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This wasn’t the first time Oswald heard a death rattle. Just like with his mother and father, he was completely powerless to prevent it. His hands, for all their worth, could do nothing to stop the blood as it pooled out on the harsh, unforgiving cement. He watched as the EMTs cut open Ed’s suit vest and the shirt underneath to get a better look at his injuries. Oswald had seen enough bullet wounds in his lifetime to know not to look too closely or he might lose his composure completely.
Instead, he focused on Ed’s face. His glasses were carefully tucked away in Oswald’s blood-soaked hands but his eyes were open. They didn’t seem to be staring at anything.
Before Oswald could reach out to swipe the curls from his face, get his attention and reassure him that he wasn’t alone, his eyes glazed over and closed. Oswald wasn’t certain if it was the last time he’d ever see them open.
...
Oswald attached the lav mic to his lapel and waved the intern aside. A few others scrambled to apply setting powder and comb away errant hairs from his face before the cameras rolled.
He gritted his teeth, adjusted his posture, and waited for the inevitable countdown that would signal the start of the interview. His eyes had barely adjusted to the bright lights and reflectors when he was given his cue to smile.
“Mayor Cobblepot, as Gotham is enjoying a historic spike in job growth and prosperity, it is also going through one of the safest periods in its history. And I’m sure everyone is wondering, How did he do it?”
Oswald knew that this interview was one of strategic importance. It was risky but, in the end, it would be worth it. His Chief of Staff had insisted they go through with it in order to lay the groundwork for the remaining years of Oswald’s term as Mayor of Gotham City.
“Well…” Oswald smiled, making sure to look Hearst in the eye as he spoke. “I was raised in Gotham’s immigrant district in the Narrows. I grew up watching my mother teach herself English, work several jobs to keep food on the table and do the best that she could to raise me on her own. She showed me the benefits and necessity of hard work.”
“Ah, yes, your mother. You speak of her often.” Hearst flashed a well-practiced grin, her words dripping with venomous syrup.
“She was my biggest influence.”
“And did she know that you worked for criminals when you were young?” Hearst asked, eyebrows raised.
Oswald felt his teeth grind. Ed warned him that Margaret Hearst was excessively blunt, purposefully carving away the flowery language used by other journalists and getting to her point with startling precision. Luckily, Oswald was no stranger to fighting with knives.
“You aren’t native to Gotham, Ms. Hearst, so let me explain a few things about our fair city.”
Oswald’s eyes sank to his own lap as he composed himself, choosing his next words carefully. When he looked up, he caught a glimpse of Edward Nygma over the journalist’s shoulder. He smiled, unable to contain it, and continued.
“It is exceedingly difficult to survive in Gotham without some criminality. We steal to survive. We climb to survive, Ms. Hearst, especially those of us below the poverty line. Which, quite frankly, was the majority of us. The police have proven to be just as corrupt and negligent. So, with nowhere else to turn, many of us do follow a life of crime or end up working for less-than-savory individuals. It’s a necessity of Gotham life.”
“And that was why you worked for someone like Maria Mooney?” she asked.
“Her friends called her Fish, and yes. I was her umbrella boy. I ran errands for her and she took care of me and my mother,” he told her. “She may have been working for Don Falcone, but that didn’t mean she was a bad woman. She paid for our food, our medicine, everything we could need. She was like a second mother to me.”
“You ran her club shortly after her disappearance, but that was a failed business venture.”
“That it was.” Oswald bit the inside of his cheek, “But we all have to start somewhere.”
“And after that, you worked for Salvatore Maroni of the Maroni Crime Family.”
“Yes, but I assure you it wasn’t glamorous. I just washed dishes in the kitchen,” he explained, purposefully leaving out most of the details.
“So, from humble errand boy to kitchen worker to the so-called King of Gotham , it is said that many died so you could rise.”
Oswald’s eyes flickered over to his friend once again. Edward nodded his head, encouraging him to continue with their plan of giving Ms. Margaret Hearst exactly what she wanted.
...The truth.
“That is correct,” he confessed.
“You don’t deny it?” She blinked, narrowing her gaze. She leaned forward as if not comprehending his honesty.
“What use is there in denying it?” Oswald held his chin high, “I already told you that was how you survived in Gotham. I think many of your viewers that live here can relate to my upbringing. Though, my hope is to prevent that now that I’m running things. Like you already said, Gotham is thriving under my leadership.”
“But it was murder that sent you to Arkham, a prison for the criminally insane.”
Oswald tried not to smirk at how right Edward had been. She played right into their plan.
“I was denied a trial and legal representation and sent to Arkham Asylum.” He pretended to wipe a tear from his eyes, “I was detained, thrown into an interrogation room, and threatened. Then, after several hours of waiting in a cell, I was cuffed and taken to Arkham where I was misdiagnosed and tortured by Hugo Strange. I was denied my civil rights because it was easier to declare me insane and lock me in an asylum.”
“That is a bold accusation to make of your city’s police department,” she said.
“I’m only exposing the truth. It is why I have been working so hard to enact higher standards for Gotham’s police.” There was a short burst of applause from the staff working the cameras that Oswald was quick to acknowledge and pander to. Ed shared a similar, cocky grin. “They couldn’t even take down the Red Hood Gang on their own. My dearest friend and colleague was the one who apprehended their leader and solved that case for them.”
“Didn’t your Chief of Staff, Edward Nygma, also work for the GCPD?” she asked, gesturing over her shoulder where Oswald had been continuously staring.
He stammered, slightly taken aback by how her focus lingered uncomfortably on his Chief of Staff, “He worked in forensics. W-Why do you ask?”
“And it was with his extensive knowledge in forensics that he was able to get away with his crimes initially, was it not? Crimes that, might I remind you, also included murder.” She smirked, “What about people like him? Mr. Nygma seems to have gotten away with quite a lot thanks to you.”
Oswald’s blood boiled. Edward shifted on the balls of his feet and Oswald cringed at how small his friend looked. However, he was more frustrated with how all of the eyes in the room had migrated towards the man in the green tie, all attempting to drown him with their judgemental stares. They weren’t even worthy of being in the room with him.
“Are you aware that there is no Patient Advocate at Arkham Asylum, Ms. Hearst? There is no way for patients to seek justice for their mistreatment. It’s why people like Hugo Strange were allowed to use those patients as lab rats. And, that is what they are… patients. Isn’t it cruel to not help them seek some kind of rehabilitation?”
