"What can't be eaten at lunch or dinner?" Edward asks Oswald one early morning, Oswald still in the midst of waking up, rubbing his eyes to rid himself of the sleep collected in their corners.
Oswald yawns and doesn't think much of it, no longer phased by Ed's spur of the moment riddles, even so early in the morning. They've become a fixture in his life once again, and Oswald has re-learned how to get his mind working hard for the few minutes it takes to try and work them out. It's usually worth it. Ed smiles like a spoiled child whenever he gets them right. But before he's had his morning coffee is sort of pushing it. Oswald is still debating in the back of his mind what he'd like to eat for the morning when it clicks.
"Oh! Breakfast," he says, a little surprised with himself for getting it that fast.
Edward doesn't look surprised at all, but he does look pleased. "Correct, of course. Do you think you could be ready in fifteen minutes?"
Oswald blinks, stopping just short of the coffee maker. "What?"
"Breakfast. Let's go get some."
"Oh," Oswald huffs, amused with his own early morning shortcomings. "Forgive me, I'm a creature of the night. I don't function well this early."
Edward smirks. "You're doing just fine, Oswald. It turns out Martin and Zsasz were up late last night, some movie marathon. Martin had lots of soda."
Oswald groans and puts his fingers to his temple. "I told Victor that he couldn't give Martin sugar so late. Soda as well. Mother always said it was bad for growing boys. He's not supposed to have it with the exception of special occasions." He glares at the coffee maker. "Zsasz knows that."
"You can reprimand him later, they're both still asleep," Edward replies with a great big grin. "So I figured you and I could pop out for something to eat this morning. When we get back you can throw a bucket of water on them."
"Not Martin, but Zsasz definitely." He pulls a mug down from the cupboard. "...Do we still have that megaphone from my campaign by any chance?"
"I might be able to find it somewhere," Edward muses.
"Blast something classy, like Mozart. He'll hate that."
"Zsasz dislikes classical music?"
Oswald shrugs, and finally pours a little coffee into his lonely mug. It's not a full cup, since they'll be heading out in a few, but enough to give him the initial kickstart he needs to get a move on. He takes a sip, hums around the rim of the mug, and smiles sleepily over at Edward. "Not particularly, but he's more into funk and disco, so I think the graceful slowness of it would simply drive him up the wall. I'm the one that prefers classical. Oh, you know what, I take it back. Play something teeth-grittingly country. We both hate that. Make sure there's a banjo somewhere in there."
"Alright," Edward laughs. He stands from his seat at the island to come stand beside Oswald, carefully lifting the mug out of his fingers and grinning mischievously when Oswald tries to chase it. "Come on, go get dressed. You can't go out to eat in a night robe, no matter how good you look in it."
Oswald stumbles a little over that, mouth parting in surprise and completely forgetting about his stolen coffee in favor of realizing how close they suddenly are. Oswald, who had been previously leaning against the counter, had stood straighter and wandered into Ed's personal space to try and retrieve his cup, putting him less than an inch from Edward's unfairly expansive torso. They are almost nose to nose, and Oswald has to sputter when Edward doesn't even flinch, no inkling to move away.
Oswald was sure he'd stopped breathing when Edward's other hand drifted to his waist, possibly just to hold him in place while his long arm held the coffee mug far out of reach.
Then of course, there was Edward's casual comment about his robe; he'd said Oswald looked good.
"Umm, Edward...."
Ed smiles, sets the cup on the counter, and lets his now free hand drift to Oswald's other hip. Oswald is so distracted by the move that he doesn't catch Edward's face moving closer until his lips had already planted a gentle kiss over his cheek.
Oswald sputters, looking up at Ed with wide eyes. "You-"
"Breakfast," he says, interrupting Oswald's panic and taking a step back. "Fifteen minutes."
And Oswald is left alone to have his heart attack in peace, falling back against the counter with a huff, face beet red as he lifts his hand to touch where Edward has kissed him.
