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Oswald Cobblepot looked down from his balcony into the glittering mass of Gotham City. His thoughts were keeping him awake again, but this place was good at calming him down. He breathed in a deep breath of the smoggy air. It was going to kill him, someday, but for now it smelled like home.
The man had never been a fan of facts or logic. Facts told him that his mother was dead. Logic told him the fantasy of being loved, truly, honestly loved, had died with her. Facts reminded him that he was weak and pitiful, and logic told him he should give up now and accept that he was a failure. Facts told Oswald Cobblepot that he had always been alone, and logic said that would be true forever.
But Oswald had a secret weapon. Oswald had hope.
Hope was the glint in an enemy’s eye right before they spilled their secrets. Hope knew that there was always an escape, even if it wasn’t easy to see. Hope spat in the face of logic and muttered sweet nothings that were enough to make the difference between life and death.
He wouldn’t be here, in a penthouse above the coolest club in Gotham, without a healthy helping of hope, and he knew it. Even when the world seemed darkest, hope could shed some light.
So, to combat his insomnia, Oswald indulged in a little bit of hope.
~
To say Ed Nygma was bad with emotions was an understatement. He’d tried his best to understand them, but he just couldn’t quite grasp what it was that got people so worked up. Compliments could be misconstrued, insults far too harmful, and simple facial tics interpreted as threats or invitations. It all was far too much.
So Ed retreated into what made sense. Theater, music, and video games all had explanations as to why they caused reactions. A joke in a play was written to be funny so the audience would laugh. Music caused physiological reactions in a listener that elicited planned responses. A video game was just basic problems with simple solutions that required attention in order to be solved. These things were predictable and simple when real life wasn’t.
Falling in love had changed Ed in more ways than he’d like to admit. Not only did he come to realize his homicidal tendencies, but he had to accept that he was just as susceptible to having feelings as the rest of humanity. These proved to be his greatest weakness, but Ed was determined to solve this puzzle just as he had all the rest.
The Riddler had taught him how to weaponize the emotions of others to suit his will. How to get people to like him by putting on a face they wanted to see. It worked wonderfully too, Kristen was practically throwing herself at him at the end of it, and all because he changed the timbre of his voice and the way he looked at her. But it all felt so fake.
Kristen didn’t love Ed, she loved Riddler. And even though Ed himself barely knew the difference, he knew he wouldn’t be happy until she saw him for what he was. So he took a chance and took off his mask. But, of course, that went south and he found himself burying yet another body for the sake of nothing more than wanting to be truly loved.
Then he found The Penguin dying in the woods, and, at Riddler’s prompting, dragged him home and nursed him to health.
Oswald taught him how to seize power. He taught him the joy of pulling secrets out of a victim slice by slice, and also how to bide his time and watch for a perfect entrance. He also was something that Edward had never had: a real friend. Oswald had seen right through his mask from the moment he woke up, but he wasn’t afraid like Kristen. He accepted and celebrated all of Ed, and helped him when he needed it most.
Oswald was also unpredictable. He was like the weather, a constant but ever-changing series of events. He would jump from angry to docile in seconds without any obvious explanation. He had harnessed his emotions as a weapon, which Ed both feared and respected.
During his first stay at Arkham, Ed learned a few things about self preservation. He learned how to please people by playing to their interests, and how to suck up to those in power. These skills would be irreplaceable in the future. All Ed had to do then was bide his time. And then his patience was rewarded.
Oswald breaking him out was a welcome surprise. As it turned out, friends were more of an asset than Riddler wanted to admit. He fully enjoyed his job as chief of staff for Oswald, especially all of the little challenges it entailed. Once he neutralized Butch, he figured, it was a simple game of keeping Oswald happy and playing to the public’s best interest. Easy.
But Ed wanted to be a solo act, and being tied to Oswald would limit that. He needed the love of the city without the baggage of working for the mayor. But then he met Isabella, and decided to settle instead for the love of an individual.
Where Oswald had seen Ed as an ally, Isabella saw him as an experiment. She wanted to see how far she could push him before he broke. Ed honestly enjoyed her companionship but Riddler didn’t like her constant prodding. She, too, wore a mask, and though Ed wouldn’t admit it at the time, he wasn’t sure he would like what was underneath. But before he could find out, Oswald had her killed, which, Riddler mused, was a blessing in disguise. Under the pretense of Isabella’s death, they could claim the spotlight and shake off any other unnecessary bonds that Gotham had forced upon them.
