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The soldiers stumbled down the stairs, their minds muddled with fear and hands soaked in sweat, dirt and blood. They had been forced to retreat and the fight for their city seemed like it was going to end in a whimper rather than a roar. Two unlikely heroes eased down the steps, clinging to each other for support.
If you had told Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma that morning that they would be fighting alongside the GCPD and what was left of the righteous citizens in this hellhole of a city, they would have laughed in your face before shooting it. But here they were fresh from the front lines, bruised and exhausted. One a little more bruised than the other.
Oswald’s hand was clutched over the bloodied and sunken space where his eye should have been. He shrieked at any slight adjustment Ed made of his hand gripping tightly on his shoulder. Ed grimaced.
“Sorry,” he muttered. Oswald shook his sympathies away with a tut but Ed still looked apprehensive. Why did Oswald have to jump in front of that grenade? Ed hated it when people saved his life. He felt as though he owed them too much. He carefully eased Oswald onto a discarded crate and knelt beside him. Ed watched him complain and fuss over his eye with a begrudging smile.
It hadn’t been too long ago that they’d been on that pier, Ed’s gun pointed between Oswald’s eyes. And then it had been Oswald threatening Ed, and then the other way around again. No one ever stayed dead in this city and Ed had to admit, watching Oswald curse whoever’s bullet scratched his rose-tinted sunglasses, that he was glad of that.
He wrinkled his nose at his own sentimentalism. Those kinds of thoughts were so unlike him. Well, unlike the Riddler at least. Ed was full of warm stomachs, shifting eyes and dirty, drunken thoughts about Oswald across the dinner table that he only wished he could forget. The Riddler was harder, tougher. It was easier to believe all those feelings were just part of Idiot Ed than to face up to them.
But every time he looked at his friend, his only friend, his best friend, he felt a horrible choking feeling eating at his stomach like acid. He knew it was love. But he couldn’t love Oswald, he wouldn’t. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose, furious at himself for considering it.
“Ed? Are you alright?” He opened his eyes and smiled thinly.
“Look who’s asking,” he muttered. Oswald rolled his eyes and blushed.
“I’ll be fine,” he assured him, forcing back a smile. Ed noticed fleetingly that their time in the sun had brought out the spray of freckles that covered Oswald’s cheeks and forehead and the bridge of his nose. He brushed the affectionate thoughts from his mind carefully, as he had so so many times before.
Sitting here with Oswald again for the first time in so long reminded Ed of the months they’d spent ruling the city together, drunk on power and red wine. The long hours talking by the fire, the night Ed swore passionately that he’d always be there. The night he had been brave enough to touch a hand to Oswald’s thigh only to play it off by reaching for another glass.
Looking back it all felt like a fever dream, especially that evening in the candlelight with Oswald’s clumsily wrapped love, delivered by a misunderstanding. Idiot Ed still cursed himself for walking out with a scared noise from the back of his throat, for not embracing Oswald right then and there and taking what he knew he wanted.
But he was too afraid. He was still too afraid. He wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being afraid. After what had happened to Kristen, what he was sure would have happened to Isabella… he couldn’t possibly risk it. Especially not with Oswald, never with Oswald.
Sometimes as they sat like this, Edward tried to tell his friend what he knew he’d never say through looks and glances. Like a riddle, like a puzzle. Oswald had never been good with riddles and every time he caught Ed staring he’d just smile or look away or make conversation like he hadn’t seen the intensity in Edward’s eyes. It was exhausting.
“If you just told him,” he used to slur to himself on those late nights fueled by whisky and pills, “If you just told him you’d be together now, you’d always be together. He’s already said he loves you, he’s said it time and time again. You’re just a coward!” He’d spit at the mirror and weep and scream and then pass out and wake in the morning with a migraine and no memory of the night before.
The best form of therapy.
But it hurt most at moments like these, when he was so close he could touch him and yet so far away at the same time. He ached for him, he needed to say something but he never did. It was agonising. Ed was snapped out of his thoughts as Lee Thompkins sat between him and Oswald.
“Alright,” she said, “Let’s get you patched up.” Ed felt a surge of jealousy as she reached to examine Oswald’s wounds and by some force he couldn’t control he tore the first aid kit from her hands. Lee and Oswald stared at him.
“Let me do it,” Ed interjected, surprising even himself. Lee raised an eyebrow, considered him then shrugged.
“Why not,” she decided, “You know how to wrap it, right?” Ed nodded. Lee smiled and stood up. “Alright. I’ve got lots to do before our next attack, so this is a help. Thanks Ed.” Ed tried to smile back but it just came out as a sort of twitch.