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Oswald is a little surprised to find that Edward's taken him to a diner, a little 50's themed place called Zack's, green booths with a rogue stripe down the middle, and tiny jukeboxes at every table. It was nice, but Oswald decided he wasn't a fan of the owner after meeting him. The man had an ego the size of his beer gut, both too large to be pleasant.
He was friendly enough, welcoming them in with a greasy grin, but Oswald couldn't shake the feeling of distrust and maybe just a little disgust.
He sticks a little closer to Edward as they find a booth, shrugs his coat off and smiles politely at the waitress when she drops off a set of menus for them.
"Relax, Oswald," Edward says with an assuring simper. "You're tense."
Oswald sighs. "Sorry... I don't go out to eat very often, maybe it's that."
Edward slides a hand across the table to gently lay over the one Oswald used to hold his menu. "Just relax."
Oswald smiles.
After some initial debating and a few questions to one another back and forth, Oswald finally settles on a Denver omelette with a side of toast, Edward on a breakfast platter. For as thin as Edward was, Oswald was amused to see him order such a large variety of foods: bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns, a side of fruit, and a milkshake to wash it all down. It had to all attribute to his height, Oswald thinks, somewhat envious. He was always careful to watch his weight. Anything he ate went right to his belly. Someday down the road he'd wind up a short, fat little man if he wasn't careful.
"You don't want a milkshake?" Edward asks as the waitress starts to collect their menus.
Oswald sees her pause, about to reach for her notepad, but he waves her off. "No, I'm fine. Coffee is enough for me."
Edward shrugs. "If you want a sip of mine, you're welcome to it."
"Thank you," Oswald grins. "You know, I don't think I've had a milkshake since I was a boy. My mother was still trying to adapt to American culture and she brought me to a diner. She demanded we have burgers and shakes, because that was what Americans did."
"I find it hard to imagine you eating anything that wouldn't require the use of a knife and fork," Edward chuckles.
"Well, my manners were drilled into me at a later time," Oswald grins back. "Maybe seeing me with the hamburger was what finally convinced my mother that my manners were just too appalling."
He smirks, "You realize I have to bring you back here sometime to see you eat a burger, right?"
Oswald smiles. "You'll regret it."
"We could bring Martin too. Has he ever been?"
"I would doubt it... he's been an orphan most of his conscious life. If he had, he would have been too young to remember." Oswald admits, somewhat sadly, "It might be selfish of me... but in a way I'm glad that I get to be the one to show him all these things for the first time. Like the aquarium." He looks up at Edward. "Is that awful of me?"
Edward shrugs. "You're his parent. You love him. I don't think it's bad to want to share new experiences."
Oswald smiles gratefully. "You always did know what to say to make me feel better. Even when we...."
Oswald trails off from their pleasant reminiscing when he catches the eye of a patron across the diner for what he realizes is the third time since they've sat down. He narrows his eyes suspiciously, looking over the man and then the companions that surround him. Large, burly, with a greasy, scraggly beard hanging off his chin. Overall, undeniably a ruffian.
"Oswald?"
"We're being watched."
Edward stiffens, but keeps his voice calm and collected as he asks Oswald where the accused party is seated. Oswald admired him for many reasons, Edward's ability to casually watch people or listen in to their conversations being one of them. He was cool as a cucumber as he cocked his head to the side, pretending to brush something from his shoulder as he took a look behind himself, getting an eyeful of the clump of gritty men giving them harsh glares.
When he was finished, he huffs, turning back to Oswald with a small smile. "You have nothing to worry about, Oswald. A simple case of immature homophobia, nothing more. We're not in any danger apart from maybe a few crude slurs."
"Homophobia?" Oswald sputters almost before he's finished, tearing his eyes away from the men to Edward with a confused look. "Why would they-?"
Edward turns his attention to his food, looking discomfited, and Oswald can do little more than gawk.
"Ed, is... is this a date?"
He sighs, picking at an egg with his fork until the yolk starts to run down and away from it's white bed. "That was my intention when I asked you out this morning... but obviously I didn't do a good job of clarifying that."
Oswald thinks about the kiss to his cheek, and suddenly feels like a fool.
