[A/N – Hello and welcome to the fic I never thought I would write! For a start, I don't even like superheroes, so the fact that I not only enjoy Gotham but feel strongly enough about it to write fanfic is incredible. Furthermore, this glorious pairing caught me completely off-guard. I was very invested in the bromance, but when "Anything For You" happened, I was converted. Here we are now, with this fanfic, my take on what should have happened after that tender Almost-Kiss.

I began this fic immediately after "Anything For You", but due to life getting in the way, I finished it a few days after "Follow The White Rabbit". Funny enough, some of the things that happen in that episode are very similar to things that happen in this fanfic. I promise that I had written those things beforehand – apparently there are just some things that are so Nygmobblepot, they have become ubiquitous, haha!

Note - the one thing I could not find during my research was Oswald's ethnicity, so I went with Hungarian. "Follow The White Rabbit" seems to confirm that it's Russian, but I chose not to change my version. So now I'm headcanoning Gertrude as Russian-Hungarian. If anyone out there has confirmation that the Kapelputs are something else, let me know.

I do not own Gotham or any of the characters involved in this fic. Rated T for language, mentions of violence, and other Gotham-y stuff. Spoilers up to and including episode 3x05. I hope you enjoy!]

Parade of Souls - A Gotham fanfic

Chapter One - Worthless to One

Ever since Oswald's party had come to its bloody, bullet-riddled conclusion, rain had drenched Gotham City, splashing against the windows of the Van Dahl estate where Oswald insisted Edward stay until he was healed. Well into the night, Ed found himself watching the water pool on the sills and the huge yet graceful crows on the estate dodging raindrops in a futile attempt to stay dry. Yes, it was nights like these that reminded Ed he was not cured and that the framed certificate hanging next to Oswald's was a lie. Yes, it was nights like these that reminded him what it felt like to be insane...and yet, this particular type of insanity felt very different than it had before. Formerly, being insane had meant checking out of his own body, becoming a stranger in his own flesh, rising to meet the high that blood and violence demanded - before crashing back to earth as himself in a rush of sheer terror and panic. Eventually the lines blurred and his entire existence became one of revelry and terror battling each other for dominance at every turn. But now his insanity was entirely contained inside his own body. He felt euphoric and drained, exhausted and like he could run for miles without growing tired. His brain begged for sleep and yet couldn't stop running. Each heartbeat was so irregular that it seemed as if he could almost feel the blood being squeezed out of each valve, the sensation almost making him physically sick. He lay back in the guest bed and tried to force his breathing to slow down, failing each time.

Above the sound of the rain was the sound of Oswald singing in the room directly below him. He was the mayor of Gotham now, too important to be quietly crooning a Hungarian love song his mother had taught him long ago, and yet here they were. This man had killed so many people and yet could still trick himself into believing he was his mother's innocent baby for all time. Ed admired that level of self-deception and was, in a way, jealous of it, smiling as he heard the mayor's voice lilting gracefully through the hard syllables of Hungarian. It had to be a love song. What other kind of song could it be? Ed thought to himself as he traced his fingers across the image of the ceiling above him.

"I am worthless to one but priceless to two..." he whispered, drawing the heart once more, "I am love".

What was it that had inspired Ed to play his dangerous game with Butch? He had danced around destruction with Butch and with Oswald so many times during these past weeks that he had lost count of all the times he could have died, had stopped running the statistical probability on his death, as the numbers were simply coming back too high. Suffice to say, he should not still be alive. And yet here he was, reclining in bed, listening to the rain and a love song, nursing bruises on his neck that still caused his entire body to rattle when he breathed.

Why? It was not a riddle; it was just the question he had asked himself every day for weeks. Was it because he wanted power? After all, with Butch out of the way it was only an inevitability that Oswald would continue to give Ed more and more power. They were friends, after all. But he could have let Butch rig the election and the outcome probably would have been the same. And yet he had so desperately wanted to make sure Oswald was loved by the people. It was probably when they were standing on stage with hands clasped that Ed realized it was not simply because he had wanted to rise in stature that he had done it; it was because he genuinely wanted Oswald to be loved. After all, somewhere in a place of honor with his possessions lay the sweater Oswald had given him when he was in Arkham. He was just returning the favor.

But was he really just returning the favor? If Oswald could deceive himself into believing he'd be his mother's sweet innocent child forever, surely Ed could deceive himself into thinking he was only trying to be nice and that was the extent of it. Even if it was untrue. Even if he was lying to cover up the fact that, while all of Gotham may love the man downstairs, Edward Nygma loved him more.