And so they did.
Killing Oswald was a mixed bag. Emotions welled up that Ed wasn’t even aware he had, this time under the guise of Oswald himself. The dead did indeed speak, and what they had to say usually involved silly things like self care and responsibility. Riddler told himself that he worked best alone, and the shackles of relationships were simply a means to an end. So he shook himself loose and became the man he had always wanted to be.
But he also needed attention, or else the art of his crimes were essentially worthless. So he found Lucius Fox.
Foxy was a worthy adversary if the Riddler ever saw one. A classical hero with wit to match his own and solid morals to aid him. It was just as satisfying a game as he’d hoped… for a little while.
But something felt wrong. There was no passion behind his crimes anymore, no real spice to keep them interesting. Even Foxy lost interest eventually. Ed needed direction, some kind of greater purpose for his crimes, or he’d lose Gotham’s attention. He still needed guidance, but he had killed the only person who could teach him.
Until he hadn’t.
Oswald returning from the dead relit that fire tenfold. Now the Riddler’s schemes had meaning again. Now he had a truly great opponent and a motive: to finish what he had started. It didn’t help that Oswald wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying his name. Riddler now had one of two goals: to shame The Penguin into obscurity, or kill him in the process.
But The Penguin won.
It was unprecedented. Penguin had used Ed’s mind, his greatest asset, against him. He took his victory and Riddler’s power in one fell swoop. And why? Because of his emotions. Just because he could.
After thawing out, Ed had nothing. He had lost the one part of himself that held power, and was left alone to figure out how to crawl back to prominence. So, he let go and became a sidekick once again. The Narrows had a fun crowd. There was plenty of attention to drink in, but it wasn’t quite his. It never really was, he found. There was always someone else to share it with. So he moved his attention to Lee.
Lee was easy to love. Not only was she a confident and self motivated woman, but she was the ex-fiancee of James Gordon, which made her a prize in her own right. She humored his advances and gave him enough praise that he felt satisfied, but he still found himself back at Arkham, staring The Penguin in the face. He called it gloating, but honestly, he wasn’t quite sure why he kept returning. Maybe he just needed to know that the man who had honestly and truly beaten him was just as lost as Ed himself was. Maybe it was a reminder of the life he could have had, before he struck out on his own. Maybe it truly was just to gloat. He wasn’t sure. It was just another question mark on an ever-growing pile.
When Ed had thought he was finally over, that he had finally accepted his fate of spineless mediocrity, he found himself back in front of Oswald. How fitting that the man who created the Riddler would be the one who called him back out. Ed had lost any last semblance of control he had to this wheezing, shaking, desperate man time and time again, and all he had to show for it were a few wasted bullets. Oswald had said Ed needed him the first time he killed him, but only then was the horror dawning of how true that statement actually was.
Riddler tried to compensate for that by opening The Riddle Factory. It was a great exercise in sadism with some adoring fans thrown in. Plus, he still had Lee, but he was starting to suspect she was only stringing him along for as long as he was useful. Typical. And yet, when she stabbed him in the gut, Oswald wouldn’t even give him the grace of allowing him to die.
Ed owed everything to Oswald, from his life to his identity. The smaller man’s fingerprints were present in everything Ed had done since that first night in the woods. Without Oswald, Ed was just an encyclopedia of facts and skills, begging for praise. With him, for whatever reason, Ed had drive, purpose, and companionship. So why did he still want to kill him? Honor? Revenge? Some petty attempt for attention? No, he’d had enough. It was time to ask a favor.
~
Oswald was not a proud man, but he knew when to celebrate a victory. When Ed Nygma came limping back to him after months of silence, Oswald uncorked a bottle of wine. Ed had sworn to stab him while looking him in the face, which for Oswald was proof of progress. The Riddler had helped him before, and he would again. Oswald’s hope had not let him down.
~
Ed knew a deal when it was staring him in the face. A trip off the island, plus unlimited resources. He was right to think of Oswald as an asset.
But then, as he started work on the submarine, Ed noticed that feeling again. The strange, magnetic pull that had tugged him toward the shorter man over and over, unbidden. It didn’t quite make sense. Oswald often spoke of fate bringing people together, but when he talked about it, it seemed like something you’d want. Not like this uncertain mass of feelings that welled up inside him when he looked to the other man. There was something in the way Oswald spoke that loosened something in Ed, something no one else had been able to touch. The way his braggadocious mockery would hit him exactly where it hurt. No one else knew how to euthanize the Riddler, but Oswald had him practically purring beneath his well manicured thumb.
