'If you weren't a penguin, what bird would you be?'
Oswald halted the forkful of noodles on its way to his mouth.
Ed was looking at him eagerly, eyes shining the way they always did when he asked what he deemed an intriguing question.
'I didn't really get to choose you know', Oswald said, 'Besides I was The Penguin, not A Penguin'.
'Well, egocentric grammar aside and say you could choose: what would you be?'
'You ask some really weird questions'.
'Like what? Oh! You're referring to the one earlier about-'
Oswald put his chopsticks down pointedly.
'And if you recall I answered you'.
Ed recalled a reaction but not an answer.
He had been curious that was all. It had been a simple question: far more straight forward than his usual queries. He hadn't anticipated Oswald to gape in response then angrily snap it was none of his business before flouncing off (as well as he was able), pale skin reddening like it had been sunburnt.
'And if you recall I apologised', Ed said, palms open placatingly, 'Hence the Chinese banquet before you. So come on, humour me with this one. Please?'
'I'm content to be a penguin thank you', Oswald said, scanning the prospective foodstuffs nestled in their warm plastic containers.
Ed really had spared no expense for the culinary penance before them.
The salted chilli squid caught Oswald's roving eye and he extended his arm, chopsticks poised to snatch one of the fragrant chunks to add to his noodles.
'A hungry penguin-ah!'
He winced suddenly as his arm spasmed. His fingers clenched into a fist causing one chopstick to fall from his fingers and roll along the surface of the table.
Ed stopped it in its tracks and, wiping it down, placed it back on Oswald's plate.
Oswald gritted his teeth.
Damn bullet wound!
He had to remember not to move his arm too far to the right!
He waved his other hand in dismissal at Ed's concerned look and speared a chunk of squid with a single chopstick.
'-with a busted wing', Oswald concluded.
He rubbed his shoulder carefully, fingers kneading away the pain.
'Technically it'd be a flipper not a wing', Ed said, pushing the soy sauce towards Oswald with a finger.
Oswald grabbed the bottle and began to shake it over his noodles with his good hand. The motion was so violent Ed could almost envision a knife in place of the brown bottle.
'I bow to your superior knowledge of penguins', Oswald growled.
He put the bottle down on to the table again with a sharp tap.
'Arm, flipper, wing. It's still a pain'.
They ate in silence for a time until Ed was satisfied Oswald's discomfort had eased: the portion of salted chilli king prawn appeared to be proving conducive to his recovery given their rapidly encroaching extinction.
'Do you know I only started studying penguins recently?' Ed offered before crunching a prawn cracker.
'Why's that?' Oswald asked.
'As part of my research to understand any aspect of you that may prove useful. To identify how accurate your chosen moniker is at describing you. To fill a gap in my knowledge of various Antarctic fauna. To make clever puns and observations such as the one I'm making now and will make in relation to aquatic favouring avian species', Ed's inner voice rattled off with the speed of an approaching freight train.
What Ed actually said was: 'Curiosity. You never get curious?'
'In my line of work it rarely pays-' Oswald started before correcting himself, 'Paid off. Besides what difference does it make what bird I would be? Doesn't change what I am'.
Sensing Oswald was about to slip back into yet another bout of melancholy, Ed cut to the chase.
'Do you know what I'd be?'
'No but that's the way you like it'.
'A grey parrot. Capable of using tools, capacity to mimic human speech and able to recognise itself in a mirror'.
'So can crows', Oswald countered.
'True but they're not very colourful', Ed shrugged.
'No. But they're unnoticed and misunderstood by most 'normal' people'.
'Normal is overrated', Ed conceded.
'Also very good at getting rid of dead bodies and figuring out puzzles', Oswald said with a wry wink.
Ed laughed.
'Besides, parrots only repeat what they hear', Oswald continued, 'There's no real intelligence in it. I've known a lot of parrots. You're not one of them'.
Ed couldn't help but beam at that.
Despite his odd appearance, Oswald was downright pleasant company in the right circumstances. There was none of the usual pitying tolerance Ed experienced at the GCPD. No obvious questions followed by derisive remarks or name calling.
Oswald listened.
Ed surmised it was because Oswald had most likely experienced the same treatment at some point.
He had known the infamous Penguin could help him but he had never anticipated this level of kinship with him! Then again if anybody was going to find a best friend on the first try it would be Edward Nygma right?
Oswald didn't notice Ed's simultaneous silent appreciation and self-aggrandisement.
He was considering his companion's question.
Why not aim big?
'I guess I could be an eagle?' Oswald offered, 'Got the nose for it'.
Ed steepled his fingers.
'I think you're too self-aware to be an eagle. Eagles are too busy looking down their beaks at the rest of us to see what's really going on'.
Oswald poured Ed another glass of red wine before filling his own glass.
'Well, since you had this all figured out even before you asked me the question, what do you think I could be?'
Ed was a trifle disappointed.
It wasn't as much fun if people just asked for the answer.
But Oswald had been through a lot: he could let it go this time.
'A swan'.
Oswald burst out laughing, wine dribbling down his chin.
He couldn't help it.
The imagery was just too ridiculous!
The epitome of majesty, purity and grace - yep, that was him alright!
'Hear me out!' Ed protested, 'Hear me out! Stop laughing please!'
Oswald stifled his laughter with difficulty.
Ed always seemed to get hot under the collar when he thought somebody wasn't taking him seriously.
They had a lot in common there.