Even now it was surprising to think about. The only other person Ed had ever loved was dead now by his hand, lying in uneasy repose in a grave he dug himself. Was that love? It had certainly seemed like it at the time. Supposedly love conquered all, but it hadn't conquered that. After Kristen, Ed had promised himself he wouldn't bother with such a weak and useless thing as love. After all, if you knew who or what a man loved you knew his weakness, and if you knew his weakness, you knew how to destroy him. But here he was now, very much in love with the mayor of Gotham, so much so that he had willingly risked his life for Oswald. Even now, hours after the party, Ed could not disremember the feeling of Oswald's touch - on his face, on the side of his head, on the small of his back. Even now, hours after he had relinquished Oswald's bathrobe back to him in order to turn in for the night, he could not rid his nose of the scent of his friend's cologne. This love was so unlike his love for Kristen, which felt so long ago that it felt almost as if it had happened to another person and not himself. This love, like the new insanity he now lived in, was nothing like he had ever felt, in fact. If he was insane and this is how he was rewarded, so be it. But if he was sane and this was what happened after being cured, then all those months in Arkham had been worth it.

He thought once again of the riddle he had given Oswald before the election and it chimed in his head as steadily as the ticking of a clock: Why had he risked his life like this, day in and day out? Love. Why had he gone to such great lengths to make sure Oswald won the election on his own? Love. Why was it that he was willing to do anything for the man most of the city rather cruelly knew as Penguin? Love, love, love. Worthless to one, priceless to two, it was love, goddamnit. The answer to the riddle and to everything else would always be love.

But they were not children playing at this complicated thing - they were men, and dangerous ones at that. They would be bad together, oh so very bad. Together they would destroy lives and burn everything down. Gotham would be safe again, but only because it would have no choice in the matter, only because Oswald's word would be law and Ed would willingly sacrifice everything to see that word enforced. They would be dangerous together and danger would follow them accordingly - Ed gently rubbed the bruises on his neck as if to accent that. But they needed each other too, more than anything else in the world. For respect, for understanding, for mutual protection; to affirm that everything they had been though hadn't just been for nothing. And, if nothing else, perhaps to be redeemed, perhaps to have one good thing attached to their names that they would point to at the end of the world as the one good and lasting thing they had done.

It was to that thought that Ed finally gave one more rasping cough that shook him to his bones and fell asleep, replaying the night over and over again in his mind and wondering why in hell Oswald hadn't kissed him right there in front of the fire.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Oswald, don't listen to the other children..." Mother used to say to Oswald Cobblepot when he was small, long ago before any of this had ever started, "You are handsome, and clever, and some day you will be a great man."

In the back of his head, Oswald always knew that those words had been said by mothers everywhere to their downtrodden children since time began. He knew too that it was by and large bullshit, words that mothers of course would always believe, even if they weren't true, so he tried not to swallow the pablum and of course he failed. And yet, the saddest thing of all was that Gertrude actually believed these things about her son and therefore it became so much harder for Oswald to remember his childhood without feeling ashamed. His mother's love should have been enough. But it wasn't.

Although his mother's words did become everything, eventually consuming his every thought and desire, there was a time when he desperately, desperately wanted the approval of the other children, more intensely than anything he had ever desired in his life. Well, maybe not all the children. Perhaps just Michael.

They were thirteen. Almost every other boy around him that year had seemingly discovered an interest in girls and sex as if both things had just been invented yesterday. Oswald, on the other hand, felt no sexual stirrings whatsoever - and any beginning barbs of romanticism he may have felt, he certainly did not feel towards girls. He knew so little about any of it at the time that he assumed his love for Michael was the extent of it, that that would be his sexuality, just to love Michael silently and from a distance forever.

For their entire lives, Michael had been the only child who ever tried to stop the bullying that Oswald endured on a daily basis. He had brown hair and dark eyes and when he smiled, which was rare, he was accidentally magnetic and too shy to know what to do with this power of his. He was smart on a threatening level and, once you got to know him, completely hilarious in unexpected ways. He used to be the smallest boy in their class - apart from Oswald - but over the summer had shot up like a weed until he towered over everyone else and now Oswald had to crane his neck back whenever he looked at him, which was often. But when exactly Oswald came to realize the extent of his adoration for Michael was always more difficult for him to pin down.

Perhaps it was the afternoon in the library when Michael looked up from a book and remarked,

"Hey, do you know what you remind me of?"

Oswald gulped uncertainly, knowing where this had the potential to go.

"A penguin?" he whispered haltingly.

"What? No." Michael said, brow furrowing in confusion, "A knight."

Now it was Oswald's turn to be flabbergasted, "A knight?"

"Yeah, a knight-errant, like in medieval history. There's an old book back home that has a picture of one of the cover. He looks just like you. Now you just have to find your raison d'etre, that's a knight's reason for existence."

Perhaps it was the awkward school basketball game during which Oswald was content to hide passively in the bathroom until he could go free, when Michael held out a hand and said,

"Come on, you can sit next to me and if anyone tries to hurt you, I'll thump them. I'm tall now, I can do that."

And as Oswald laughed and allowed himself to be led up to the bleachers where for the rest of the evening his leg was plastered against Michael's leg like it was the most casual thing in the world, he thought he would choke on the fire in his gut that was threatening to consume him.

