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Oswald doesn't want to be alone.
"Stay here. With me."
Jim turns and looks at him, properly this time, like he's suggested that Oswald joins the police force.
"Stay, Jim," Oswald repeats, softer this time. He lets no hurt or bitterness seep into his voice, though he can already see Jim's rejection.
The detective shakes his head. He actually finds it difficult to find a solid excuse. Harvey isn't waiting for him outside. Lee isn't expecting him home. He doesn't have to go to work tomorrow. Perhaps the fact that the Penguin is a murderer, a wanted criminal, a gangster, notoriously ruthless and manipulative may suffice.
"Go to sleep," he says, and he shouldn't have made that admission because there, right there, is the chink in his armour and Oswald is onto it in a flash.
"I can't," Penguin answers. "Please Jim. We can pretend it never happened, I promise. I need this-"
"You think I give a fuck about what you need?" Jim snaps suddenly, acidly, almost surprising himself.
His heart skips a guilty beat at Oswald's expression. Sorrow, betrayal. The resignation gets him the worst, like he never believed Jim would agree, but tried anyway.
It should be such a heady, powerful feeling, to have someone so clearly and helplessly in love with you. Jim just feels sick to the stomach, that it's this person in these circumstances.
He swallows, licks his dry lips. Oswald is still staring at him, so thin and drowned by the bedcovers, with that pleading look he's seen many times before. Jim has to keep reminding himself that this apparently so easily breakable bird is a killer, twisted and brutal.
He goes to him anyway, because this would never have gotten so far if Jim hadn't been so conflicted. If he had never shown Oswald any kindness, any feeling, if he hasn't continued to associate with him and make allowances for him, even feel protective over him. It isn't fair to leave.
Oswald breathes out steadily as the bed dips beside him. He settles back down with the detective so close- if he were to move his hand two inches to the right, their fingers would touch.
Neither of them move. The room is dark, almost pitch black except for the moon and city lights casting flickering shadows on the wall and over their faces. The only sound is their breathing and the light ticking of the clock. Hours seem to pass.
And then Jim exhales suddenly, shifts and Oswald is almost alarmed- please don't leave- but he's being tugged towards Jim's chest, encircled by a pair of strong arms, and his head tucked under Jim's chin.
Wordlessly, the detective trails his fingers over Oswald's skin, coaxing his heartbeat down and calming him.
"Jim..."
"Be quiet."
His voice is firm but Oswald can just hear, if he listens hard for it (he always does), a note of affection. He might just do anything to hear that again.
"Go to sleep," Jim echoes his earlier statement.
Penguin allows himself a half smile and a sigh. This is a dream.
He has to say it, though.
"Jim?"
Silence.
"Thank you."
A pause. And then, feather light, but unmistakable- Jim presses a kiss to his head.