A/N: Hey folks! I've been a fan of Gotham for quite a while now and my favorite piece of trash is, of course, our dear Ozzy boy. So here is my attempt to write an Oswald/OC thingy. I rated this story M for possible nsfw content in later chapters. I think that's all I wanted to say for now. I would love to read what you think about it! Here we go :)

If there was one thing Oswald hated it was clearly being out of control. Mostly because being out of control came with the feeling of having no power. Having no power drove him wild. It drove him to the point where he would clench his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. It would completely set him on fire. In a terrible, brutal and very unforgiving way. He might have been small but the storm that was raging inside of him was bigger than his body. He needed revenge. He needed power. He needed it all and he knew how to play a good game. He would be at the top and they would all be crawling by his feet, begging and begging. Oh, how he looked forward to being the king of Gotham.

However, in this moment Oswald did not feel like a king. In fact, he felt like a homeless person, in need of a shower, food and a bed. He was limping down this dull road that had led right out of his beloved city and now he saw nothing but big, grey-green fields by his sides. He was sick of walking and he desperately wanted to rest or at least take a short break. He was thankful for what Jim Gordon had done for him, that he let him live. It was quite a turn of events, actually. Yet, here he was, limping because Fish had taken out her fury on him, his clothes utterly wet from his fall into the river.

He wanted to scream from the top of his lungs. Scream at Fish for damaging his leg. Scream at himself for letting it get this far. No... It wasn't his fault. He'd done nothing wrong and soon he would be back. He just needed to make a plan and prepare everything for his return. Giving up or failing was out of question. He had a destination. HIS destination. He would be better. Stronger.

Oswald was roughly pulled out of his thoughts when he saw a house to his left. It practically stood in the middle of nowhere. There was a small blue car parked in front of it. The house wasn't particularly big but he still guessed that more than one person lived in there. He was hungry and tired. He didn't even need to think this through. He simply began to make his way to the house, ready to strangle the person that would open the door once he knocked. As soon as he reached it he looked around for a moment and made sure that he was alone. The things that caught his attention the most were all the flowers, sweetly planted on the ground all around the house. He frowned and blinked, his careless glare fixing the door again.

He raised his pale hand and knocked against it four times.

Two quiet minutes that were filled with nothing but the sound of birds chirping around him went by.

Right.

Oswald knocked again, harder this time. When nothing happened he grew impatient. He threw his side against the wood of the door, focussing all his strength on the goal to break it open—which turned out to be the beginning of a very strange and confusing series of events. Something that he hadn't noticed before he made the decision to stand in front of the door was the vase that hung over his head. It was filled with small flowers and dirt. It was clearly supposed to be a piece of decoration but it completely dismissed its original use when Oswald's knuckles met the door in a harsh way, causing the vase to fall down and break into pieces as it met his head. Who would hang a vase over a door? How incredibly stupid could the person who lived here be? That was the only question that popped up in his head before he fell to the floor and lost his consciousness.

"Hello? Hello? I am so sorry, sir... Can you hear me?"

Yes, he could but he didn't really want to. His head hurt so much that he thought it would explode out of pure pain. The concerned voice definitely belonged to a woman. Oswald let out a loud groan as he slowly tried to sit up. He finally let his eyes flutter open and placed his elbows on the ground underneath him. A strand of hair fell over his eyes and his mouth hung open. The headache he felt made him grunt and he furrowed his brows.

There was a girl—or a young woman—that was hovering over him. She stared at him with big eyes and she looked as if he was the most scandalous thing she had ever seen. Her hair was brown. It had a warm, dark shade. Oswald's gaze travelled down as he still tried to fully get back to his senses. His glare stopped at her neckline. She was so close. Too close.

Oswald managed to shift away from her and he coughed before he cleared his throat and tried to stand up. His strength failed him. His leg hurt like never before and his head felt like a bowling ball that he had to carry on his shoulders. The second he was on his feet he had to sit down again since the pain became almost unbearable. He spat out another noise of utter pain.

The woman gasped and was at his side in no time. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a very soft squeeze. "I'm incredibly sorry, sir. That vase belonged to the people who lived here before me. I should have put it away by now." she said and there was nothing but honesty in her tone. Oswald looked at her once more and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Well, you should have!" he hissed as he thought about taking a shard of the vase to stab her with it.

The thing was that he was still much too concentrated on his physical pain and he hissed through his teeth, tightly holding on to his leg. "Again, I'm so sorry." she said, pity floating through her voice. Oswald hated pity.

"Sir, do you need help?"

Sir. She kept calling him that. An odd feeling of pride washed through him and he finally turned to look at her once more. She had soft features, green eyes... Or blue? Did she live here on her own? Was it safe for him to kill her? Was someone inside that could be a danger to him?

"Yes, Miss. Actually I do need help." He smiled at her for the first time. It was a big, false smile. "I got robbed. My car, my phone... It's all gone." Oswald was a fantastic actor and he knew exactly how to wrap people around his finger. Especially people like her. He already detected a rather high level of innocence here. The girl looked shocked and full of empathy.

"Oh, crap. I'm so sorry. Do you want me to call the police, Mr..." "Anderson." he lied smoothly, finishing her sentence before he quickly shook his head in answer to her question. "And no, no. I will do that later. However, I would very much appreciate it if I could come in for a few minutes to have a glass of water and perhaps clean myself up a little since I've been walking around like this for hours." He needed to make sure if she lived on her own, if it was safe for him to get rid of her and use her house as a resting place. She probably had food in there, too.

The woman quickly nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course." She was still kneeling beside him and it made him feel like a child that had just fallen down out of stupidity.

"Do you want me to help you up?" she asked as she stood up and offered him her hand. Oswald thought about grabbing it and pulling her down to strangle her there and then so he could just take over her house. He thought better of it, though. Patience. He needed to make sure that there weren't other people inside. A family or a husband who might attack him with a gun.

"Thank you, Miss." Oswald smiled up at her and took her delicate, small hand in his bigger one as his long fingers met the soft skin of her palm.

"Please, call me Amelia."