But whatever the reason was that Oswald loved him, it didn't matter. He loved him. He adored him. And Michael had to feel the same, surely. Anyone could see it. And anyone did see it. While Oswald couldn't pin down exactly when he had started to feel something for Michael, he knew the day it ended. Michael had invited him out for a walk to the tiny forest behind the school, and since Oswald would have followed him anywhere, he hastily agreed. As they walked, they talked of banal things until Oswald was certain he was going to explode. He had to tell this boy, this man, this beautiful creature how he felt before it killed him. Eventually they came to a clearing, and Oswald reached out to touch Michael's arm, halting him in mid-sentence.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, but...there's something I really want to talk about." he said.

Michael's eyes grew slightly larger in surprise, "Okay, sure."

"You've been a really good friend to me over the years and I..." Oswald stopped, almost drowning in both eager anticipation and fear, "...and, well, I'm sure it's pretty obvious that I...that I...well that I like you. And I mean like you like you. Alright, maybe more than like...maybe more like I can't stop thinking..."

He hadn't even realized he had been moving closer to his friend, contemplating how on earth he could reach Michael's mouth when the other boy was so much taller than he was. And he hadn't realized the ring that had formed around them, of other larger hulking students laughing and holding up their cameras.

"Aw, isn't that sweet?" one voice chirped, bringing him back to earth as a camera shutter loudly clicked closed, giving him a start as he turned to find the leader of the gang of bullies grinning back at him, "Smile pretty for me, Penguin. I always knew there was something off about you, thanks so much for proving it."

At once his head swiveled back towards Michael, who stood frozen in shock like a deer on the highway, his eyes darting from unfriendly face to unfriendly face. It was his idea to take this walk and, despite the fact that they stood here together, only Oswald was the one being targeted for the humiliation and the shame.

"Michael..." he said, his voice somewhere in between shock and sadness and disgust.

Michael seemed to know what Oswald was thinking before Oswald thought it and he put up his hand defensively, proclaiming his innocence.

"Oswald, I had no idea. I had no idea they would be here."

But reason and thought were gone and the only thing left was the bitter sting of what had happened, whether Michael had been a part of it or not. But Oswald was certain he was. He had to be. Anyone could see it.

"YOU BETRAYED ME!" someone screamed, and Oswald was shocked to find it was his own voice, trembling and shrill as the gang around them laughed.

"No, no, please, Oswald, I didn't know about any of this, I swear to God. Please believe me, Oswald, please..." Michael pleaded, extending the hand that had previously been held up in innocence out to Oswald now as if hoping he would take it.

But Oswald had taken Michael's hand once before and it had led him here. Loving this boy in front of him in general had led him here. He had had enough problems with these monsters already thanks to his name and his stature and the goddamn hook in his nose, now they would ridicule him for this day in the forest and, even if he hadn't helped plan it, it was all Michael's fault.

"Goodbye, Michael." he choked back, biting his lip to keep from crying out as he turned to leave. Astonishingly, the crowd parted for him and let him go - perhaps the beatings would come later - laughing at him uproariously as he pulled himself from the scene, his steps faltering as he struggled against the rush of emotions. From behind him, he heard the sound of a fist connecting with skin, but whether Michael was throwing the punch or taking it, he did not know. But he didn't turn around.

Over the years the passions surrounding the event cooled for most of those involved. After high school, Michael moved to a city that was not Gotham and became a doctor, married a pretty girl, had two children and lived in a brownstone somewhere in the suburbs. He moved on from the incident. Oswald never did.

But he was the king of Gotham now. He was mayor now. He had more power than all of them combined could ever dream of - Michael, and the bullies, and anyone in his life who had made him feel small. Sure, they may have paradise, but they were servants, plebeians. They served in Heaven. Gotham may be Hell, but it was his Hell - he reigned, he was powerful. What was wrong with him that he wanted more?

After so many years of nothing - not being wanted by anyone or wanting them in return - here Oswald was again, this time with Edward Nygma. Even now he couldn't shake the fear he had felt looking over Ed's still body, or the relief and joy that had pumped through him when Ed finally drew breath. He had cared so deeply for this man for so long and yet was still able to pretend it was only friendship that motivated him. But cradling Ed as oxygen came back into his lungs and stroking his face over and over again in dizzy reassurance made him realize that was no longer a possibility. He should have kissed him then and there - the man who said he would do anything for him - and if not then, sitting in front of the fireplace just a few hours hence. But there was time. There was time now that they were both safe and now that Butch had been dispatched as the traitor he was. As Oswald slept that night, one thought permeated his dreams - he had wanted someone to share his life with and now he had the chance. He was mayor, he was respected, he was loved by the people. And soon he might be loved by the only other person on the planet who mattered to him. In the morning he would tell him, Oswald decided, ignoring the uneasy feeling that history was repeating itself.

After all, that was a long time ago - many years ago and far away. He was a different man now. He was powerful. What could possibly go wrong for him now?