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“You’re the only person in that room who hasn’t tried to kill me or betray me to people who want to kill me.”
In spite of herself, Lee’s heart softens. She’s more gentle this time as she tries to check his pulse, undoing the cufflink and pulling the sleeve up so as not to tear or crumple it. “I take it the gas is making you feel somewhat vulnerable?”
Oswald swallows, eyes flicking over to the wall separating him from the room full of tentative allies at best and unannounced enemies at worst. “I suppose that’s a part of it.”
“What are the other parts?” It’s surprisingly easy to keep her voice calm and comforting. It hadn’t really registered to her before now, but Oswald is right— he and Lee haven’t had any personal issues. They’ve been somewhat at odds for other reasons before, but on the whole she actually doesn’t have a problem with him beyond the ideological difference regarding Murder.
And even then, there’s a couple cases where she understands why he did it. Perhaps not enough to have done it herself in his place, but enough that she can’t truly hold it against him. Especially after her brief stint as a crimelord herself. God, it would’ve been easier to organize and protect The Narrows if she’d done it like him, and in the end running things more morally didn’t even save her from experiences like his. At least her hand healed after Sofia.
“Did you know you don’t use your cane correctly?”
“I don’t?”
“No. I imagine your leg pretty much never feels any relief, in fact, if that’s any indication of your understanding on caring for it.”
It’s a dangerous thing to say, but she’s been so callous and teasing with people worse than him before. At least his face is still attached.
Besides, he’s not particularly dangerous at the moment. He proves it, by simply saying, “No-one’s ever pointed that out before. Even Ed.”
“Really?”
“... I should’ve realized I’d overestimated my importance to him back then.”
“Okay, so the gas has made you vulnerable in both feeling and openly expressing so. What other mental shifts are you experiencing?”
Oswald’s mouth opens and closes uselessly a few times, eyes still darting between Lee and the wall. He swallows. “Is it insane to say clarity?”
Lee shakes her head. “Not so far. But you can elaborate if you think it’s more than that.”
“It’s just… I think… I’m rethinking…”
Lee puts her hands in her pockets. “Not only can you rely on doctor-patient confidentiality right now, but I also don’t really care enough to judge you for what you think or feel. Now or then.”
“... Strangely reassuring, I admit.” He laughs a little, crossing his arms tightly around himself and bringing one hand up a bit to rub his thumbnail against his lip. “... Jim never once liked me, yes?”
“Well, I can’t speak for the entirety of things, but… no. I don’t think he did, or does.”
Oswald nods, eyes shining slightly, but his voice is steady as he carries on. “Barbara only sees me as an amusement when we’re on even the best of terms.”
“That also seems right.”
“And… and Ed… even when we were at our closest and he said he would do anything for me… never told me I was using my cane incorrectly.”
“... He might not have known.”
Oswald rolls his eyes, which is almost a relief to see after this much… calm introspection. Lee may not know him well, but she knows enough for this whole thing to feel unnatural. “We both know him well enough that neither of us believes that.”
“Yes, we do.” Lee watches him for a moment, more tears welling up in his eyes, and he just looks so… fragile. Ed had mentioned this a few times back in The Narrows, in a mocking way, telling Lee the ‘juicy secret’ of The Penguin’s incredibly desperate heart and how weak it can leave him. He’d spoken of it with so much disdain— and while she’d thought it annoying and in poor taste then, actually seeing it in person kind of makes her want to slap the glasses off Ed’s face again.
She reminds herself that the man crying before her is a murderer with a body count likely in the triple-digits. But she still hesitantly extends a hand to place on his shoulder. She half expects to get stabbed for it, but the gas is holding strong. Or maybe he just genuinely needs the comfort, mentally compromised or not. Either way he shudders at the contact and, when she tries to remove it, stops her.
There’s a tense silence, and then she rubs his shoulder with her thumb and he moves his hand back down. “I’m sorry. I just— I think I’m very tired, Dr. Thompkins.”
“Of Ed?”
“All of it.”
“You could always stop.”
“With how many enemies I’ve made? The things I’ve done?”
“Some would call that a sunk-cost fallacy.”