“You mean redemption?” she asked.
“Same difference,” he rolled his eyes.
“Is it?”
“To me it is!” Oswald snapped, momentarily losing his temper. Edward made a face that warned him not to take it too far. That alone was enough to calm him and he turned his attention back to the interview. “I have not spoken of my father much in my speeches. I confess, my time with him was tragically short, but he made quite the impression.”
“Yes, after your controversial release from prison , you met your father, Elijah Van Dahl. A man whose identity your mother kept from you.”
“I met my father shortly after my release. He welcomed me into his home and accepted me, even after discovering all of the horrible things I had done.”
“And so you extended the same hospitality to your good friend, Mr. Nygma, after his… equally controversial release from prison.”
“Arkham Asylum is a hospital,” he spat. “Edward was declared sane after months of hard work on his rehabilitation and was left wandering the streets outside Arkham’s gates, just as I was. This man,” Oswald pointed, “took care of me when I was sick. What sort of friend would I be if I had left him in the cold?”
“And he has quickly moved up the ranks in political power and is now serving City Hall as your Chief of Staff. Don’t you agree that looks strange? Some believe there is substance to the rumors that you blackmailed the warden at Arkham in order to have Mr. Nygma released.”
“Mr. Nygma is a man of startling intellect whose talents had been wasted and underappreciated for years! He earned his position as my Chief of Staff by proving himself invaluable and trustworthy.”
“And you—”
“—I’m not finished!” Oswald interrupted, a fire blazing in his eyes. He flexed the tendons in his right hand and looked towards Ed’s face in the crowd before continuing, “Edward Nygma is my dearest friend that I would be lost without. He would do anything for me just as I would do anything for him. There are not many people that I trust, but I trust him.”
Margaret Hearst closed her lips around her teeth, as if mulling over her words. “Mr. Nygma is lucky to have a friend like you, Mayor Cobblepot.”
“No, I think I am the lucky one,” he said, looking directly at Ed who seemed completely in awe of the man in the spotlight. He wore the same expression he had when Oswald announced him as his Chief of Staff—slightly doe-eyed and speechless.
“You have put forth several plans for development around Gotham City. You have a casino in the Diamond District, a conservatory and botanical gardens in Robinson Park, among others. Since you have such strong opinions about it, do you have any plans for Arkham Asylum?”
“Former Mayor Aubrey James made a deal with the Maroni Crime Family. That compromise allowed Hugo Strange to conduct his experiments and left the hospital a madhouse. So, yes. I think it’s time we did something about it.”
There was a murmur among the people present. Ed, bless him, tried to contain his excitement at how well their plan was going.
“And what do you propose?” Hearst asked.
“We should build affordable housing for the less fortunate in the area, including those rehabilitated patients with nowhere else to go, and a state-of-the-art mental health facility. That was the Waynes’ vision for the future of Gotham City and it is one that I share.”
“So, you really believe in allowing these criminally insane patients the opportunity to walk free?”
“Once they are cured, yes. They deserve that,” Oswald spoke matter-of-factly. “How many of them are just like I was? Or Mr. Nygma? How many of them are a product of circumstances and neglect from the police?”
“And what of Hugo Strange’s monsters?” Hearst asked. “They were once patients of Arkham and you ran them all out of town.”
“Perhaps I was hasty in that decision. But I—”
“—Hasty? Mayor Cobblepot, you paraded a mob through the streets to rid Gotham of these sick individuals. You based your entire campaign on it.”
“I did…” he inhaled deeply, his eyes flickering back to Ed in the hopes that he could direct him along the right path. Hearst had certainly done her homework and now Oswald was going to be forced to play a role on live television. “It was a mistake to do so.”
“A mistake?” she scoffed.
“Um… upon reflection… I believe that many of these monsters— no, I mean… patients are just like you or me. In fact, we may be able to come to an understanding and those of them that wish to return to Gotham and volunteer their service to the betterment of the city are more than welcome to meet with me at City Hall.”
Margaret Hearst glared at that. “It sounds more like you are recruiting an army of uniquely skilled individuals.”
“Come now, Ms. Hearst,” Oswald chuckled, “Do I really look like the sort of madman who would orchestrate such a thing?”
Oswald needed a drink.
Mercifully, Edward had been quick to get him into the back of their limo before the reporters swarmed. Edward, with his calculated tongue, stayed outside to answer their questions instead. Oswald couldn’t hear what was being asked, but he could read Edward’s expressions well enough to know that Gotham was playing right into their hands.
“Well,” Edward cleared his throat as he entered the limo, sliding in right next to Oswald, “I think that went rather well.”
“I lost my temper,” Oswald groaned.
“You spoke passionately,” Ed grinned.
“I wasn’t going to let her speak ill of you,” the Mayor growled. “I could handle her tearing me down, that was why she was there.”
“I appreciate you defending me.” Ed adjusted his glasses, “But don’t you think praising me like you did was a bit risky?”
“How so?”
Ed cleared his throat and furrowed his brows. He had that same leveled and calculated stare he often wore when they were planning something less-than-legal. “I might be perceived as a weak point. Someone could—”
“—If anyone tried to harm you, Edward, they wouldn’t survive the night!” he snapped. The mere thought of anyone being stupid enough to harm Edward infuriated him. Evidently, his impassioned response had caught his friend off guard. Edward could only stare at him, confused. Oswald took a breath and rubbed the tension from his eyes. “Do you think we succeeded?”
“I believe so,” Ed told him. “The Waynes were royalty in Gotham and the previous deal made by Mayor James cost him votes. If you reignite those ideals and set the Waynes' plan in motion, you’ll gain support and distance yourself from the criminal underground in their eyes.”
“And we’ll maintain control over the area of Indian Hill to use as we please.”
“Exactly. It’s a win-win for us.”
Oswald smiled brightly at his friend. Both of their eyes lingered on the other, their lips held agape, but no words betrayed them. Everything remained unspoken just as it always did. Retreating into cowardice, Oswald turned his attention out the window and drowned in the silence.
In the following weeks, Mayor Cobblepot and his Chief of Staff charmed their way through the right channels and proposed a bill that would jumpstart their plans for Arkham. Oswald’s approval ratings had gone up significantly after the interview with Margaret Hearst which, of course, meant more votes in favor of their plans. Once they received the stamp of approval along with a substantial private donation from Bruce Wayne, construction could begin on the new wing at Arkham Asylum.