It was awful.
But gradually, like they had time after time before, Ed and Oswald settled into a rhythm. Oswald would leave in the mornings to get supplies and who knows what else while Edward resumed progress on the sub. Then Oswald would bring back lunch and string tales of his misadventures in No Man’s Land. Ed was sure most of them were fabricated but they were entertaining stories nonetheless. Oswald would make a quip about Riddler, Ed would shake his head to suppress a laugh, and then, miracle of miracles, Oswald would offer his help.
“I truly do not know what I’m doing,” he’d call, tightening some bolts into place. “Could you show me how, again? I know I don’t want to be the reason we sink.”
Ed would chuckle at Oswald’s plea for attention, and then, if he calculated there was time to waste, he’d wander over to show the other man how to more effectively use a wrench. Of course he knew it was an excuse for small talk, but they currently had no other friends to speak of, and Ed had spent enough time in isolation to savor any social stimulation he could find.
It didn’t mean anything, he told himself, when Oswald rambled on and on to Edward the dog and Edward the human felt a twinge of jealousy. Just embarrassment at the dog’s name. He didn’t care that Oswald had his clothes dry cleaned who knows where in this hellscape, and returned them to him with a few extra green jackets and purple ties.
There was no reason behind Oswald’s constant compliments and lingering glances, just like there was no reason behind his fits of rage or pointless tirades. Oswald was simply a creature of chaos, and Ed was excited to get off this island so he could begin, anew, without him.
But then Oswald left. They were moments from escaping, finally, and Oswald, creature of whims, left even his beloved dog to return to the very city that had rejected him. How did he expect to be accepted by something so much greater and more powerful than himself? Surely he knew that even if he succeeded, Gordon would throw him into Blackgate the second he had a chance. And yet, as he watched him leave, Ed’s stomach tied into familiar knots. He looked down to Edward the dog, who whined as his master abandoned him.
“I know how you feel, buddy,” Ed muttered, absently bending down and scratching the bulldog behind the ears.
The dog looked up at him and whined again. Oswald had turned the corner and was now out of sight. Edward the dog yipped, before gearing up to let out a menacing howl.
“FINE!” Edward the human realized he couldn’t leave without Oswald. It was a simple conclusion, one that countless characters in countless stories had come to before him. Oswald was right. Ed needed him. He wasn’t sure why, but when he was around Oswald he could think straight. He wasn’t distracted by all these foolish emotions and could focus on what was truly important. Which was usually, now that he thought of it, The Penguin himself.
Just once, Ed conceded to himself, he would take Oswald’s advice, and follow not his head, but his heart.
“Fine,” Ed muttered, standing to his full height and tugging on the bulldog’s leash. “But you’re not coming. Oswald’s got enough to worry about without putting you in the line of fire.”
Ed stowed the dog in the safest place he could think of: the submarine. Ignoring the yips and howls of the lonely mutt, Ed started walking back down the dock. Then jogging, then running. It was only practical to get there as soon as possible.
~
“It takes two men to pilot that sub, Oswald. Dog can’t do it,” Ed lied through his teeth. He and Oswald both knew that wasn’t true, but Oswald wasn’t about to say anything. “And ditto on that blood and concrete thing. Kinda like this city the way it is.”
And there he was. Following his heart. He didn’t really know what to do next so he let Oswald lead the charge, as usual. But then Oswald literally jumped on a grenade for him. It came out of nowhere, and Oswald didn’t even think. He just acted. As usual.
Ed knew Oswald cared about him. Of course he did. It had become their routine over the past few years: Oswald cared too much and Ed didn’t care at all. But sacrificing himself to save Ed’s life... Ed wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
As he jogged down the stairs, Ed felt the knot in his stomach tighten. His heart had chosen Oswald, and Oswald had chosen to save him, but at what cost? His life wasn’t really worth Oswald’s eye.
“I’m so sorry,” he panted, preparing for Oswald’s inevitable meltdown, “I saw the grenade and I froze. I’m sor-”
“Shh. It’s the least I could do.”
