Chapter Text
Edward wished the grip around his arm would loosen up, just a little. The way those fingers dug into his coat was way past unnecessary. Edward had made it perfectly clear that he was not looking for conflict after this man had knocked out the cop in the elevator with them both. This man donned a cop's uniform, but Edward knew something bigger was happening here, and he did not know if that frightened him, or reassured him.
As he was taken outside, a limo sat waiting for them. Edward made a pathetic attempt of escaping, which only resulted in the grip on his arm to tighten. He hoped no bruising would take hold of his skin after this encounter. The click of the door as it opened hit Edward's ears, a pang in his heart to what awaited himself inside, half expecting the barrel of a gun at his head as soon as he was seated, which for Gotham, would not be unlikely. Without much consideration, the man shoved him inside, slamming the door in his face.
“Edward Nygma.”
That unmistakable voice sets alight the hairs on Edward's arms, goosebumps sky-rocketing up his skin, until they had reached his neck. The insides of his chest dispersed, failing to settle around his organs that kept him alive, his very blood wanting to escape the layers of his skin, draining himself dry of this shame that was all too eager to make its presence known.
It had been far too long.
As he turned, his eyes full-blown, meeting Oswald's own gaze, far too calm for Edward to make sense of. Edward figured he must look so small right now, a timid creature of extravagant green to fool prying eyes of his insecurities while also keeping predators at bay. Oswald sought no desires to be too demanding in colour, robed in expensive purple fit only for a king, and oh, was Edward willing to serve.
“It is very good to see you.” That knowing smile. Warm. Confident. Only Oswald could pull it off.
“Oswald.” It was but a whisper. Even Edward had not realized he could sound so... delicate. Only for Oswald, who even now is too far away for Edward's liking. He edges closer, just slightly. “I thought you were behind this.”
“I'm not. But, I thought you might need some help. And... what else are friends for?” Oswald chuckled, and Edward only saw fit to join him.
“You look well,” Oswald comments, gesturing to Edward's physic. Arkham took some pity on him it would seem.
“You too,” Edward replied, his voice gruff with honesty, because it was true, Oswald did look good. Edward's self-control was lost on him as his eyes fell downward, settling on Oswald's stomach. Things had certainly changed, but not for the worse. “A little thicker in the middle.”
As Edward examined Oswald's face, chuckling at him with the affection of both new and nostalgic, Oswald does not respond well to the comment, his eyes following where Edward's gaze had just settled. A plump, round tummy. After all this time, it seemed that Edward felt the need to voice the obvious fact that Oswald had put on weight. Oswald was at a loss for words, his insides tingling with embarrassment, the feeling of his physical being having shrunk in size to the shy, tiny bird that Edward always saw him as. Weak. Emotional.
“Damn, it's good to see you, Oswald,” Edward adds, a little more sensual than intended, a tiny speck in the back of his mind telling him to tone down a little. They had only just reunited, and yet, what was really holding him back?
Oswald swallowed his insecurities, finding himself chuckling in sync with his old friend. Fifteen years they had technically known each other, ten of them stripped from the other's company. Fate had always brought them together in the past, only to cruelly keep them apart for so long. Both of them were keen to fill that void of nothingness with new memories, to learn all they could from the other in the ten years they were apart. No secrets, save for perhaps a few. Only then could they truly say that they had known each other for those additional ten years, and in the end, that was all that mattered. They were not allowed to be strangers to each other, but close friends, allies, and if the opportunity presented itself, perhaps something more.
Edward hoped to think so.
Fate, as ever, loved to tip the bowl every now and again, deciding to drop an oversized bat on the roof of the limo.
Edward swore he could hear someone saying his name, as he was experiencing a lucid dream. Whoever was saying it sounded like they were behind a thick layer of fog and static, their voice not carrying over so well. Edward's mind drew closer to the voice, each step rewarding him with slightly less disturbance.
“Ed! Edward!”
Was that worry he could hear? The pain in his head was beginning to form. Oh right, that thing that came out of the sky just after the crash. Was he a prisoner? And what was he feeling around his fingers?
“Eddie! Are you okay!? Answer if you can hear me!”
Oswald?
His eyes flash open, disoriented, met with little else than a boring brick wall and below his dangling feet, the ground.
“What?”
“Ed! Oh thank God you're okay. You had me worried there for a while.”
“We're... tied to a lamppost?”
“Thank you Ed, for pointing out the obvious. Just wait until I get my hands on that overgrown freak! Who the HELL does he think he is!? He clearly does NOT know who I am, because as soon as I'm down from here, he is a DEAD man! I will not be made an example of!”
Some things never change.
It could be endearing if it was not for the fact that they were both tied up by a lamppost together. A certain amount of panic swims throughout Edward's body. Not like this, they had only just gotten back together after a decade?
Together...?
Only then does he notice Oswald grasping at his hand.
“Um... can I have my hand back?” he asked sheepishly. What the hell was going on?
As soon as the warmth leaves him, he hates himself. He could have said nothing, allowed it to happen, but then, that would not be fair. Would it?
“Sorry! You were out-cold so I tried to get you to wake up. My apologies.”