However, what they hadn’t expected was the increase in gossip tabloids that focused on their mutual fondness for the other and their close relationship.
“It certainly keeps them busy,” Edward said as he perused the latest article. He seemed far more amused by it than anything. “They’re less focused on our true intentions for Arkham. So, really, it’s a blessing in disguise.”
“You can’t be serious.” Oswald frowned.
“It was an angle I hadn’t considered,” Ed shrugged.
“They assume we’re having an affair!” The Mayor huffed. He, unlike Ed, was frustrated by every column and polaroid picture of them. He hated how those buzzards overanalyzed every prolonged stare, their posture, and how Oswald favored bolder eyeshadow whenever he was at an event that Edward also attended.
“Does that bother you?” Ed asked, his voice stony and calculating.
Oswald opened and closed his mouth, struck dumb by the question. How was he even supposed to respond to such a ludicrous inquiry? He pulled his gaze away and frowned at the stack of papers and magazine clipping they had collected.
“I just don’t want people getting carried away.”
“I did warn you,” Ed chuckled.
“Yes, well… I didn’t expect them to make such slanderous claims!”
“If it bothers you so much, we can always send a threat to their journalists.” Ed placed the tabloid on the table in front of him, smoothing out the folds and ugly creases with the flat of his hand. His mouth was a firm, straight line.
“That would only add fuel to their scurrilous fires. If we threaten them, that will only make them feel justified in their claims.”
“With the right connections and threats, that’s unlikely,” Ed reassured him. “If you really want them to stop, I can make sure that they do. I just might have to use more persuasive methods.”
“If it comes down to it, I might see that you do just that.” Oswald picked up one of the magazine clippings. It had a rather flattering picture of Edward standing next to Oswald with that look he was fond of. They were both smiling and, if Oswald remembered correctly, it was because Edward had made a well-timed joke at the expense of one of their constituents. The smile was genuine and, if Oswald squinted, he could almost see what the rest of Gotham claimed to see. Which, admittedly, was not far off from what he wanted in the first place.
“Just give me the word,” Edward stood and adjusted his glasses.
“Does it bother you?” Oswald asked.
“Does it matter?” Ed’s expression remained unchanged.
“I was just curious,” Oswald rolled his eyes. Before he could dig into the matter any further, Edward had finished his coffee and grabbed the books off of his desk.
“I’m going to stop by the library on my way to City Hall. I’ll be back in time for the unveiling.”
“Are you going there to see Isabelle?” Oswald risked asking.
“Isabell a… and no,” he frowned. “I haven’t spoken to her, per your advice.”
Oswald grimaced at the utterance of her name, “I just assumed. I mean, you once told me that she was the love of your life and everything.”
“Today is her day off.”
“Ah… I see.” Oswald flinched at Ed’s clipped tone. “Are you still angry with me?”
“I was never angry with you,” Ed told him. “And, in hindsight, she was never the right fit for me anyway.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Oswald beamed. “You’re extraordinary and deserve someone who can match you. Um… in fact, while it’s on my mind, I had something important to tell you.”
“I’m ready, Oswald,” Ed smiled. “Whatever it is you have to say.”
“Right… yes,” Oswald cleared his throat. “The truth is, Edward… um…”
He made a choking sound. Confessing his feelings shouldn’t be as difficult as he was making it. Cowardice was not in his repertoire, but the possibility of rejection from the one and only person he has ever loved more than himself made him feel fragile. Weak. Encumbered.
Edward had no right to look as eager as he did. The man was practically vibrating where he stood, his eyes flashing across Oswald’s face and soaking in every detail.
“Yes, Oswald?”
“I… uh… I never thanked you for giving me the idea for Arkham.”
“Oh,” Edward tucked the books under his arm with a halfhearted sigh.
“So… thank you.” Oswald swallowed, “You are an excellent friend.”
“You’re welcome.” Ed’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
With that, Edward grabbed his coat and left and Oswald buried his face in his hands with a groan.
The tension from that morning hadn’t dissolved by the time they were on their way to Arkham Island. There was a space between them that made Oswald’s heart ache. Their hands were close enough to brush together and, for a moment, Oswald considered reaching out. Just one light touch to satisfy his urge that could be easily dismissed if Ed mentioned it. Or, if he didn’t, Oswald could attempt to reach further and further each time. Their fingers would intertwine, palms touching. Would that be enough? Maybe that would be enough of a confession, an exposure of his feelings and longing for his friend that didn’t require words.
“Oswald?”
“Y-Yes?” Oswald’s eyes fluttered.
“Are you alright?” Ed asked.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “Why do you ask?”
“You just look…” Ed stared, mouth hanging slightly open. Oswald hated how plump his bottom lip looked. “Nevermind.”
“Nevermind?” Oswald scoffed. “It’s unlike you to not finish your thought.”
“It’s nothing,” Ed turned his attention to an itinerary he had printed.
“Well then,” Oswald tongued the inside of his cheek, “are we keeping secrets now?”
“Now you know how it feels,” Ed grumbled.
“W-What was that?” Oswald stammered.
“Really, Oswald…” Ed looked him in the eye, “it’s nothing.”
But Oswald knew it wasn’t nothing. He danced around the subject more times than he could count. Oswald tried and failed to express how he felt for his friend for months. Ed had already been in and out of a relationship during that time and the awkwardness of each abysmal attempt was not lost on him. Ed was far too clever to have not picked up on every flirtatious gesture or heated touch.
They arrived at Arkham Island and the two of them sat in the back of the limo in disgust. Neither man wanted to be back at that wretched place of grime and horror. What they were doing was performative. Truthfully, they wanted to burn the place to the ground in the hopes that it would get rid of the ghosts—the ones lurking in the ghastly halls as well as the ones that followed them home.
The statue of Elijah Van Dahl was placed near the gates of the newest wing. Construction had already begun and would include all of the bells and whistles the Mayor and his associates were promised. This unveiling was just a way to keep the citizens of Gotham wrapped around Oswald’s fingers.
“Are you ready, Mr. Mayor?” Ed straightened Oswald’s tie.
“Let’s get lunch when we’re done here. Just the two of us,” he said, ignoring Ed’s original question.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Take-out? There’s not much else in the Arkham District.”
“How nostalgic,” Ed grinned. “I would love to get lunch with you.”
“And I have something to discuss. Something… important.” Oswald’s pulse quickened. He knew Edward could see everything written on his face, but he bit back the urge to run.
“Are you actually going to say it this time?” Ed asked.