He started to unroll the bandage with shaking fingers and pressed his lips together, looking up at his friend.
“Look, Oswald,” he sighed, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened out there. When I saw that grenade, I just froze and -” Oswald put up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t be silly, Ed,” he scolded him, “You would have done the same for me.” Ed wished he could be sure that was the truth. “Just tell me,” Oswald continued, “How bad is it?” He removed his hand from his eye to reveal nothing but shining raw flesh, coated with blood. It was hard to even tell where the eye had been and where the face began.
“It’s -” Ed gagged. “It’s fine! Just a scratch.” Oswald sighed with relief.
“Thank god,” he said, putting a gloved hand to his chest dramatically, “I’m glad you took over for Thompkins. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.” Ed laughed at his friend’s suspicious glare at the doctor’s back going up the stairs.
“She’s not all that bad,” he assured him. Oswald glanced at him and Ed saw a flash of jealousy in his eyes.
“Oh, of course,” he replied briskly, “I almost forgot about your ridiculous admiration of her.” Ed’s stomach clenched. The time he’d spent with Lee after he got out of the ice felt like a bad dream and he didn’t know how to explain what happened to Oswald without sounding foolish.
“Do we have to talk about that,” Ed muttered. He carefully pressed a cotton swab to the wound. “Could you -” Oswald moved his hand to the swab and his fingers brushed Ed’s. Ed stiffened and let go quickly. “Thanks.” He started wrapping the bandage carefully around Oswald’s head. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, Ed biting his lip softly and tried to focus on the task at hand so he didn’t think about how close they were. Oswald broke the silence carefully.
“I’m sorry about Isabella.” Edward was so taken aback by this blunt statement that he almost dropped the bandage. He didn’t meet Oswald’s eyes.
“Are you really.”
“Yes,” Oswald said, and there was an edge to his voice that made Ed believe him. “If I could take it all back, I would. I would do anything to make things how they used to be.” Ed blinked quickly and his hand clenched around the bandage.
“Thank you,” he said calmly, “but nothing you say can bring her back.”
“I know that,” Oswald replied, “Of course I know that.” Ed didn’t know what to say. Oswald hadn’t brought up Isabella’s murder since they’d agreed to work together again. Why now? Why here, of all places?
“Do you think you loved her?” Oswald said suddenly. Ed let out a surprised bark of a laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “Did I love her?” Oswald’s serious expression didn’t change and suddenly Ed started questioning his almost automated response. “Of course I loved her.” Something in Oswald’s eyes told Ed that he didn’t believe him and that made him furious. “What kind of stupid question is that.” He pulled the bandage around his head a little too confidently and Oswald yelped.
“Sorry,” Ed huffed.
“It’s fine.”
He carefully pulled the bandage just enough to hold back the blood flow but not enough to put Oswald in any pain. He adjusted his glasses and tried to ignore how close Oswald’s breath was to his neck.
And in an instant, like a tidal wave, Ed was gripped with a sudden uncontrollable bravery. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have to look in Oswald’s hypnotising blue eyes, maybe it was the thrill of the battle, maybe it was something about how close they were but Ed felt the fear he’d felt since he’d met Oswald slip away if only for a second. If he didn’t say something now, he knew he never would.
“No, I don’t think I did love her,” he blurted out, “And I don’t think I loved Kristen either. At least not the way I want to. Love, I mean. I think I’ve only ever loved one person and I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone else either.” He was saying everything so fast that he didn’t think he would be able to stop even if he wanted to. He tucked in the last of the bandage with a deep breath and sat back to look at Oswald before he lost the nerve.
“It’s you, Oswald,” he said under his breath, “It’s always been you and it always will be.” Oswald jumped back as though electrocuted. He stared at him in disbelief and Ed could see the reprehension in his eyes, the hesitation that Ed knew he had put there from the first time he’d broken his heart. For a long moment, they sat staring wide-eyed at each other, the air static with the shock.
“Is this a trick?” he whispered, “If you’re joking, this is a cruel and immature -” Ed couldn’t think of any other way to shut him up then to kiss him and so that’s what he did. It felt like they stayed that way for hours and Ed thought he could have stayed like that for the rest of his life. He didn’t care what happened next and he didn’t care what had happened before - all there was was Oswald’s silky black hair and freckles and the curve of his back. If there was such a thing, this must be as close to heaven as someone like Ed could ever get.
And then Jim Gordon walked in. His mouth fell open a little and he stood staring at the pair, who sprung apart and stared right back, like deer in the headlights. He blinked and it seemed to take some effort to shut his mouth again.
“I guess you guys are good to go, then,” he mumbled. Jim gave them a thumbs-up of all things and slunk out of the room, shutting the door behind him.