Some of the warmth remains, however.
“Apology accepted. And don't worry Oswald, that thing will get his comeuppance soon enough.” He cannot be sure if it is a lie or not, uncertainty racking his brain at how the hell they were going to get out of this mess.
“I have a knife in my right sock. If I could get it free, maybe it could get us down!”
“That's great Ed, but how do you plan on getting it when we're TIED UP!? Wait for someone to come along to reach into your sock to retrieve it!?”
Edward tried not to take it personally, knowing how Oswald operated, masking his dread with sarcasm and anger, in the only way Oswald knew how.
“You got any better ideas?”
The only reply he receives is more wiggling from his partner in crime, agitated huffs and puffs in a fruitless frenzy Edward knows is true. He lets his eyes wander the streets, looking for something, anything, that could help them, but coming up empty. It was completely dead.
“Oswald!” He snaps, turning his head as much as he was allowed to in this position. “Stop wiggling! Let me think...”
“No! I want down from here RIGHT NOW so I can skin the one who put us here alive!” Oswald barks back.
“Well you flapping your feathers won't accomplish that, so quit it.”
“Ugh, fine!”
Silence befalls them for a moment, giving Edward the time to think something up. He could not help but notice how close he was to the lamppost's stem. Perhaps luck was in after all.
“I have an idea! Oswald, can you swing in sync with me so I can get closer to the lamppost? If I can wrap my legs around it and bring my legs closer to my hands, I might be able to fish my knife out.”
“It's worth a try! Alright, tell me when.”
They both mentally prepare themselves, Edward's legs at the ready as to avoid an unfortunate injury with said post colliding with the space between his legs. He had to time this correctly.
“Okay... Aaaand, swing!”
The two build up a swing, each time adding more speed and distance that may as well save them from this insulting predicament. With enough momentum, a window of opportunity is granted upon Edward, quickly hooking his slender legs around the pole in an embrace. As expected, his feet were now more level with his chest, within arms reach of his stashed away blade. The problem was that holding himself up in such a position, as well as the added weight of Oswald at his back, proved too much for his feeble legs, releasing themselves from the illuminated pole.
“Nonono, just hang... one... sec!”
The added panic resulted in a sloppy attempt of having any success, his ankles giving way, practically throwing the duo back into the street, an offering for gravity to do away with them.
“Ed! What the hell!?”
Edward cursed himself, seeing no way out of this.
“I'm sorry my friend, my legs can't hold the weight of both of us,” he confessed, a little shameful.
“Great, so you're calling me fat!” Oswald scoffs, clearly riled at the level he was earlier.
“What? No? I didn't say-”
“I've put on weight Ed! We both know this. You even made a comment about it in the limo.”
“I- Yes, I did. But I didn't mean anything about it!” Why had he not thought about his words more carefully instead of spilling his thirst over the man?
“Then why bring it up?”
'Because it looks good on you,' he wants to say, knowing he cannot. A moment passes between them, Edward knowing the longer he takes, the worse this will end.
“Oswald, this isn't the time!”
“Why, have somewhere you need to be?”
The faint sound of sirens hits Edward's ears first. He was not sure if to feel gratitude or dread, but thankful to be taken away from the conversation that he felt like flinging to the moon.
“Oswald, listen!” he instructed, waiting for Oswald to respond.
“Wonderful!” The tone is anything but friendly. “I get to meet those law-abiding dogs fresh out of Blackgate, give them a free show for their pathetic pea brains to ogle over. This won't stand Edward. News will spread and we'll be laughing stocks. We can't afford our reputations to plummet so soon. We have an empire to run!”
Oswald does not expect either an answer or the silent treatment from Edward, because he understands that either is acceptable. Edward knew all too well the problems this could cause for both of them.
Their eyes look on in the direction of what could only be described as a raucous, the irksome predictability of the GCPD, herding together like sheep to run at the danger like they understood a single thing between them. If they were smart, they would stay clear. Smart sheep do not run towards the wolves.
In a last attempt of breaking free, the pair flounder within their airborne prison, knowing it was almost certainly pointless. Flashes of red and blue dance over the buildings before a swarm of cars pull in to greet the suspended pair, the road quickly filling up with uniforms.
“Down! Get me down!” Edward bellowed, agitated at the thought of being up there a second longer.
“Well now, would you look at that...” a smooth voice calls out humourously, gaining the attention of the villains.
Edward laughs darkly, cocky grin overriding his face as his eyes settle on the only worthy intellectual among the drab personalities here.
“Foxy...” He greeted, the word dragging against his tongue a little flirtatiously, unable to deny the times he had missed a worthy opponent such as Lucius, especially when most of Arkham's residents were well beneath his feet to the point they might as well have been buried beneath the earth.
“Mr. Pennyworth,” Oswald added, counting his stars that Jim is nowhere to be seen. He will not accept that man to snatch another win from him tonight.
“Couldn't wait to tie the knot, as they say,” Lucius chimes, utterly pleased with himself.
“Mr. Fox, I believe the term is 'shacked up',” Alfred comments, the two sharing a snicker between them at the villain's expense.
Oswald's nose scrunches up in disgust.
“Cretins!”