming slightly.
“You would assume correct.”
Oswald wasn’t aware of all of the gifts that had found their way into Bruce Wayne’s hands, but he knew that there had been quite a few between the original bottle of liquor and the chocolate they were enjoying now. There had been practical gifts—like new boots and a set of black brass knuckles—and more frivolous items, although Oswald would argue that the healing of the soul that a bouquet of lilies could bring would put it on par with any of the other presents. There had also been hair gel. He knew that for certain because Jim had told him between chuckles; even the person who’d been wary of the mysterious presents since the beginning couldn’t help but find the humor in that.
But, all of this was volunteered information, because Oswald never asked about it out of fear of raising suspicions. Even though some gentle prying probably wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention, he simply didn’t want to push his luck. He was happy with his current relationship with Jim and the GCPD, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that over Jeremiah Valeska. At least, not any more than he already had.
“Well, cheers to them,” Oswald said with a smile and maybe a little too much bitterness in his voice, “Whoever they may be.”
Bruce sent him a thoughtful look, but Oswald did his best to ignore that in favor of continuing to feast on the small piece of chocolate.
“Whoever they may be,” Bruce finally said, and even though he was repeating what Oswald said, there was no denying that there was something different in his tone, “Mr. Cobblepot, if I were to offer you my honesty, would you return the favor?”
Oswald frowned slightly at that—not entirely certain where he was going—but nodded nonetheless.
“As much as I can,” the master of excuses replied; there was no reason to promise the boy something if he knew that he wouldn’t keep it at the first sign of trouble.
“I’ve had some suspicions ever since the first gift arrived,” Bruce said, looking over at Oswald with a thoughtful expression, “Suspicions that tell me that you know who’s sending me these.”
Oswald looked down to where his hand gripped his cane and studied the inlay for a moment as he thought over his options. He considered telling a lie, but something told him that the only thing that would change would be lowering Bruce’s regard for him and, frankly, he didn’t think that was a very good idea. So, that left the obvious option: telling the truth.
“You’re very perceptive, Mr. Wayne; never let anyone tell you differently.”
For a moment, it was quiet as the words Oswald spoke sunk in. He waited for the inevitable question that would follow that, and he attempted to string together enough thoughts that would answer it without incriminating himself. One would think a mob boss and former politician would be better at this sort of thing, but maybe it was just the circumstances.
Oswald straightened up slightly when he heard how Bruce drew his breath in, obviously gearing up to speak. But, when he did, it wasn’t the interrogation that Oswald expected, and instead there was something actually rather flippant in his tone. A reminder that although he was a serious young man, he was still young.
“So, when did you see Jeremiah?”
Oswald’s head snapped up to see Bruce still looking as composed as ever, but regarding him with sharp eyes. His words had been casual for a reason, and it had worked; Oswald’s facial reaction had told him far more than anything that came from his mouth ever could.
“What makes you think I saw him?” Oswald asked, brow furrowed, “Maybe I just figured it out. Like you seemingly have. How did you, by the way?”
“You and I both know that flowers and chocolates aren’t Jeremiah’s style,” Bruce said, continuing to consider Oswald as he spoke, “I don’t think he or anyone around him could’ve come up with the idea of sending me simple gifts. As for how I figured it out…”
Bruce dropped his eyes down to where he held the last bit of uneaten chocolate and he didn’t speak for a few seconds. When he did though, his tone had changed; the veil he’d worn to pry answers from Oswald had dropped away—if only for a moment—and anyone could see the streak of vulnerability in him, if they cared to look. And although what he said was technically a question, there was nothing but fact in his voice.
“Who else could it be.”
He ate the last piece of chocolate whole.
It was quiet for a moment.
Oswald looked out at the officers that surrounded them and any fear that they may be listening in on their conversation disappeared. They had never been a very good police department, and given the circumstances they clearly just didn’t care about what the biggest mob boss this city had ever seen was talking about with a multi-billionaire.
When he turned back to Bruce, he had finished eating the chocolate, but was still looking at the floor with a tumultuous expression. Oswald felt bad for him, which was further proof that his heart still ached for romance and likely would forever. No matter how heartbreaking his experiences with Jim had been, that had still been between an organized criminal and a cop. Not whatever the hell monster Jeremiah was and whatever the hell savior Bruce was. Besides, Bruce clearly harbored something for Jeremiah, and it wasn’t like Jim…
Not right now. It wasn’t the time for that.
Oswald cleared his throat, and although Bruce didn’t raise his head from where it was bowed slightly, he peered sideways over at him.
“I will admit that I was the one that informed Jeremiah that his gift giving was, ah, less than stellar, and offered some alternatives,” Oswald said, Bruce’s eyebrows quirking upwards at his somewhat theatrical tone, “Although, I only gave him vague ideas. He definitely took some initiative, and I have to say, he can do great things when he isn’t using that mind of his to blow up the city.”
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
Bruce cut through any of Oswald’s attempts to bask Jeremiah in a somewhat favorable light and for a moment, it was quiet.
“I thought you didn’t approve of killing, Mr. Wayne,” Oswald said, his voice muted now.
“I don’t. But, both you and Jeremiah do, Mr. Cobblepot,” Bruce said, turning to look at him fully, “I’m having a hard time understanding how you two saw each other and both came out on the other side alive.”