“Yes,” Oswald nodded. Bravely, he took Edward’s hand into his own and gave it a squeeze.
“I look forward to it.” Edward returned the gesture in kind, even going so far as to pull Oswald’s hand against his chest and Oswald could feel the man’s thunderous heart through his knuckles.
The fluttering in their chests was short-lived, however. Their smiles faded as they approached the podium. Jim Gordon was apparently among the security detail provided by the GCPD.
“Hello, Oswald,” Jim grimaced. He didn’t bother acknowledging Edward beside him.
“Jim,” Oswald gave him a fake smile, “I assume the extra security is because of that nasty little rumor you heard? Or is this just to make yourselves look better after I let all of Gotham know just how pathetic you all are?”
“It’s both,” Jim didn’t bother lying. “Can we get this over with?”
Oswald had received threats shortly after the interview with Hearst. With the help of Victor Zsasz, Edward had tracked down a few of the noisier dissenters and discovered that they had connections with a group set on getting revenge. Evidently, they were former members of rival political parties and family to the candidates Oswald murdered at the behest of Galavan more than a year prior. Those murders in particular had been scrubbed away after he was deemed sane and released from Arkham and his victims took offense to Oswald’s speech about redemption. They hated how he twisted that part of his history to pull at the heartstrings of the less-informed.
Detective Gordon had done his own digging and uncovered whispers of assassination. Mayor Cobblepot had laughed when given the news and reassured Jim that he wasn’t scared. Even without the assistance of the pigs at the GCPD, he had his own private security of handpicked bodyguards, several of whom were Hugo Strange’s monsters who pledged fealty. As far as Oswald was concerned, he was untouchable.
His speech paralleled the one he gave about his mother at the start of his term. He spoke of safety and of compassion. He told stories about his late father’s humility, honesty, and the deep well of his forgiveness. Oswald even slipped into a moment of candid reflection about his own melancholy, how it ran in his family, and how his time in Arkham’s prison had worsened it.
“From this day forth, every lost soul who sleeps within Arkham’s walls will be given the tools necessary for their success and recovery. No longer will they be thrown away, forgotten, and abused!”
There was a vibrant round of applause from the crowd. The words were overly-polished, fanciful, and insincere, but his constituents ate it up. Lights flashed and Oswald posed for the inevitable flashing of photographs, but his attention was pulled to his side. His Chief of Staff stared back, eyes starry and smile as wide as ever.
“May those who are freed from its confines know that there will always be a place for them. A second chance awaits them, even if it’s in the unlikeliest of places.”
The sound of screeching tires pulled their gazes apart. Oswald barely had time to register the oily gleam of a gun barrel aimed straight for him.
“Oswald!” Ed cried out.
Jim threw his arm over the Mayor and forced him behind the podium as bullets rained down around them. There was return fire from his own security and Jim was at his side screaming into a radio, but the sounds of the bullets deafened them. He couldn’t make out a single word of Jim’s frantic orders.
The car sped off just as quickly as it had come. Oswald stood, frowning at the cracked cement and splintered wood. He turned toward the statue of his late father, ears still ringing nauseatingly. It felt like a repeat of history, so he expected to find his father’s head on the ground and full of holes. He was relieved to find only a few scratches, but the splattering of blood gave him pause. He looked down and inspected his own chest, assuming that he’d been shot and was too in shock to notice, but he found no injury.
Blood pooled around his shiny shoes. He followed the macabre trail and, when he found who it led to, he paused. There was a ringing sound that he assumed was still from his ears, but it was the sound of his own screaming.
He fell to his knees at Edward’s side, instinctually removing his own suit jacket and placing it down on his friend’s chest to stop the bleeding. His hair was wet with blood and it soaked through his suit, making it black. Ed opened his mouth to speak but only sputtered blood.
“No, Ed,” he cried, his stomach lurching when blood pooled between his fingers. “You are not allowed to die on me!”
The onlookers—rubberneckers, the lot of them—had mostly scattered, save for a few vultures from the Gazette. There were flashing lights from their cameras, but not a single one among them lifted a finger to help save the dying man on the pavement.
“Os…” Ed croaked out, blood dribbling past his lips. He looked so much paler. So much smaller. “Os...wald… I—”
“Shhh,” Oswald forced a smile. “Don’t speak. It’s alright. We’ll get you to a doctor and you’ll be fine.”
Edward gave one final wheeze before his body stilled. Oswald blinked, disbelieving, and watched Ed’s warm eyes turn glassy.
“Ed?” Oswald shook him, “Ed, wake up.”
But Edward didn’t move.
“Eddie!” He sobbed, shaking the man with bloodied hands. It took the combined efforts of Gabe and Victor Zsasz to pull him away as he screamed. Jim Gordon fell at the man’s side and began chest compressions.
Oswald looked on, completely lost and broken, as the man he admired, the man he loved in spite of the years he was convinced he was incapable, continued to lie motionless on the ground.
“Victor,” Oswald’s voice wavered.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Find them,” he said. He didn’t need to specify who.
“And bring them in alive or…?”
“I DON’T CARE!”
Zsasz left without another word. The EMTs arrived shortly after and hurried Edward away into the back of the ambulance.
“I’ll take you there, Oswald,” Jim gripped him tightly by the shoulder.
“I’m not leaving him.”
“We don’t know when they'll come back to finish what they started and it’s my duty to protect you.”
“And you’re doing a swell job!” Oswald screamed.
“Let the doctors worry about Ed.”
“Jim, please,” he pleaded. “I’m not leaving his side. He’s… I…”
“I get it,” Jim relented. “I’ll follow close behind.”
The back of the ambulance was a flurry of movement. The doctors tried asking questions concerning Ed’s known allergies, what his blood type was, what medications Ed took. Oswald responded with an exasperated shrug. Those weren’t details that he kept on hand. Losing Edward so violently hadn’t crossed his mind since that night at the Siren’s. He assumed that had been the end of it.
He had secured his success. He’d won. He and Edward were supposed to be at the top now. In hindsight, that was a childish belief, a fairy tale. He was a seasoned criminal, he knew better, but the lull of security had blinded him to the obvious. Complacency had been dangerous.
The prolonged beep from the heart monitor rang in his ears. That harsh, unforgiving straight line pierced right through his heart.
Oswald didn’t bother noting the passage of time. For him, it was all still a blur of gunfire, blood, and the white noise of incandescent bulbs. His mind and heart were both still back on Arkham Island in a pool of blood.