Ed’s mind raced. Why wasn’t he upset? Surely he was expecting something in return. Unless, of course, this was more of his “love” schtick, which, honestly, wasn’t as tiresome as Ed thought it would be.
“But tell me, does it look bad?”
The gaping wound Oswald revealed in his eye’s place only cemented Ed’s unease. He’d lie, again, to show that he was trying. That he did still care, and that Oswald’s pain wasn’t in vain.
“It’s just a scr-” he gagged. This was going to be harder than he thought. “Looks fine. Let’s go.”
~
The night he lost his eye, Oswald’s wildest hope was justified. After helping Oswald escape the GCPD and tend to his wounds, Ed had taken to pacing the library, monologuing about how little he cared for Gotham. At first, Oswald was confused. Ed had returned from the submarine to fight for Gotham. At least, that’s what he’d claimed. But as his tangent continued, and as Oswald watched Ed slip further away and the Riddler creep closer, the Penguin realized something so shocking that he nearly said it out loud.
Ed did it for me.
All that time spent mooning over Ed, all of the years he had resigned to never being loved, and yet, here Edward Nygma was, in his full green suit, on a diatribe about how much he despised the people he had just fought alongside. He was only there for one conceivable reason.
Oswald.
The Penguin smirked to himself, then rose from his seat to stroke Riddler’s ego.
“I only came back to help him save this city so that I could take it for myself!”
“We would be stronger together,” Oswald whispered, appealing to whatever was left of Ed. “No one could stop us.”
“Yeah, perhaps,” Riddler replied tonelessly, reaching for something within his jacket.
Oswald shivered, retrieving his knife from his leg brace.
“Let’s make a pact. Here and now.” If Ed were truly gone, Oswald would save himself with his knife. If not, Ed would protect him. He knew it. “We will take what we want, from who we want, and we will suffer no fools.”
Riddler’s gaze was cold and steady as ever.
“Together.” Riddler lifted his right hand. “Shall we shake on that?”
“Please,” Penguin replied with glistening eyes and a determined voice, “we’re brothers. A hug.”
“A hug it is.”
The unmistakable sound of Ed’s signature switchblade opening was heard. Oswald wished they could move past these theatrics, but of course, this was the Riddler he was dealing with.
The two men embraced and held mirroring knives to each other’s backs. Oswald felt the blade through the fabric of his shirts and inhaled. He was prepared for the worst.
And then the moment was gone. Ed wrapped his arm tighter around Oswald, confirming what they both already knew, and the two men returned their blades to their pockets without a word.
The Penguin nodded.
“Life begins anew.”
Edward smiled.
“Shall we get to work?”
~
Ed still wasn’t good with emotions, but he was good with Oswald. He navigated meltdowns and celebrations with equal ease, applying just enough pressure to keep Oswald grounded. He could calm him down with a word, stopping wars in their tracks. He would give advice and Oswald would listen, unlike he did to all the other advisors who had the misfortune to cross his path.
He would be lying if he said the days spent managing Oswald’s rise back into power weren’t some of the most fulfilling days of his life. He still had plenty of time to plan heists and mess with the GCPD, but this time he had good reason, and someone to bounce ideas off of. He also got to do the satisfying busywork that came with being a mob boss. Organizing weapon exchanges, approving shipments, and signing off on paychecks were a great way to keep himself engaged while he waited for night to fall.
Oswald himself wasn’t too bad either. He showered Ed with gifts and praise whenever he stepped in the door of the manor. He made a considerable effort to keep the Riddler happy as well, engaging him in chess and poker and other contests at which he usually lost but put up a good show. He cared about his well being and listened when Ed needed to complain. He also was a great person to have around when one needed help concealing a body.
It felt good to be truly seen and wanted. It felt good to have support from someone who didn’t expect anything in return. It felt good to believe in someone again, and have that someone depend on him.
~
Oswald looked from his city into his bedroom. Hope had not let him down.
Hope looked at the sleeping man sprawled across Oswald’s bed and told stories of a future built together. Hope whispered the name of a mute orphan boy in need of a mentor, and spun fables of the child’s rise to greatness at the arm of his adoptiveed fathers. Hope clung desperately to the streets of Gotham City, every light shining off the wet concrete a symbol of more power to be gained by whatever means necessary.
“Oswald. Come back,” Ed groaned sleepily.
“Right. Coming,” Oswald hummed, thanking every light left on in Gotham for his life.