Work Text:
Things didn't go as planned.
That much was obvious, by the way Jim had to improvise when he suddenly saw a group of Maroni's men looking for their missing member on what was supposed to be their vacant rendezvous point. They'd had already listened to his voice, their voices, together, so he did the only thing he could've done in that moment. Shoot some flammable canisters and have Oswald call for help as they ran away from the explosion as fast as they possibly could.
If Oswald was telling the truth, it was on both of their best interest that he remained on the Don's good graces, and as much as he hated to say it, that was becoming less of an option by the minute, until they did something. Fast.
"I don't mean to hurry you, my friend," Oswald's jagged voice cut trough his train of thought, still trying to catch up with him as Jim inadvertently started running slower, falling at his side, "but our little distraction at the pier will only give us a maximum of ten minutes, tops."
"That might be enough."
"For what?"
"We need to regroup when they're not looking for excuses to throw you to the wolves." Jim said, looking over his shoulder for any sign of Maroni's, Fish's, or even Falcone's men, before looking back at him. "Let's pretend I lost you."
"You overestimate my prowess, Jim—" He wasn't, he knew how much of a slimy bastard he could be. "—but I could tell them you roughed me up! It would be easy to believe."
Jim scowled at his cheerful tone.
"No, they still might think you told me something..." which he did went unsaid."...but you might have a point."
Walking ever so slower at his side, Oswald turned to look at him puzzlingly.
"What are you thinking?"
Jim hesitated, hating this plan already, but recognizing all the possible ways in which it could work to both of their advantage.
"I'm gonna need you to hurt me, Oswald, I'll say I didn't see it coming, didn't think you'd had it in you, this way nobody would suspect a thing."
His criminal companion had stumbled a bit when he confessed his plan, catching himself at the last minute and staring at him with the most infuriatingly innocent eyes he probably spent hours in front of a mirror to perfect.
"Oh, Jim, I could never—"
"Spare me the act, don't forget I first met you with a bloody pipe on your hand."
A smile escaped his face for a second, before he seemed to be considering it. Jim's eyes were on him the entire time, while his ears tried to stay alert for any suspicious sound around them. A low hum caught their attention.
"I'm gonna need you to cover your face, then, please."
Jim raised an eyebrow, but cautiously shielded his face with his arms right on time for Oswald to use his umbrella's crooked handle to pull his leg off balance mid step, making him fall forward onto the concrete ground. He hissed, his forearms burning inside his now dirty suit, and he knew that if they weren't bleeding by the drag of his entire body against the raw floor, he'd at least spot some nasty colorful bruises for the next week or so.
"Fuck."
(At least his head was in one piece, dizziness aside.)
"I'm sorry, but I did warn you." Turning on his back to look at Oswald, Jim expected him to have a gleeful expression, and was surprised once again by the sympathetic smile on his face.
"Yes you did." He took a deep breath. "Okay, let's get this over with."
He half expected Oswald to keep talking, say something else to delay the unavoidable, but instead once the faint ringing on his ears stopped he felt the dull side of the handle on his arms, the sound of impact followed by blooming pain. Once, twice, thrice.
(The fact that he never hit on the same spot, or that he only targeted flesh instead of bone didn't go unnoticed, despite himself.)
A pained whimper was what finally gave him a reaction.
"I hope you know, Jim, I don't derive any pleasure from doing this to you."
The obvious grin on his face betrayed his words, and he stopped himself from wondering the extent of his statement.
"Sure... Let's pretend I believe that."
"Let's. Careful on your stomach."
"My st—?" Opening an eye he caught glimpse of his foot catching wind before him, and Jim flexed the muscles of his stomach before he could hurt anything delicate. Breath knocked out of him, he groaned with what little air was still on his lungs, spit dripping to the pavement. "Jesus."
Oswald's breathing came ragged as well with the exertion, coming out at odd intervals that Jim could only attribute to him laughing. How could he not? He still remembered that first introduction to the man, the sadistic glee on his eyes having a bleeding fool at his feet. Jim would've preferred a punch on the jaw, some blood on his teeth to show, but at the end of the day, he wanted to think, this could only aid their credibility. After all, nobody on their sound mind would just ask a creep like the Penguin to do this to them, right?
Either this fooled everyone, or the rot under Gotham's soil was starting to drive Jim Gordon insane.
Either way, he sucked in a breath when he felt the leathery handle of the umbrella get dangerously close to his neck, positioning itself under his chin before lifting it up, with more care than he anticipated. Jim expected cruelty, expected that same glee he's seen him with time and time again. Some part of himself even expected a betrayal.
When he finally opened his eyes despite the pounding on his head, Oswald's expression was radiant. His eyes, far from the wild look they'd often wear, were blissful. Thankful. Looking down at him, the entirety of him, with a softness extremely out of place in the situation they were in. He licked his lips, grasp on the umbrella just a tad firmer.
"I tried being gentle."
A breath chimed up Jim's windpipe, akin a laugh, before a cough interrupted him. It hurt, as did breathing, as did the drag of the fabric across his scarred skin. And yet, he couldn't help but think, no blood on the floor. No broken bones either.
"Thanks." He said dryly, resting the weight of his tired head on the handle.
"Anything for you, my friend."
The handle dropped slowly, slow enough for him to hold his own weight back to his fetal position, when he felt the click of the umbrella on the floor, and Oswald making an effort to kneel at his side. Jim tensed, hissed, and then just laid there with an open eye, scanning his every move. He didn't expect the hand carefully looking for something on his pockets, before retrieving his cellphone.
"What...?"
"It'll be one second." He assured him with a smile, tapping a number and waiting for a moment for the call to pick up. "Hello? Yes, I'd like to call an ambulance to warehouse 5, across the river." Beat. A smile. "GCPD detective James Gordon." A wink thrown his way, and Jim wondered what exactly was the question. "Thank you so much, have a nice day."
"…Was that necessary?" Jim asked when the call ended.
"Of course!" Oswald replied as he carefully put the cellphone back where he found it, before struggling a bit to get up again, and looking in the direction of the fire. "The last thing I want is to hear Maroni's men bragging about finding you incapacitated and finishing the job." Jim pursed his lips, admittedly disliking the idea as well. "Can you at least get out of the way until the ambulance gets here?"
Jim took a couple of painful breaths, his lungs on fire, but aware that this was far from the most he's been injured in his life, so he simply nodded. He half expected Oswald to trample away without a word, or even with an overdramatic monologue.
He didn't expect the handle of the umbrella to run oh so carefully through his hair. Didn't expect to shiver at the approximation of contact, either.
(It had been a while since he'd seen Barbara, it was clearly starting to affect him).
Oswald smiled down at him one final time. Impossibly fond. Softness briefly replacing his cruelty, almost matching it's intensity.
"Take care, Jim... I'll look forward to our next meeting."