Trigger Warning: This story is rated M for mentions of abuse, graphic violence, and some sexual content.

Saving Grace

Chapter 1

It was raining. But wasn't it always in Gotham? That's what umbrellas were for.

Oswald Cobblepot liked the rain. Or he normally did. But today, the grey sky and cold, wet air only seemed to be an extension of his mood. The death of his mother, though it had been almost two years ago, still haunted him, leaving him bereft and secretly traumatized. She had been his only family. His only friend. It was true that with her gone, no one could use someone he loved as leverage against him anymore. He supposed that was a vague silver lining of sorts, but after taking the time to grieve, now he only felt hollow. The silver lining didn't feel worth it.

Blankly, he stared out the car window, paying little mind to the water droplets as they joined and danced on the glass before his eyes. He was tired. And fairly depressed, if he was being honest with himself. It had been a long day. He just wanted to go to bed.

His driver stopped at a light. They were in one of the sketchier parts of town, and Oswald's eyes were drawn to movement in the nearest alleyway. Though the meager sunlight was waning, he could see plainly enough that there were four men. Four large men, and one small victim. It was a girl. He couldn't make out her features very well, but when she suddenly screamed, it chilled him to the bone. Which struck him as odd. He hadn't thought that he could get any colder. One of the men struck her face, probably to shut her up.

Oswald's first instinct was to turn a blind eye to this. Some random girl on the street was nothing to him. He had his own problems. But he couldn't seem to look away, and when another man tore the front of her shirt open, Oswald was moving before he could stop himself.

"Just park here a moment," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt, "Follow at my signal."

Then he was opening his car door, using his umbrella as a walking stick—as the rain had mostly subsided—and telling himself that he was doing this merely to loosen up and vent a little frustration.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he addressed the thugs, projecting his voice as he kept a reasonable distance.

The men all turned to him, somewhat confused by his presence. Two of them still held onto the girl. "What the hell do you want?" one of them yelled.

Oswald ignored the man. "Of course, I use the term 'gentlemen' loosely, as this is no way to treat a lady." He gestured to the young blonde in their grasp.

Did all four of them just roll their eyes simultaneously? That was surprisingly synchronized.

"Mind your own business, twerp," one said.

"Piss off before we beat your ass," said another.

"Oh, eloquently put. But no." He shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere. Not while you're alive."

The biggest of the thugs charged him. Calmly, Oswald pressed a button on the handle of his umbrella. A switchblade popped out of the other end, rather like a miniature bayonet, and with a well-placed jab, the goon was brought to his knees, clutching his middle as his blood began to flow. In almost the same motion, Oswald signaled to his driver, who came to his side with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. At Oswald's behest, he handed it to him and took the umbrella.

"Thank you, Gabe. Now…" He turned to the thugs and cocked the gun. "Who's next?"

The smallest one went for a gun in his jacket pocket, so he was the first to be shot. Cornered, the other two took off down the darkening alley, but it was a straight shot and they were both brought down easily. The one with the knife wound began to flee as best he could and ducked behind a dumpster. Oswald handed the gun back to Gabe.

"Take care of that one, will you?"

As his loyal henchman strolled along the alley to finish the last man, Oswald turned his attention to the girl. She had ducked to the ground when the shooting had started, and she hadn't moved, only trembled and held her hands over her ears.

"Miss?"

She still didn't move. He nudged her gently with the side of his shoe, not wanting to kneel down.

"Miss?" he tried again, "Are you injured?"

Slowly, she looked up at him. Just then, Gabe fired the shotgun, causing her to scream and duck back down again. Oswald sighed and bent at the waist, putting a careful hand on her shoulder.

"You're safe now."

She flinched and he pulled away, but again she looked up at him, shaking and hugging her torn shirt to herself. "No, I'm not." Tears filled her green eyes. "I'll never be safe. I have nowhere to go." The tears spilled and she looked down.

Oswald looked around the deserted area, debating. He had expected her to run away once she was free, possibly shouting back a quick 'thank you' as she went. Instead, she just sat there, paralyzed with fear and shivering in clothes that were too light for this weather. Perhaps he could direct her to the nearest women's shelter? But no, she would probably be worse off there. Those places were like buffets for pimps and rapists.

By all rights, he should have just wished her luck and walked away. He was under no obligation to help her further, and she could only prove to be trouble from this point on. So naturally, he took his outer coat off and put it around her shoulders.

"It's…surely not as bleak as that," he said, "You're probably just in shock. Gabe…" He gestured for the larger man to hand over the gun. "Thank you. Take her to the car."

A moment later, the three of them were driving along down the street, an awkward silence hanging in the air around them. It went on for several minutes, and Oswald had finally decided to just let it be when he thought he heard her mutter something.

"Did you say something?"

"Where are you taking me?" she repeated more clearly.

"Oh, to my home. You're welcome to stay the night. I have…plenty of room. You can figure out what to do in the morning."

She paused for another long moment. "Thank you," she said, barely above a whisper.

"…Think nothing of it."

He spent the rest of the drive sneaking looks at her. She was disheveled, to be sure, but not unattractive. She was fair, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Her hair was just a few shades darker than platinum blonde, but it was wet from the rain, so that might have affected the color. Wrapped up in his coat like she was, actually, she was pretty cute.