Edward endured multiple surgeries and Oswald never left his side. City Hall was in shambles, his Empire contested, but none of that mattered. The Penguin was singularly focused on Edward’s recovery and all that it entailed.
It didn’t take long for Zsasz to hunt down those responsible. The culprits had left quite the trail, one that led a winding path through Gotham’s Underworld. Victor Zsasz and his team of Hugo Strange’s monsters made quick work of those that aided them, the ones who quietly mocked the Penguin and funded the attempt on Edward’s life. Zsasz left them mangled on doorsteps and dingy alleys. It was merciful, really. If the Penguin had been in any state to deal with them himself, their deaths would have been far slower and infinitely more agonizing.
“Why are you still here, Jim?” Oswald snarled. He took a damp cloth and blotted away some of the grime near the creases of Edward’s eyes. He hadn’t opened them in weeks and Oswald was bitter at having been deprived of their color.
“I’m just checking in,” Jim said.
“And have you found those responsible?”
“What’s left of them, yeah,” Jim sighed.
“They’re dead?” Oswald didn’t bother pretending to be surprised, “What a shame.”
“You should have let us handle it, Oswald. We would have brought them to justice.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tucked Edward’s hair behind his ear and caressed his cheek with the back of his hand. Gentle and unobtrusive, but heartbreakingly intimate. “I’ve been here the entire time.”
“I know you have,” Jim frowned. “Ed is stubborn, he won’t go down that easily. He’d want you to rest.”
“I won’t leave,” Oswald held back a whimper. “I’m worried that if he stops hearing my voice, he’ll give up.”
“The City isn’t going to run itself, Oswald.” Jim hesitantly placed a hand on Oswald’s shoulder before giving him a half-hearted pat and leaving the room.
It had been days since Ed’s last surgery, but the man was still hooked up to tubes and IV bags and beeping machines. The noise was slowly driving Oswald insane. Worse of all was watching Edward continue to remain unresponsive in the hospital bed with a feeding tube.
His lips were chapped, so Oswald took it upon himself to apply chapstick to his friend’s mouth. He smiled through his tears. “This isn’t at all how I wanted to get closer to you, my friend.”
Oswald set the tube of chapstick aside before grabbing a comb. Edward’s hair was devoid of product and the Gotham humidity caused the brunette’s hair to curl in wild ringlets. It was also a lot longer than Oswald remembered, which only served as a reminder of just how long he’d been comatose.
“I’ll get you all of the take-out you could ever want once you’re better,” Oswald said as he gently brushed the knots from that man’s hair. “I’ll even pick out the onions for you so you don’t have to.”
“Edward?” a woman’s voice rang from the entryway. Oswald, more on edge than he had been in a long while, immediately rose to his feet with his pistol drawn. Victor Zsasz, who had been just a step behind her, pressed the barrel of his SIG-Sauer against her head. At her gasp, Oswald lowered his own gun with a sigh.
“Isabella,” he spoke her name with disdain.
“Mr. Mayor… I’m sorry to have intruded.” Her voice was breathy, a tangled mess of fear and heartbreak. She kept leaning around the doorway in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the comatose man behind him.
“Don’t pretend. You aren’t sorry,” he snapped. “You aren’t welcome here. Even if he was awake right now, what makes you think Edward would want to see you?”
“I know he wouldn’t,” she straightened her posture, “I saw everything on the news… I just wanted to see for myself that he was alright.”
Oswald’s lip quivered as they fell into silence, the beeping of Edward’s heart monitor serving as a painful reminder.
“He is going to pull through, right, Mr. Mayor?”
“They don’t know,” he answered honestly. The words echoed angrily in the cold room and landed with a dull thud in his chest.
Isabella cried, wiping tears from her eyes with a handkerchief Oswald recognized as one of Ed’s old ones. “I blame you. Edward wouldn’t have been in danger if he had stayed with me.”
“I blame myself too,” Oswald nodded, taking a step forward, “But you couldn’t change him.”
“I might have been able to—”
“—Stop, you pathetic imbecile,” he gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply and resisting the urge to shoot her anyway, “Edward had already decided who he was a long time ago. No one has the power to change that. Not me and certainly not you.”
“He left me because of you,” she pouted.
“Good, ” he sneered.
“If he dies, it will all be your fault.”
“Edward knew the risks of working with me, and yet he sought it out anyway. I doubt he hid much from you when you two were together. You know what sort of life we lead.”
“Did he know the risks of being your friend?”
Oswald laughed at that, “Don’t insult his intelligence.”
“Did he know that you were in love with him?”
“Shut your mouth,” he yelled, “or I will have Victor here shut it for you.”
“Yeah, I don’t think red is really your color,” Victor said, clicking the hammer back on his gun.
“I have already told you that Edward wants nothing to do with you and that you were not to attempt to contact him. Of course, that hasn’t stopped you from sending a mountain of letters to his office and the mansion. I burned them all, by the way. He’s not seen a single one of them.”
“Why not just kill me if I am such a nuisance?” She asked.
“And what? Give you some poetic end to your twisted little love story?” Oswald chuckled, “Edward told me everything, my dear, and I will not give you the satisfaction.”
“Very well,” she sniffled, “I doubt you’ll tell him that I was here, but I would appreciate it if you did. Goodbye, Mayor Cobblepot.”
As she made her way down the hall, Victor quirked his brow, “Should I follow her, Boss? There’s a dumpster around back.”
“No, Edward would never forgive me.” Oswald squirmed. He hated how much power that bothersome clone had over them. If Oswald killed her, he’d be satisfied, but Edward would hate him for it. Oswald would have to continue to deal with her name buzzing around in his head even if it hurt him to admit it.
“You sure about that?” Victor scrunched his nose.
“I lied about the letters,” he sighed, “Edward hid them from me. I burned them when I found out and he was furious.”
“Oh,” Victor frowned. “Well, the guy seems to care an awful lot about you if he’ll take a bullet for you.”
“Victor, I don’t need your commentary.” Oswald rubbed at his temple, “If you tell anyone what you’ve heard, I will have you flayed alive and left in Gotham’s sewers.”
“Tell them what?” Victor feigned ignorance and returned to the hall.
Oswald sighed and resumed combing knots from Edward’s hair. It reminded him a bit of when he was a helpless bird with a fever in Ed’s apartment. His memories from that time were hazy, but there were moments of lucidity he could recall where Edward would wash his face with a warm rag and whisper gentle phrases to him when he changed the wrappings on his shoulder. It made him wonder if there were moments that Ed would remember later. If there was a later.