"I realize I haven't exactly been... overtly intentious," he says, and sets the fork down all together, eyes dropping to Oswald's lips as if to prove a point before flicking back up to Oswald's. "Would it have been better if I was?"
Oswald is fairly certain that he's swallowed his tongue. His words don't seem capable of coming out. Edward is coming onto him. He's spent so long thinking of it as such an impossibility that having it actually happen has thrown him for an outrageous loop. The impossible coming true, where else but Gotham?
Edward sighs when Oswald takes too long to answer, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "It doesn't have to be a date, Oswald. I-"
"No! Ed, that's fine, it's not that- I'd love it to be a date. I just mean- I just wasn't...." Oswald had just never expected Ed to actually ask him on a date. "I didn't think you were interested in me that way. Never thought you could be.... I would have worn something different."
Ed smiles, entirely too relieved. "I am romantically interested in you, Oswald, and I like what you're wearing. Pinstripes always did suit you."
"I'm probably overdressed for a diner in any case..." Oswald says, ducking his head a little to hide the blush racing to his cheeks.
Ed shrugs. "Me too. Maybe that's why they were looking at us."
Reminded of the men examining them, Oswald's eye strains for another subtle look. It's only because of that that he sees the little disgusted twitch of one man's lip and another's eye when Ed's hand covers Oswald's. Homophobia. That's all. They don't look disgusted enough to do anything about it, and even if they did, Oswald and Ed are forces of nature in Gotham. They wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything on them. They're fine. Oswald is still safe.
Edward's hand slipping over Oswald's jolts him back to the present, to Edward, sitting across from him in the middle of a breakfast date, talking about the fact that this is a date. "I'm sorry I was so cruel to you about your feelings before. I just... never wanted to accept my own. I couldn't. Isabella...." Edward's hand drops away sadly, and Oswald finds himself reaching out to grasp it again before Edward can pull away completely.
"I... really am sorry, Edward. I was... stupid and jealous at the time. I didn't know how to tell you how I felt and she was taking you away from me. If I'd just gone about things differently...."
"We're sorting it out." Edward smiles, squeezing Oswald's hand lightly. "You apologizing was a step forward I never thought we'd be able to take. You've clearly grown since then."
"In Gotham, you have to always have to grow. We're all constantly adapting to change. It's the only way to stay alive."
The cheery brightness in Edward's eyes dims ever so slightly, and he gives Oswald one more squeeze before returning to the plate in front of him. "Have you ever thought about leaving Gotham?"
Oswald frowns at his breakfast. "A few times.... Never for very long. Gotham may be dark and demanding of me, but it's my home. I belong here. I excell here."
"I'm sure you could excell anywhere, Oswald."
He smiles wistfully, "Maybe, but... this is also where my mother chose to settle. She chose this to be our home. I like to think that meant something significant."
Edward offers Oswald a kind look. "I believe your mother would still be proud of you no matter what. Wherever you chose to use your talents to rise to the top of any totem pole, I'm sure she'd be just as equally proud." When Ed lifts his head out from where he's been cutting into one of the eggs with a fork, his eyes startle wide. "Oswald?"
Oswald lifts a hand to his cheek, letting out a little self-deprecating laugh when it came back damp. That was really what it came down to, the sought-out approval of his dearly departed mother. Ed had tapped into that withheld need so quickly. Oswald still remembered Hugo Strange's 'therapy' sessions- being poked, prodded, and electrocuted until he was forced to relive memories he didn't want to revisit at any time. He remembered Strange's curiosity about his drive for power. The evolution that course had taken. First for his mother's approval, for the love of others, then- after her death and too many betrayals- the fear. Oswald wanted people to fear him and his power because no one would love him for it. He wasn't the type to be loved.
Yet here was Edward, complimenting his appearance twice in one morning, holding his hand in a public restaurant, telling Oswald he was something worth being proud of. It was all Oswald really could have ever hoped for; what he'd thought for the longest time was doomed to be a nothing more than a dreamy unattainability.