Oswald sighed before moving as well to face Bruce head-on and becoming uncomfortably aware of the height difference. Oswald had always been short, but he hadn’t paid enough attention to see that Bruce had outgrown him at some point. That was par for the course, though; in the time Oswald had known him, Bruce had gone from a child to a man.
“Can I let you in on a secret, Mr. Wayne?” Oswald asked, Bruce studying him for a moment before nodding, “I have spent most of the years of my life a member of the criminal underworld, and a large part of that was as its King. I have killed hundreds of people, and it becomes countless amounts when you factor in the deaths that I orchestrated but wasn’t the one to pull the trigger or the ones that were done by others in the name of my organization. I have seen the worst this city has to offer, hell, I might be the worst… And yet, after all of that, I’m still a bleeding heart. When I see two people in love, I can’t help but let it affect me. And when I see someone with their heart broken, I can’t help but let mine go out to them. Even if that person is Jeremiah Valeska.”
“What do you mean by Jeremiah being heartbroken?” Bruce asked, not even bothering to deny the rest.
“Jeremiah wanted me to kill him,” Oswald said, Bruce’s expression dropping instantly, “He was, well, he was a fucking mess. The fact that he thought that you were finally accepting his affections, only for it to all be a lie tore him apart.”
“I…” Bruce looked down at his shiny new boots, “I had to do it.”
“I agree,” Oswald said before a shrug, “But, it broke his heart all the same.”
Bruce’s head remained bowed and, even when he spoke in a voice so quiet that Oswald had to strain to hear, he continued to look downwards.
“How was he when you left?”
“Getting back to his normal self,” Oswald said, Bruce looking up at him through his eyelashes, “I didn’t just give him advice about gift giving. I… I told him the truth. I told him that he shouldn’t be sulking because he thinks you don’t care about him, because you do.”
Bruce finally looked up, but he said nothing. No attempts to deny it or excuses for his feelings, just an unreadable expression and unfathomable dark eyes.
“Is there a chance?” Oswald asked, his voice very soft.
“Of what?” Bruce replied, not playing dumb, just wanting to confirm the question before he answered it.
“You and Jeremiah, is there…?” Oswald trailed off, and Bruce broke eye contact to look out at the bustling department, not a single cop aware of the soul baring happening in the dark corner of their precinct.
“I don’t think so,” he finally said, Oswald releasing the breath he’d been holding as his heart cracked just a little bit more, “Before… Before the bombs, before Selina… There was more than a chance. But, now… I can’t. I want to make this city better, and I can’t do that—I-I can’t do what’s right—while being with the man that he’s become.”
“But the man he was before…?” Oswald asked, simply gaining a pained look from Bruce that told the full story without a single word, “Mr. Wayne, have you ever wondered where you would be if you didn’t cling so tightly to that moral code of yours?”
Bruce’s lip pulled upwards and he gave labored chuckle before answering.
“Sometimes,” he admitted before dropping his eyes back down, “But… I can’t imagine it. I don’t know who I would be without it.”
“Happier, I think.”
Bruce looked away and it was quiet for a moment. Oswald studied his thoughtful expression; his eyes were very far away as he thought, and because of that, Oswald was unable to tell what Bruce was thinking. But, before that lack of information could become too burdensome, Bruce returned from wherever he’d been and he made eye contact with Oswald once again.
“I think you might be right about that one, Mr. Cobblepot.”
“Bruce!”
Both men turned to see Jim sticking his head out of his office and giving the pair of them a thinly veiled suspicious look. Oswald wasn’t even insulted; about time someone in the police department took issue with him (again, mob boss) speaking to Bruce (again, young billionaire). Bruce held up his hand to signify that he’d be there in a moment and Jim disappeared back into his office.
“Are you going to tell Jim that I let Jeremiah go?” Oswald asked as he turned back to Bruce, who raised an eyebrow.
“Are you going to tell Jim about my feelings for Jeremiah?”
Oswald smiled at that and, although it took a second, Bruce returned it with a small but genuine one of his own.
“You’re a good man, Mr. Wayne. One of the last left in Gotham,” Oswald said, turning away slightly, “I only hope that’s enough for you.”
He began to walk away, ready to be out of this damned precinct. Ready to go back to his citadel and lay back for a little while; he needed to take a bit of time to himself after the day he’d just had. Maybe he and Edward could go for a walk. It wasn’t exactly safe to go outside, but hell, this was Gotham. If he didn’t go outside because it wasn’t safe, he’d stay inside until the day he died.
“Oswald.”
He stopped short, not expecting to hear his given name fall from Bruce’s lips, and he turned in time to see him close most of the distance between them. Bruce sent quick looks around at the rest of the room and, once he was certain no one was listening, he spoke in a low tone.
“You do realize that the only reason that Jim slept with Barbara was because he was stressed and she was there, right?”
“What do you mean, Bruce?” Oswald asked, his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out where this had come from.
“I’m just saying, Jim has been known to make the same mistake many times, and if you are the one there, then—.”
Oswald’s jaw dropped and Bruce couldn’t finish his sentence as a wide smile took over his usually stoic expression. Despite all the time he’d spent fighting for his life and living through countless traumas, there was no denying that Bruce was still very much youthful.
“Oh, you and Mr. Valeska are perfect for each other.”
And, even if there was a brief flash of pain in Bruce’s eyes at that, he was still grinning when Oswald left.