The day Edward started breathing on his own was the first time Oswald really spoke to him. The man’s eyes were closed, but Oswald would read him the paper and talk about what was going on at City Hall. He updated him on everything important and mundane, he even resorted to riddles.
“What four-letter word makes you laugh and cry?” Oswald asked with a pout. He gently ran his finger along Ed’s cheek and down his jawline, “I know it’s not a very good riddle, but I’m still not giving you the answer.”
There was a flutter along Ed’s brow that gave the mayor pause. Curious, he leaned forward into the man’s space.
“Ed?” Oswald whispered. Ed was still for several moments and, just as Oswald was about to pull away from him, the man’s eyes drifted open. They were only tiny, unfocused slits, but there was unmistakable movement. “Are you finally awake?”
Ed blinked and Oswald could see his eyes drift towards the source of his voice. The sight almost made him burst into tears.
“I’ll tell the nurse.” Oswald stood, leaning heavily and exhausted on his cane. However, before he could walk away, he felt something tugging at his shirtsleeve. When he looked down, he saw that Edward had the fabric gripped between his fingers.
The initial shot felt like a dull thud, an oppressive numbness followed by a searing pain that ripped through his insides. The other bullets followed a similar pattern, each one numbing him more than the last. The final bullet, the one that grazed his head was the worst of them. There was a metallic ping followed by a loud ringing in his ears so intense that he thought his brain might burst.
Blood poured down his chest and soaked into the stone steps of Arkham but, even then, his only worry was Oswald. He turned toward his friend and it wasn’t until he knew that he was safe that Edward’s body gave up and he fell to the ground.
Oswald looked down at him, cradling him, and his face was the last thing Ed remembered seeing.
“Was he always so beautiful?” Ed thought to himself.
“Of course, he’s always been beautiful,” his Other voice spoke from the pool of darkness around him.
Oswald was attractive with blood on his face, he recalled staring at him after they killed Leonard. The way the Penguin glided between artful strokes of his blade to vicious full swings of his arm that left macabre ribbons in his wake left Ed dumb and awestruck. He’d assumed it was just infatuation and envy that took his breath away.
The first time he really considered him was during a card game at his apartment. Oswald was well enough to drink Ed under the table and laugh while doing it. It was unhinged, barbarous laughter. Not at all like the mocking hiss through his nose whenever speaking about their enemies. The man’s chest bounced and tears leaked from his eyes. It was genuine and boyish.
The second time was when Oswald visited him in Arkham. He was a new man, clean-cut and glowing. Ed thought for certain he was a dream because only dreams could be as radiant as he was then. Only dreams could be haloed in light with eyes like geodes.
All of that was swallowed up, packed away in a neat little box that Ed chose to never open the moment he met Isabella. It had been serendipitous, really. How she waltzed into his life and took control of his every thought. How his steady march forward was halted and he was flung backwards into the body of the man he’d been before—like a newborn deer barely able to stand on its legs and poorly-timed compliments falling from his mouth that made him feel like a fool.
She was almost a perfect carbon-copy of Kristen, down to the dimples at her hips and the pale expanse of her throat, and Isabella drank in every dark thought he had. She listened to him, understood him, but she would never be able to fully embrace all that he was. At least not in the way that gave him any real control or agency. If she could, Edward never gave her the chance to.
Seeing her in those glasses lit his nerves on fire and he couldn’t stop the onslaught of invasive thoughts. His darker impulses were at war with his affection for her and he knew then that being with her would be their end. Oswald suggested Ed leave her and had even been kind enough to speak with her himself, but the state Oswald was in when he returned and the expression he wore told Ed everything he needed to know.
The days following the break-up only proved him correct in his previous assumption. She was obsessive and clingy and had even shown up at the mansion dressed as a horrid mockery of Kristen in some demented, feeble attempt to get him to come crawling back. But all that managed to do was make him retreat from her more.
Ed’s limbs grew heavier and heavier, like he was sinking. But, every time he thought he might fade away, Oswald’s voice pulled him back. It was always Oswald.
It was Oswald who really rescued him in the Gotham Woods. Ed had been lost, aimless, and grasping at things he wasn’t even certain he was allowed to have. It was Oswald who filled his lungs with air and put the knife in his hand. Who stoked the fires of his confidence, who stimulated all of his senses, and gave him purpose.
Even now, it was Oswald who sang to him and asked him riddles.
“What four-letter word makes you laugh and cry?”
Love.
He tried to pinpoint the exact moment that he knew that he loved his friend, but he couldn’t. That anxious tension had always been there, he realized. The embers were small and frail, and Oswald breathed life into him with his presence. Edward didn’t even mind his immature outbursts or his occasional dismissiveness. He knew what sort of man was underneath all those ruffled feathers.
Ed felt a gentle caress along his cheek and it made him want to scream. It tingled at first, then it felt warm. That warmth spread through his face and down his chest to the tips of his fingers.
“I know it’s not a very good riddle,” Oswald said, “but I’m still not giving you the answer.”
But Edward wanted to answer. He was aware of his surroundings for the first time that he could recall since the shooting, and all he wanted was to wrap his arms around his friend.
The next several hours were a turbulent whirl. Ed could only recall part of it, namely the moments where a nurse would tell Oswald something and the man would turn to him and ask him questions or test to see if he could move. It proved futile, of course, but apparently, that small amount of progress made Oswald smile.
And that was enough to keep Edward trying.
After a few more days of fussing with nurses and machines, Oswald was able to take Edward back home. That bastard—Tarquin Stemmel—who was supposed to be working at City Hall and keeping the cogs well-oiled, had neglected to control the crowd outside of Gotham General. The moment Oswald wheeled Edward outside, they were swarmed by the press.
“Mayor Cobblepot, is it true that you and your Chief of Staff are having an affair?”
“Mr. Nygma, will you be resigning from your position? How is your recovery? How are you emotionally?"
“Mayor Cobblepot! Do you have any words to say to the men who attacked you and Mr. Nygma?”
Mercifully, Jim Gordon was actually useful for something. He stood directly in front of them and helped them barrel through the crowd and toward the back of the limousine. He gave one last look toward the mayor before nodding and closing the door for them. They may not always see eye-to-eye, but Jim at least knew when to set things aside when Oswald needed him.