But Oswald hated to cry in front of others. He hated to show any weakness, and they were in public too. He sniffs, raises his chin, and wills the tears to cease their falling. He smiles, genuine, any trace of his usual politely false mannerisms completely out of sight, looking at Edward with such open love and gratefulness.
"Thank you, Ed."
Edward blinks, looking positively enraptured as he stares at Oswald, as if he's seeing him for the first time, and tugs on the knot of his tie with a small cough. "Of-" he clears his throat again when the word comes out croaky, "Of course.... Are you alright?"
"I was a little panicky," he admits, then spears a mouthful of Denver omelette onto his fork with a practiced air of indifference, "but I feel much better now."
"Oswald, you were crying."
"I tend to sometimes become overwhelmed with my emotions, as you well know." He gives Ed a tersely meaningful look, before placing the morsel into his mouth.
Edward nods, maybe a little regretful, and follows Oswald's example by taking a bite of his own food.
The rest of the meal continues with pleasant conversation, talk about business, Martin, some of the things Edward had been up to while Oswald had been in Arkham. They talk about Oswald's new order of suits and the matching pairs he'd ordered for Martin, how Edward thinks Oswald should let him decide his own style. They talk about Martin's future, how Oswald plans to prime him to one day pull the strings behind the scenes and name Oswald as his heir. Had it been anyone else sitting down through a fourth refill of coffee with him, their plates long since taken away and the bill paid, Oswald is sure they would have grown tired of him droning on and on about Martin and his plans. His surprisingly paternal plans. Edward doesn't seem bored in the slightest though. In fact, he seems genuinely intrigued and sometimes charmed when Oswald gets particularly fatherly.
"You, fatherdom. It's oddly suited to you in a way."
Oswald can't help but beam at Edward as he suggests some ideas of his own, softly and with a clear disclaimer that Oswald doesn't have to take any of them.
It would suit you too, Ed. He thinks, selfindulgingly, and pushes the thought away just as quickly as it comes to him.
As they finally get around to leaving, Oswald sure that Martin and Zsasz will be awake by then, they spot the same gaggle of overgrown goons exiting in front of them. Oswald narrows his eyes and makes a note of the license plate of the car they all climb into.
Just in case.
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Edward brings over a few extra boxes of his things after it's apparent to everyone that he'll be staying indefinitely. Oswald happily helps him unpack, despite Edward's insistence that he needn't bother.
They're halfway through a collection of Edward's miscellaneous keepings when Oswald pulls out a shoebox that doesn't hold shoes. The weight is too well distributed and different from the weight Oswald recognizes whenever he picks up a new pair for himself. He knows it doesn't contain the advertised Oxfords the box suggests.
He opens it curiously while Edward is placing a few mysterious knick-knacks on a shelf, and his breath leaves him.
Oswald plucks the first letter from the top of the pile, staring at his own handwriting scribbled over the top where he'd addressed it to Edward.
He looks up, and Edward is stalking closer, having been alerted by Oswald's startled gasp. "You kept these?"
Edward spies the box in his hands and has the nerve to look sheepish before nodding. "You weren't supposed to see them. I forgot they were in there."
Oswald looks down at the contexts of the shoebox again. "Did you save all of them?"
Edward sits down on the bed beside him. "I threw away the first few... but I've still got almost all of them here."
"Why did you decide to start keeping them?" he asks curiously, and starts sifting through the pile to note the dates.
Ed's face becomes bashful and rosy. "You wrote me a riddle," he says. "It reminded me of the time you spent hours at your desk trying to make one for me, and I liked remembering that."
Oswald clutches the letter tightly in his hand, chuckling. "Believe it or not, Ed, I actually had that exact incident in mind when I wrote you."
The moments between he and Edward simply looking at each other, sat side by side on the mattress, and the light crush of their lips is slowed down for Oswald. He can see when Edward starts to lean, lidded gaze flickering between Oswald's eyes and his lips. He can see what's about to happen, and the surprise has his eyes widening, chest pounding, feeling like he's mid-run and sprinting still.