Oswald immediately felt awkward when that thought crossed his mind. Not only was it outrageously inappropriate given her current situation, but, well, he had always felt awkward around cute girls. In any case, he didn't need to think of her that way. She would only be around for a short time, and she'd be asleep for most of it, so…good. Good. He would be rid of her by the next afternoon.

When they pulled up to the house, he turned to her. "Can you walk?"

She hesitated, but cleared her throat and said that she could. He saw that her eyes had brightened somewhat, and she seemed more aware. That was a good sign.

He entered the house as Gabe helped her from the car and he called for his butler.

"Shani? Shani!"

In an instant, the tall, mocha-skinned woman was in front of him, awaiting his orders.

"Get a fire going, and find something for this young lady to wear," he said, gesturing to the girl as she walked in on Gabe's arm.

"Yes, sir. Shall I set another place for dinner?" Shani's smooth British accent was always rather nice to hear.

Oswald spared a look at his guest. "We'll take dinner in the sitting room. But see to her first."

"Yes, sir." She turned to the girl and smiled. "Would you come with me please? We can find you something comfortable to wear. Don't worry."

With that taken care of, Oswald went to his own room and cast aside his damp suit jacket. He considered changing completely, but decided he didn't need to be so formal for this particular dinner. After all, they were to eat in the sitting room, and she wasn't going to be wearing anything too fancy. He didn't generally keep women's clothing in the house, so Shani would likely end up lending the girl some of her own clothes. He would need to remember to reimburse her.

An hour later, they met in the sitting room. She looked much fresher now. Her hair was dry and pulled back, and she wore a pair of jeans and a cozy-looking pink sweater. Given the honey and lavender scent now wafting through the air, he assumed she had taken a shower.

"Forgive me," he said, "Proper introductions haven't been made. I'm Oswald Cobblepot." He extended his hand, which she shook, though he noticed she remained timid.

But she did offer a shy smile. "Grace Ackerman. Nice to meet you."

"Uh, please sit down, Miss Ackerman." He gestured towards the fire. "I'm sure dinner will be ready soon."

Why did I bring her to my home? Why am I being so altruistic?

Why am I enjoying this?

Dinner was indeed served just as they were seated. It was bagels and lox. Normally, he would never have served something so casual to a guest, but this was short notice, and he hadn't intended to eat much of anything that evening, thinking he would just fall into bed early. He felt a small pang of regret at not having something nicer for her, but she still ate it like it was her first meal in days. It may have been, for all he knew. He waited until she was done before questioning her.

"So Grace," he began, "if you don't mind my asking, how did you find yourself in your earlier predicament?"

He could see right away that he probably shouldn't have opened with that question, and for a second he was afraid she would burst into tears, but she seemed to gather her control and answered him gently.

"They were collecting money from my father, but he didn't have it this month. So they killed him and took me."

"My deepest condolences to you. Those kinds of situations are always so…messy."

She shrugged ever so slightly. "It was…no great loss. He…wasn't a good man…But he was my protection, and now he's gone. And I don't know what to do." Though she remained soft-spoken, the distress in her voice was increasing.

"You mustn't worry about that tonight. You've been through a traumatic experience. You need food and rest more than anything, I'm sure."

"…Thank you." A tear slid down her cheek. "Thank you so much."

"It's nothing really."

I have to rearrange my whole day tomorrow because of you. Why do I not mind?

Am I just…lonely?

"It's not nothing," she said, "If you hadn't come along, those guys would've…" Her words faltered. "You saved my life…You're kind to me, and you don't even know me…Why?"

"I have a sincere distaste for bullies, Miss Ackerman. That's all."

When she only nodded and smiled in response, he went on.

"If you're finished, I'll have Shani take you to your room." He stood. "I daresay it's time for bed."

About all Oswald could do that night was toss and turn. His body was exhausted, but his mind just wouldn't slow down. As he mentally reorganized his schedule for the following day, he thought a great deal about Grace. What should he do with her? There were several possibilities. Quickly, he excluded all the ideas that involved selling her. That would have made his rescue worthless. And besides, he didn't deal in the business of flesh—though he worked closely with many who did.

There was always the option of simply dropping her off in a safer part of town, maybe giving her a little start-up money. Still, she would be vulnerable. In Gotham, everyone, even the king, needed protection. Oswald had the resources to buy his own, but Grace certainly didn't. So where would she get it?

She probably wouldn't. She has no connections. If she went missing, nobody would notice.

It occurred to him that he could be her protection. But that was a risky move. If he paid her much attention, it could potentially make her even more of a target. And she was a walking target to begin with. Young, cute, and small—barely over five feet in height. And on top of that, he would run the risk of actually becoming attached to her. No good could come of that…

He let out a frustrated sigh.

If he put her up in a nice apartment somewhere, people would think she was his lover, and that would only be dangerous for the both of them. Not to mention expensive. And why should he put her up like that anyway if she wasn't his real lover? But if he kept her with him, maybe gave her some household job…

Oswald flipped his pillow and punched it a couple times.

Why should he do anything? Why should he care where she ended up now? He had already done much more than was necessary.

But she was such a soft, vulnerable thing. The idea of her being abused and ultimately killed—which is exactly what Gotham would do to her—made him feel guilty.

I really must be lonely. That, or I'm going very soft.

Oswald sighed in resignation. "I mustn't make a habit of this," he muttered to himself.