But for some reason with Ed it was different. When he made light of a situation it wasn't mean spirited, just gentle good humour. The difference in the treatments he had endured from Fish and her cronies and the conversations he now enjoyed with Ed astounded Oswald.
'Sorry', Oswald said, wiping his mouth with his napkin, 'Been called a goose before, a golden one even, but never a swan. Haven't got the look for it'.
'Looks aren't everything', Ed said, grabbing his own napkin, 'I'll show you'.
Oswald watched as Ed made a few precise movements and folds. Within two minutes, a perfect white synthetic swan nestled in Ed's palm.
Oswald nodded in respect to Eddie's trick.
Ed picked up the swan by its tail and held it horizontally like it was floating on a lake surface.
'Swans paddle like the dickens beneath the water', he said, bobbing the swan up and down for effect, 'but on top it looks like they're doing nothing at all'.
He flapped the napkin and the swan unfolded. He gave a small bow and Oswald obligingly tapped the top of the table with one hand in quiet applause.
'Not to mention the obvious parallels between the ugly duckling who became what he was always destined to be, damn the naysayers', Ed said off-handedly, replacing the napkin on his lap.
'Stupid! Stupid!' his internal voice berated him, 'Why'd you say that?! Ugly?! Seriously?!'
His knuckles were white from griping his fork as he glanced at Oswald. He gave a quiet sigh of relief when he saw no change in his new friend's expression.
Oswald tilted his head, considering Ed's points while swallowing a lump threatening to build in his throat. His mother had read him that story when he had been little. It had been one of their favourites. It was cold comfort now.
'You've really thought about this haven't you?' Oswald asked, pushing attention back onto Eddie: he had only been living in the apartment for a few days but had learned very quickly that was just where Ed liked it.
'Birds are fascinating', Ed said simply.
He made a few whistles and chirps, fingers held together and opening quickly before closing, mimicking a bird pecking at the ground.
'Modern little dinosaurs hunting crumbs from old ladies in parks. Especially ones like penguins and swans: so adaptable!'
'Adaptable? More like sore, empty and beaten right now', Oswald thought to himself.
'That's flattering but I'm not convinced', he said aloud.
'Really?'
Oswald stood and took a few token footsteps as a demonstration.
Yes, there they were. All the familiar twinges and the silent yet insistent pressure he felt just beneath the knee with every step. He had always had bad posture but it had gotten worse. Now his shoulders hunched because it was necessary to maintain his balance, not because of self-consciousness. He had been tempted to have a doctor break the bones and realign them but had held off.
His leg was a good reminder of where he had come from. What it had taken to get where he was.
But where was he?
Wearing someone else's old dressing gown with a roof over his head simply because he was a capable instructor in the subtle art of murder.
If he'd been more capable he wouldn't be in this mess.
He wouldn't be a mess.
And as a result of preserving the physical souvenir of this hubris, Oswald hobbled.
He waddled.
Like Ed said, swans were adaptable: they could fly and swim.
Oswald could barely walk.
'See? No swan here', he said with forced brightness. He sat back down, carefully lowering himself back into the chair and leaning back to take the weight off his feet.
'No Penguin either. Just a lame duck', he thought.
He was surprised (and slightly irritated) to see Ed had a smile on his face: as if Oswald had just proved his point.
He rolled his eyes, waiting for Ed's explanation.
Couldn't he let him mope?! Even for a few seconds?!
'And that my friend, is why you rarely see swans on land', Ed said before adding with a dark smile, 'They are much better at breaking interloper's arms than walking'.
Oswald laughed at that.
Ed had proven himself not only capable but endlessly willing to cheer him up. It was only right to let him once in a while.
'In that case maybe I should start rebranding', Oswald mused, taking a sip of wine, 'I have been thinking about getting an evil laugh'.
'Let's hear it', Ed invited.
Oswald threw back his head and gave a short demonstration.
Ed pursed his lips at the sound. It was akin to the seagulls milling about near the dumpsters when the Chinese restaurant downstairs put the trash out every morning. It was an odd squawking chuckle… ironically almost like a peng-
'No good?'
Oswald's voice cut through his internal analysis.
'A little on the nose', Ed said, summoning as much tact as he could muster, 'but practice makes perfect'.
'I'll drink to that', Oswald said, tilting his glass in salute.
'How about a toast then?' Ed offered, raising his own glass.
'To what?' Oswald asked, lifting his own again.
'The less of me you have the more I'm worth', Ed pronounced, 'What am I?'
It was technically a second hand riddle but it was still perfectly apt for the situation so that made it okay. But he still regretted wasting it on that feckless double date with Mr and soon to be Mrs Detective Gordon.
How ironic that in cutting away a few lesser friends like weeds, he had found a rose amongst the thorns!
He watched Oswald consider the answer with anticipation.
It was so intriguing to see such a range of emotions play across another's face!
Usually Ed avoided looking at them but with Oswald it was like watching someone have a conversation with themselves, carefully scanning every potential answer before selecting one.
It was like a chess match between two masters in one brain.
After what seemed like four checkmates, Oswald looked Ed in the eyes and gave his answer.
There was such gravitas in his face that Ed felt somewhat abashed to have used a riddle.
It was an unfamiliar feeling.
'You are Edward Nigma. My best and only friend'.
Oswald knocked back his drink in one go and resumed eating his Chinese food.
Ed resumed shortly afterwards, once he had gotten his heart back under control.
The curry was hotter than usual.
His cheeks were burning!