The kiss itself is soft and unrushed. Edward's lips only start to slowly move after Oswald lets go of the startled tension in his body, pivoting a little to better face him. Ed's hand slides up to cradle Oswald's face, and Oswald's fingers are curled into the fabric of Edward's suit jacket.
Oswald always prided himself on his meticulous planning, being able to see all the different outcomes, but for the life of him, Oswald hadn't expected Edward to kiss him like this.
"God, I've wanted to do that for ages," Edward says after they've pulled apart, pressing his forehead to Oswald's with an elated, slightly breathless chuckle.
"Why didn't you?"
Edward frowns, "Besides Jerome, you mean? There was Martin to think of. I thought that you developing a good relationship with him required priority. You both needed that first. We spent this long with our heads up our asses, what was another few months or even a year? We have all the time in the world to figure out where we stand with one another."
Oswald smiles at him adoringly. "Thank you, Ed. Really, I appreciate that more than I can say. I think I would have been distracted... and probably not ready yet if you had tried."
"I thought about that too. We needed some time to... get past things before trying to start something new."
Oswald sighs wistfully, "I'll admit that I missed you looking out for me like this. It was part of the reason I fell for you in the first place."
Edward grins, big and wide. "Only part? The rest was my good looks and amazing intellect, right?"
Oswald shoves him playfully. "You're fishing."
He smirks teasingly, "If I don't catch myself some fish, how am I supposed to feed my penguin?"
Oswald barks out a laugh before shaking his head with disappointment. "Edward, I honestly believe that was the worst joke I've ever had the misfortune of hearing you make."
Ed guffaws, "My jokes are flawless."
"Stick to the riddles, Ed." Oswald smirks, "Leave the jokes to the professionals."
"You mean like Jerome?" Edward huffs out, and Oswald can tell there's a little bit of genuine insecurity hiding behind the razz.
Oswald thinks on it, and though he knows the little jab should stir some ill-begotten memories in him, Oswald hasn't relived his memories of Jerome in some time. He's even more surprised to find out he doesn't care to just now.
"Huh," Oswald muses, mostly to himself.
Ed frowns, "What?"
Oswald peers down at the letters again, sitting atop Edward's bed inside the shoebox. They're in what is now commonly known as Ed's room... because Edward has a room here. He lives here, with Oswald... with Martin and Zsasz, the things that make up the whole of Oswald's relational life. He hasn't had any time between raising a young boy, re-establishing himself in Gotham's hierarchy, and the sparse moments he actually gets to fret about his feelings for Edward to really have time to think about Jerome.
"I just realized this might be the first time I've thought of Jerome in some months..." he admits with some sense of astonishment.
Edward smirks, slyly sliding a finger down the line of Oswald's neck, grin only widening when Oswald makes a surprised sound in response. "Would you judge me if I said that I'm extremely pleased to hear that?"
"Given what I know of your romantic history, it's not the least bit surprising to me."
The wandering hand makes its way all the way down to Oswald's waist, slipping around and behind so that Edward has a palm pressed against the small of Oswald's back, and Oswald feels his heart pounding excitedly in his head at their close proximity and Edward's intimate touches.
"Yet you still keep me around."
He huffs. "It would be rather hypocritical of me to shun you for being jealous...."
Edward snorts, "Perhaps."
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Sofia Falcone had been a wicked, deceiving woman, who had really never been Oswald's friend at all... but despite her shortcomings, Sofia Falcone had been smart. As Oswald worked to care for Martin, he found himself remembering the advice that she had given him. He remembered Don Falcone and his chickens, and while Martin was a hundred times more special than chickens, he still found himself drawing comparisons between the two, how Sofia had said it would help him to have something to care for and work towards outside of the daily grind of his work.
He enjoyed taking a break from the rough and tumble of Gotham's underworld to simply sit beside Martin, watch him read or have a conversation about how his school work is going. He enjoyed sitting beside the hearth of the fireplace next to Ed, Martin belly-down on the floor as he doodled in his pad, feet kicking up behind him. Sometimes Edward would snuggle up to him, leave an arm open for Oswald to slide in and against his side. Sometimes Zsasz brought cocoa and he and Martin squabbled for the majority of the marshmallows. It was all for show though. Victor let him win every time.