Edward didn’t speak much in the car. He looked out the window as the passing buildings turned into trees and every bump in the road made him groan. The doctors warned them that the pain would linger for months and that pain killers would barely take the edge off for some time. So, Oswald felt helpless once again. He could do nothing to ease Edward’s suffering and it ate away at him. All he could do was watch how he tensed and rubbed at his bandages.
“Welcome home,” Oswald said as he wheeled Edward into the foyer. Olga had maintained the mansion while they were away and it looked just as warm and inviting as the day they’d left for Arkham Island. Edward remained silent, staring off at nothing. “Ed?”
“Hm?” Edward blinked and lifted his gaze towards his friend. His eyes were swollen and there was a sharp pull at the edges of his mouth. His left hand hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d woken up.
“I had Olga arrange you a place to rest in the sunroom so that you don’t have to worry about the stairs,” Oswald told him.
“I’d rather sleep in my own bed if that’s alright?”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Oswald asked.
“Please?”
Edward took a deep breath, his eyes tightly clenched, as he willed himself upright. Oswald immediately grabbed him by the arm to give him something to lean on. His bad knee ached fiercely, but he tried not to show it on his face for his friend’s sake.
Slowly, they made their way upstairs. They had to stop a few times when Edward got dizzy, but Oswald was there with him with every step. They made it to Edward’s bedroom and Oswald helped guide him to his bed.
As Edward sat there catching his breath, Oswald waddled down the hallway to fetch a glass of water. When he returned, Edward was once again staring off at nothing.
Edward always took care of himself and, on more than one occasion, had kept Oswald to task with doing the same. Now he looked worse than he did when Oswald had visited him in Arkham. He’d lost weight then and his spirit had been to a breaking point, but he didn’t look as lifeless as he did now.
“Take these,” Oswald handed his friend a cocktail of pills and the water.
“Will these help with my headache?” Ed made a sound that Oswald assumed was meant to be a laugh.
“Among other things. They should also help you sleep, as if you haven’t already slept for days.”
“How long was I in the hospital?” Ed asked. Then, with his throat sounding tight, he added, “I keep forgetting.”
“Six weeks,” Oswald told him. “The doctors said you recovered faster than they expected.”
“I’m surprised I don’t look worse off,” Ed said as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked in the vanity mirror across the room. He winced when he saw the section of his hair that’d been shaved.
“You looked dreadful for the first few weeks,” Oswald admitted. “After your surgeries, specifically. They had to remove part of your lung and your recovery was pretty slow. They… um… encouraged me to help take care of you because they said having a familiar voice nearby would help.”
“That was kind of you,” Ed smirked.
“It was nothing really,” Oswald shied away. “I just helped by shaving your face every day, combing your hair… I even had one of our interns bring me a bottle of your cologne to the hospital so I could dab it behind your ears. It kept you from smelling like antiseptic.”
“I’m sorry I was such a burden.”
“Edward, you are most certainly not a burden and have nothing to apologize for.” Oswald shook his head, “If anyone should apologize, it’s me.”
“But—”
“Stop,” Oswald held up a hand, “You need your rest now.”
Oswald helped Ed get comfortable. He took off his shoes and worked on removing his shirt. He made eye contact with Edward to get confirmation that his help was welcomed before starting on the buttons. Even with an undershirt covering most of it, Oswald could see the scarred divots marking each entry point. There were seven in total— one at his arm, his shoulder, two under his ribs on his left side, two on his chest, and then one long scar running along the left side of his head.
“Don’t hesitate to call for me, my friend.” Oswald gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning to leave.
Ed’s head barely hit the pillow before he was fast asleep. Oswald only made it a few steps before he had to admit to himself that he couldn’t bear to leave Edward’s side. So, Oswald sat at his bedside, watching the man’s chest gently rise and fall.
Edward swallowed down another handful of pills. He had to take medicine so he could eat without feeling sick, even water made him nauseous. Oswald had brought out an old cookie tin that used to belong to his mother that was full of her old herbal remedies. The chamomille oil seemed to help Edward keep his food down, but Oswald wasn’t certain if that was just because Ed was humoring him or not.
A nurse visited once every morning to set up an IV with saline and antibiotics. After some well-earned bedrest and Oswald doting on him like a mother hen, Edward’s eyes had their shine back and he was no longer staring blankly at a single point on the wall.
He was even able to get back into his old routine, albeit from the confines of his bed. Edward busied himself with the crossword puzzle from the paper that morning, but it was taking him longer to solve it than normal and Oswald could see where Ed’s handwriting lacked its usual neatness.
“I called Isabella to let her know you were awake and at home,” Oswald confessed.
“Why did you do that?” Ed frowned.
“I just assumed you would want her to know,” Oswald said.
“I don’t know why you would assume that…”
“Well, it was her voice that woke you up, wasn’t it?”
“What?” Ed’s eyes narrowed. His hands clenched like he was trying to strangle the paper.
“She visited the hospital shortly before you woke up,” Oswald told him. “I thought that was why—”
“Isabella wasn’t the reason I woke up.”
“Oh..”
Edward sighed and set his crossword down on the bedside table. He shifted his weight with a groan and held out his hand. “Oswald, come here.”
Oswald assumed that his friend needed help getting out of bed so he rushed to his side. He took Ed’s hand, but Edward’s fingers wrapped around his so delicately that he lost his ability to think clearly. His skin was warm against his own.
“Love,” Ed said.
“I’m sorry?”
“What four-letter word makes you laugh and cry? It’s love, correct?”
“You heard me?” Oswald asked.
“It’s the first thing I remember.”
“Oh… well, I suppose it wasn’t a very hard riddle,” Oswald shrugged.
“It was vague, but I knew what the answer was,” Ed sighed, “because I also know that a good riddle reveals the asker.”
Oswald looked at Edward and sighed, his heart heavy and regretful
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
“For what?” Ed tugged at him slightly, but Oswald didn’t budge.
“You were almost killed because of me. Again. Our enemies saw how… important you were to me and they seized the opportunity.”
“It’s a logical leap to try and take out your second in command, Oswald.”
“No, this was much more than that,” he shook his head. “And I suspect you already know that.”
Ed looked down at where his fingers were still coiled around Oswald’s and frowned. “You always did wear your heart on your sleeve.”
“Yes…” Oswald finally pulled his hand away, “and my weakness got you hurt.”
“Are you going to say it?” Ed asked.
“Say what?”
