Archive of Our Own ^beta

Oswald intended to surprise Edward in his own hideout. He was in good health, furious, and wanted to make it Edward’s problem.

It wasn’t a difficult feat to track down which slum Edward had holed himself up in, nor was it difficult to break into his hovel and lie in wait. He had yet to decide what he wanted to do to him, but Oswald had resolved that only one of them would be walking out of there.

It took hours. In the time it took for Gotham’s hazy sun to set, Oswald had perused Edward’s meager food offerings and was disgusted by the marked uncleanliness. If he cared, he would have worried how unusual it was to see this from his former friend.

He waited longer than he would have liked, but eventually he caved, and Oswald ordered one of his men to fetch him an actual dinner while he waited for Edward to deign to show up to his ambush.

The sun set behind Gotham’s permanently overcast skies. Oswald was dangerously close to dozing off when Edward showed up looking haggard. He had bags under his eyes and his hair had fallen from its styling. Oswald supposed it would have to be a closed casket funeral.

Edward didn’t notice Oswald at first, which irritated him. He passed Oswald’s chair without a glance and went to the grimy washbasin.

“You look closer to death than I do.” Oswald said, standing up.

He took immense pleasure in the shocked face Edward gave him in the filthy mirror before he whipped around to face him. “You must have been out, busy playing with my kingdom since you shot me.” He raised his arms to show just how alive he was, but it didn’t garner the reaction out of Edward he wanted.

Instead, Edward turned around and ignored him, shrugging off his coat into the closet.

Oswald scoffed, this was not how he thought this was going to go.  “What, no why am I here? How did I get here?”

“I already know why you’re here.” Edward said. “What I’d rather know is why you look so good. You hardly ever look nice unless you have something planned. So, what is it?”

Oswald spluttered in rage. “Wh- What!” He never looked nice? The gall of Edward to insult him when Oswald was here to kill him! “Of course I look nice. Did you really expect a mere bullet could keep me away? I’m here to return the favor.”

Oswald expects it to cause Edward to panic, but he looks just as tired as ever.

“You’re awfully persistent.” Edward muttered under his breath, “Anything I took should have worn off hours ago.”

Oswald elected to ignore that. If Edward wanted to be drunk, or even high during his murder, well, that was his funeral. Literally.

“I always am. What’s a little murder between friends?” Oswald asked smugly. “You’ll have to let me know.”

Edward slapped his cheeks with his hands, as though he were trying to wake up from a bad dream. Oswald was determined to be his nightmare, so he laughed.

“That won’t work, Edward. Stop hitting yourself, let me do it for you.” He reached into his coat pocket to retrieve some brass knuckles he had saved in case they got into an altercation. Oswald very badly wanted to start their altercation now. It would be familiar territory.

Edward sighed dramatically. Of course, even looking half dead and on his way into his own grave, he still had time for melodrama. It was not endearing. “Oh, curse it all. If you adamantly refuse to remain dead, Oswald, you could at least do me the indulgence of what could have been.”

Before Oswald had a chance to parse what Edward meant, he had crossed the room and leaned down to kiss Oswald.

The air between them was so warm, like they were back in front of a soft fire, like nothing had happened before now. The kiss was unfortunately chaste, Edward hadn’t even used his hands, like he were afraid Oswald might dissipate into thin air if he tried to grab him.

Oswald hated it. The fact that Edward kissed him, not that he couldn’t feel hands on his suit as desperate as the press against his lips. Oswald hated him.

After a moment too long and not long enough, Edward reeled back from Oswald, gasping like he’d been drowning. Oswald knew the feeling well, thanks to him.

Oswald mirrored him almost exactly, only stopped by backing up into his chair. He dropped the brass knuckles in shock and they landed on the seat cushion.

“Of course it would be better than my dreams. You love to torture me.” Edward pinched his nose under his glasses.

Oswald froze.

“If you could kindly wrap up whatever torment you chose to inflict on me tonight and let me get some sleep, that would be lovely.” Edward flopped face down onto his bed without removing any other clothing and said, “You haven’t done anything with the crab in a while, let’s do that tonight.”

He passed out into his pillow, leaving a very alive, very stunned Oswald alone to stare at him.

Oswald watched Edward start to snore, completely unthreatened. He pressed a hand to his mouth. He’s uncertain whether its to stifle his rage or to chase the ghost of what might have been.

No. Edward tried to kill Oswald. He wanted him dead.

He said “better than my dreams.” His brain supplied. Meaning Edward thought about it, multiple times.

What was wrong with him? Murder is not how one expresses lo- attraction.

Though…Edward did murder his first girlfriend. Successfully.

Maybe there was good reason for him to be in Arkham. With what Oswald was considering, maybe there was good reason for the both of them.

Oswald walked out of Edward’s building in a daze. As the hazy red of the sun began to grace Gotham, Oswald understood what to do. Back then, the betrayal and rejection stung worse than the gunshot. Now, Edward would feel the blaze of that kiss.

Oswald would wait a few hours, give Edward the chance to have a much needed rest. Then, he would burn down that firetrap and make him feel the wrath of his love.