The weather in Gotham was always grim and cold on a good day alone. Once autumn hit, the weather packed a sharp bite.
Oswald bought Martin an oversized coat, admittedly intentional, just to see his boy drag through the snow surrounding the manor like a little eskimo. Oswald found too much pleasure in Martin's adorableness. Again, cue suburban mother, Oswald's secret inner personality.
His rekindling with Edward slowly but surely became more of a developed habit. The changes came in small increments, built up overtime until the two had settled into a regular routine of being close. They brushed their teeth together simply because it made sense- they commenced with their nightly undress around the same time anyway, and this gave Oswald and Edward moments alone to discuss things that could be sensitive to Martin's underdeveloped ears. Edward joined him and Martin for dinner since he'd need to eat anyway, and the chefs always made enough food to feed a small army.
Oswald's favorite part had come to be the mornings. Edward greets Oswald at breakfast, offering a cheery smile to combat Oswald's early morning grumbles. Those bright, shimmering grins were what kept Oswald going throughout the day, like a shot of caffeine anytime he thought back on them.
"Good morning, Oswald," Edward says, turning down the pages of his newspaper for a moment to flash Oswald the daily dazzle, teeth pearly and white.
Oswald uses the same toothpaste as Edward, but his teeth never look that perfect.
"Morning," he grumps in reply, dragging himself over to the coffee maker and nodding towards Martin, sitting on the stool beside Edward. "Good morning, Martin."
Martin smiles, and waves his hand so that he doesn't have to stop eating to type a response.
Oswald pours himself a mug, the pre-made coffee yet another blessing that Ed delivers each morning, and clicks his tongue. "Oh, Martin, Victor will be picking you up from school today. I won't be riding with him, and I don't know if I'll be home by the time you get here."
At that, Martin did set down his fork, took a gulp of milk, and pulled his pad into his lap. "What are you doing today? "
Edward pauses his reading to watch for Oswald's answer as well, curiously peeking over the crisp edge of the paper. Oswald takes a sip of his coffee. "I have some business down at the docks today."
Edward cocks his head. "What business do you have there?"
"I'm seeing Butch. He's looking for money to afford some plastic surgery or something," Oswald says, thinking fast.
It was a half truth. Butch was looking for money, and Oswald had been in contact with him, but that business had been concluded a few days prior. Oswald had considered moving forward with his original plan for the matter, assisting Butch and getting him back to normal, pushing him and Tabitha Galavan back together and then shooting him in front of her. His mother still deserved revenge, retribution from her murderers, but Oswald had Martin to think about now.
That plan had been perfect when he assumed he would be alone. Now he had Martin and Edward, easy targets for someone out to hurt him.
So Oswald had let it go, given Tabitha another day. He'd exact his revenge at another time.
"Oh, right. Grundy problems."
Oswald narrows his eyes. "You knew?"
"Grundy and I were partners for a time. Worked the narrows a bit with Lee Thompkins."
Oswald frowns. "When was that?"
Edward puts on an air of indifference, but Oswald knows better, there's a little tint of red to his cheeks as he says, "Just before I got myself caught," He spends a second with his mouth pressed tightly shut before quickly adding, "to see you."
The specially designed voice of Martin's tablet jostles them out of their moment. "Are you two together now? Like, boyfriends?"
Oswald sputters, a splash of coffee dribbling down his chin as he turns to Edward for help answering, but Edward only smiles, completely uninterested in deterring Martin when he says, "I think I could get used to referring to you as my boyfriend."
"That's so juvenile though..." Oswald sighs, but lets Edward tilt forward to kiss his temple anyway. "I honestly expected you to be the kind of guy to use rustic terms like... lover or- God, do you tell people that you're 'courting' someone? I bet you do."