“What you’ve been meaning to say but keep putting off.”
Oswald looked at the bandages on Ed’s chest and shook his head, “No. I think, for your safety, it is best that I don’t.”
“Then can I say it?” Ed asked, tentatively reaching out to touch Oswald’s face, but Oswald swiped his hand away.
“We can’t.”
“Just for one night?” Ed leered at him with a smirk.
Oswald squawked, “I sincerely doubt you are in any condition to do any of the things you are implying!”
“And what am I implying, exactly?” Ed chuckled.
Oswald felt his face light on fire. He stammered but none of the words that came out were fully formed. He barely had time to register Edward pressing his forehead against Oswald's chest. Even at a whisper, Ed’s words vibrated and blossomed in Oswald’s ribcage.
“Once morning comes, we can pretend like nothing ever happened.”
“That would be cruel. And I don’t think I would be able to just stop.”
“Then don’t.” A tear fell down Edward’s cheek, “Don’t stop.”
“No!” Oswald yelled, causing Ed to flinch and pull away. “I will not have you get hurt again because of me!”
“Counter proposal,” Ed suggested. “We do it anyway, and use that wrongly assumed weakness against our mutual enemies. We’ll know they’re coming and we’ll prove to them that we’re too powerful to be taken down so easily.”
“Are… Are you suggesting we use each other as bait?”
“Essentially.”
“Ed, that’s insane.”
“Certifiably. Which is on brand,” Ed grinned. He took his friend’s hands into his own, “Oswald, our enemies already expect it. Why not just accept it and plan for the inevitable backlash?”
Oswald’s shoulders shook as he laughed, “...I cannot believe that I am entertaining such a ridiculous idea.”
“But you are entertaining it,” Ed quirked an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what I'm doing…” Oswald huffed.
“We don’t have to do anything. We can just as easily pretend that this conversation never happened.”
“Would you be able to do that?” Oswald asked, “Just lock all of it away and forget about it?”
“If that was what you needed me to do, then… yes.” Ed gave a fake smile, “Anything for you.”
“Ask me again tomorrow.” Oswald signed, “I only just got you back home.”
Olga should have never given Oswald permission to use the kitchen that morning. He’d singlehandedly dirtied every dish in the cabinet, burned several slices of French toast, and spilled cinnamon and brown sugar all over the counter. All he managed to get on the tray was a bowl of cereal, orange juice, and a tiny vase with a sprig of baby’s breath he’d pilfered from a “Get Well Soon” bouquet.
Even with the tray balanced precariously and his balance questionable at times, Oswald managed to climb the stairs without making an even bigger mess. He ventured his way down the hall towards Edward’s room and had to fight his impulse to throw the tray when he saw the scattering of papers all over the bed.
“What the hell are you doing?” Oswald asked.
“Work?” Ed stared at him, innocently chewing on the end of his pen.
“No,” Oswald set the tray down and snatched the file in Ed’s hands away, “you are supposed to be resting.”
“Oswald,” Edward grabbed Oswald’s wrist with a huff, “if I don’t have something to do while I’m trapped in this bed, I am going to go insane.”
“ Fine,” the mayor huffed, “One task at a time.”
“Five.”
“Three! And I will not go any higher.”
“...Deal,” Ed pouted.
Oswald skimmed through the files and shook his head. How Ed had managed to get them off of his desk in City Hall was beyond him. He picked three that he, admittedly, needed Edward’s help reading over.
“Take these” Oswald handed them to him and then made a spot for himself on the other side of the bed to keep him company. “I’ll do the rest.”
They settled back into work like nothing terrible had ever happened. Just like they would do when they were at their desks in their shared office, they would turn to one another to discuss the proposals and decide whether to veto them or not. They cracked jokes, made plans, and accomplished all of their tasks.
But, as if to mock them, Edward’s pain spiked and he was left writhing in the bed. Ed begged his friend not to leave his side, so Oswald curled up in the bed beside him after setting the work on a nearby table. The closeness was better medicine than the chamomille because soon after, Edward was drifting in and out of sleep.
“Do you have any more riddles to tell me?” Ed asked through his sleepy haze.
“I’m not as good at coming up with them, Eddie, you know that.”
“Yes, but I enjoy them anyway,” He looked up at him with those doe-eyes Oswald had a hard time saying no to. “Just one?”
“Hmm… what three words are said too much yet not enough?”
“I love you,” Ed answered without pause.
Oswald looked down at him, curious and wondering if Edward knew what he really meant. Then, in answer, Ed reached up to touch his face and Oswald leaned into it.
“I have one for you now,” Ed said. “I can be made at a booth or with a stone or a ring and am often the point where two hearts sing, what am I?”
“Um… I’m not sure?” Oswald confessed.
“Do you give up?” Ed asked, “I can give you a hint.”
“What’s the hint?”
Edward’s hand drifted behind Oswald’s head. His fingers coiled around the dark strands of hair before he licked his lips and leaned forward. He pressed a small kiss at the corner of Oswald’s mouth. It was the barest brush of skin, barely enough to savor the warmth. Ed pulled away slowly and gave Oswald a questioning look.
“A kiss?” Oswald asked with a smirk. Ed responded with a nod. “If you promise to rest, I promise to give you as many as you want.”
“Deal,” Ed curled up against Oswald’s side. “Will you stay?”
“I haven’t left your side in quite some time and I don’t plan to walk away any time soon.”
He felt Ed sink into the bed then. His stubbornness finally gave way and he was quietly snoring with his head tucked up under Oswald’s chin.
Oswald kissed the crown of his head and whispered, “I love you.”
“At least you finally said it.”
Oswald could feel Ed’s smile against his chest. He ran his hand along Ed’s back to lull the man back to sleep.
The Penguin had to admit that it was sometimes hard imagining his life being anything other than what it was. He sprinkled enough truth throughout his interview with Hearst that it inspired introspection. What was he really? Who would he be without Gotham’s poison? Would he be that sparkly-eyed and innocent young man that his father met or would he be something else entirely?
And what did Edward want? Did he really want that storybook ending he could have had with Isabella, or had he chosen Oswald and all that a life with him would entail?
Oswald never thought his rougher edges could be sanded away. He was all jagged concrete and razors, but somehow Edward found a comfortable perch right beside him. Maybe it was because Edward possessed the same thorns, but it was more likely that Edward had filed away just enough of his hardened exterior that he was able to make a home there.
A little nook carved right into his side, and Oswald was content to nest there.