“And some would call it a life sentence in Blackgate that ends at the point of a shiv, if I’m lucky.”
She nods, because… well, because it’s true. She may have turned things around, but she’d done so much less than him, for such a small amount of time. And she has the favor of the man who essentially controls when, where, and on whom the law actually comes down on. Oswald doesn’t.
“So… it’s causing you to regret your choices. The things you’ve done to become this tired.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple. … I can’t go back out there, Dr. Thompkins.”
“You could call me Lee right now.”
“No, you deserve more respect than that.” It’s nice to hear, because she actually can’t remember the last time anyone addressed her like this, like her being a doctor is important. She can’t get used to it, unless she’s ready to have more conversations with The Penguin when this wears off, and she isn’t.
Probably.
“I live with Ed.” He looks so young, the distress making his eyes wide and his lower lip tremble. “And I normally feel so…”
“... Head over heels in love?”
He swallows. “But I don’t feel that right now. I don’t feel angry or hateful, either. I can’t tell what I feel.”
“... Numb?”
He shakes his head. “Sick.”
“Afraid, then.”
Oswald looks at her, tears finally spilling, as if she just told him the secret of life itself.
Lee sighs, pulling her hand off his arm. He almost chases it, but then sees it’s going to her pocket. She pulls out a little card and hands it to him. “This is the address of the new practice I’m starting. It’s fully furnished, including a room to have between-shift naps, and we’re just waiting on getting our drugs together. There’s nothing valuable inside, and you’ll have found it later anyway, so… I don’t see the harm in someone with a lockpick and an unsafe home spending the night there.”
He takes the card, and looks up again, somehow crying even more. “Thank you.”
“You should drink some water when you get there too. And, we have pamphlets on how to use mobility aids. If you need some light reading.”
“I— this is—”
“Consider it a perk of the ‘Improperly Loved By Edward Nygma’ club.”
He laughs a little, wiping his eyes. “Very well. … If I could ask one more favor?”
“Depends on the favor.”
“Ed, has our car. And he drove us. I can leave and call a taxi, of course, but could you tell the rest in that room I just need some time to myself? By the time I’m gone, Ed will realize that means more than a few minutes.”
“He might go looking for you. With no subtlety, and probably a fair amount of maiming.”
Oswald taps the card against his palm. “He won’t think to check here, though.”
“And if you recover, and decide you don’t want to go back to him at all?”
“I truly doubt that once the fog of love comes back I’ll be capable of that.”
“Well…” Lee gives him a very quick, very loose hug. “I hope you’re able to gain something out of this, eventually. You’re not that bad when you aren’t screaming in rage every few words.”
“And you, are far too kind and honorable for our Commissioner Gordon out there.”
Lee opens her mouth to argue, and finds she just… can’t. “Another club we’re both in, then. Hopeless in love with men who don’t quite deserve us.”
“Indeed we are. No offense, Dr. Thompkins, but I think I hate our commonalities.”
“I can’t say I disagree. Good luck, Penguin. … Oswald.”
“Thank you again.”
She waits for him to shimmy out the window, watching to make sure he doesn’t collapse on the landing. He doesn’t, but sheesh, it’s a miracle he can use that leg at all with the way he treats it.
She walks back into the main room where Ed, Jim, Harvey, and Barbara have all lapsed into new arguments. She really doesn’t care what about at this point— she just wants to go home, kiss her daughter goodnight, and fall asleep in the nursery watching the bassinet. “Penguin’s going to need a bit for the effects to wear off, and he asked to be alone while it does.”
Ed’s eyes snap to her. He still trusts her, but there’s a possessive spark in his eyes. He should just get over himself and admit it already, but to do that he probably needs a dose of gas. “What effects did it have?”
“Emotional, but not harmful. He’s perfectly fine, he’s just.” She waves her hand in the air. “Sensitive, I guess.”
“Obviously,” Ed grumbles, eying the wall. “Fine, he’d just make this all more difficult anyway. As I was saying, Jimbo, technically we didn’t do anything to break our pardon conditions.”
“Breaking and entering, Nygma.”
“To an abandoned house with nothing in it!”
Lee shakes her head and steps outside, pulling out her phone. Oswald had the right idea about getting a cab.