"You're being facetious, Oswald," Edward mutters, feigning offence. "Though I suppose if you wanted me to, I have always wanted to refer to someone as my fancy in passing conversation. Imagine how proper and unique it would sound!"
Oswald groans, knowing Ed is just putting him on and well past caring as he rises to the bait. "Oh good lord, that's somehow even worse. I concede, boyfriend is fine."
Martin grins, and presses a button on his tablet to voice words that seemed to have already been written out, just waiting to be said. "Uncle Zsasz owes me twenty dollars! I'd like to go buy a ceramic castle, can I go with him to the store while you're out? "
"I would fire him if he wasn't such a good uncle," Oswald snorts, amused in spite of himself. "And what in the world do you need a ceramic castle for?"
"For Charlie," Martin states, looking at Oswald like that was obvious, and maybe it should have been, but Oswald is still a little distracted by the term 'boyfriend' even if he's pretending to hide it well.
"And why does Charlie need a castle? He has that little skull Zsasz bought him. He likes that well enough, doesn't he?"
Martin nods before shrugging, "You're king of Gotham, I'm going to be king someday... I want Charlie to be a king too."
Oswald can't help himself, and bends over to wrap Martin up in a tight, fatherly, and overwhelmingly proud hug.
Edward smirks beside them, and Oswald has a mind to jab him with an elbow, but he lifts up to his toes to kiss Edward's cheek in reply instead, giving both him and Martin a quick farewell before toddering out with his cane to attend to the mysterious business he has planned for the day.
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Oswald's 'business' consists of violently torturing the men they'd encountered during their morning out at the diner.
Even after days without seeing them, they'd remained in Oswald's subconscious. Their faces were like photographs in his mind, a potential threat perceived. He couldn't get past the apprehensiveness he felt knowing that they were simply wandering around in the streets, no doubt plotting against him.
It only takes an hour of his usual routine to come to the conclusion that they really are nothing more than a brutish clique of homophobes, as well as misogynists, and their threatening glares had been for nothing more than Edward's innocent handholding. He doesn't regret killing them in the slightest, though he does end it gracefully with a bullet to their heads. The little itch that had been nagging at him fades with the light in their eyes.
He feels a little safer, now that he's gotten rid of the threat that had been leaving him so restless...
but...
There's still something he's missing.
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Oswald quickly realizes that his little blips of paranoia aren't as infrequent as he'd like to believe. He finds himself watching strangers that pass him by as if they were old enemies. He startles himself in the mirror sometimes, and it's all so disgustingly unacceptable for someone like him, he doesn't even know how to go about addressing it.
He doesn't even really know what he's looking out for, but he's looking. Oswald never stops looking.
It's no special morning when Oswald comes down for coffee, a little late after having slept in. The kitchen is empty as he pours himself a mug, and, no longer used to the silence, Oswald flips on the small television settled beside the microwave. The screen clicks, the fuzz fades out, and Oswald flips the channel from Martin's cartoons to the mid-day news.
His cup almost slips out of his hand and goes crashing to the floor when he sees a familiar face plastered beside the concerned looking anchor.
"--Though Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch are well known criminals themselves, an insider tip has told us that the GCPD believes that Jerome Valeska, notorious leader of the former crime group called the "Maniax", convicted for matricide and multiple acts of terrorism, is the true mastermind behind their, as well as many others, escape from Arkham Asylum. We'll be following this story very closely, more to come--"
Oswald sets his coffee down onto the counter with a shaky hand, well awake now without it. He stares at the mangled face of Jerome, smiling into the camera for what had to have been his most recent mugshot, and Oswald doesn't know what to feel. His stomach does somersaults, flopping between a sense of relief and fear. Jerome had gotten out, so he and Edward hadn't completely ruined his chances of escape. He wonders if Jerome will find him, if he'll even be looking. Oswald's had such a turn of face these last few months who's to say that Jerome hasn't too?
Maybe he'll come to collect the favor Oswald promised him.
Maybe he won't be so friendly.
Maybe he'll be too friendly.
Maybe he won't even spare Oswald a fleeting thought.