DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. This was inspired by "A Bitter Pill to Swallow." First Gotham story, so be nice. Hope you enjoy!
Ed
Mr. Penguin looks terribly unwell. I can't very well drop him off at the ER doors of Gotham General; they'll call GCPD once they see his gunshot wound. He doesn't have a clue why I was really out there in the woods, but that's neither here nor there. Today isn't the first day I've been grateful that my building doesn't have a doorman; there's no way I could explain why I'm dragging a bleeding, semiconscious Mr. Penguin up to my apartment. He reeks of sweat and dried blood.
Once I get through my door, I rummage through my dresser. Thankfully, Mr. Penguin and I are more or less the same size. I find my favorite plaid pajamas in the middle drawer. Redressing dead weight isn't all that difficult; I have experience thanks to the unfortunate demise of Ms. Kringle. Mr. Penguin doesn't seem to have a clue about where he is or what's going on and that's just as well. I get him settled under my quilt and fluff up the pillow. All I have to do now is wait...
Oswald
When I open my eyes, a man with horn-rimmed glasses is standing over me.
"Hello, sleepyhead," he says with a deeply unsettling grin.
"Where am I?" I ask in a panic.
He doesn't answer, just tells me that raising my heart rate is "counterproductive to the healing process." He produces a syringe from somewhere and says, "Apologies in advance" before jamming the needle into my neck. The last thing I hear before I black out is "Rest up, my feathered friend."
The next time I wake up, the man with the glasses is hovering over me with a glass of water.
"You drugged me," I say angrily.
"It was for your own benefit, Mr. Penguin," he says.
"I beg to differ." If anything, I feel worse. The man seems so familiar. "I know you."
"Ed," he introduces himself, "Nygma. We met once before at the GCPD."
"You're not a cop?" I ask warily.
Ed laughs and says, "No. Forensics. Do you believe in fate?"
I suddenly realize I'm not wearing my suit. "Where are my clothes?"
"I threw them away. They smelled," Ed replies airily.
Even though he had the decency not to leave me naked, I have the overpowering urge to get away from Ed. He stops me when I try to get up, telling me I can't leave. I feel like I'm in Mother's favorite book, the one about the woman who takes her favorite author hostage and breaks his ankles with a sledgehammer. This terrifies me.
"If you stick me again, I swear-" I snarl.
Ed
"You're a wanted man," I remind Mr. Penguin. "You can try and run, but with your condition, you'd get about three blocks. You have extensive injuries and I'm afraid you're stuck here until you recover."
It looks like Mr. Penguin will try to get up again. Instead, he just sits back against the pillow.
Being a gracious host, I offer him the glass. I even included a purple straw, my favorite color. "I thought you might be thirsty. You really need some fluids. Dehydration is common after prolonged outdoor exposure."
Mr. Penguin glares at me and tries to knock the tray out of my hand. How rude. My other side begins to whisper in my ear about overdosing Mr. Penguin with a sedative and being done with it. I argue that I have an unfair advantage. Mr. Penguin's pathetic little swipe has clearly taken a lot out of him. He's sweating and remarkably pale. My other side doesn't care about that and becomes more insistent. I grit my teeth, trying to block him out.
"What do you want from me?" asks Mr. Penguin.
"I'm glad you asked. Remember what I said earlier about fate? Recently, I've been going through sort of a change." Careful, Ed, no need for him to know too much just yet. "What kind of change, you ask?" Before Mr. Penguin can tell me he doesn't give a damn, I blurt out, "I've started murdering people."
Oswald
My heart stops with fear. Does Ed intend for me to be his next victim? Oh, that makes no sense. He would've killed me in the woods when he had a chance...unless I'm right about my Misery suspicions and he wants to torture me first.
"Wow!" Ed exclaims. "That is thrilling to say out loud!"
This man is clearly deranged. He adds that he's killed three people and didn't care for two of his victims. The third was a woman he refers to as Ms. Kringle, the love of his life. I fuzzily wonder why he would want to kill Santa Claus's wife. This has to be some kind of nightmare; I've always had horribly realistic fever dreams. Mother always knew what to do for them. She'd sit beside me and wipe off my forehead with a cool washcloth, whispering, "It's all right. I will never let anything happen to my Oswald."
"If you're planning on killing me, could you get on with it?" I ask. "At this point, it would come as a welcome relief."
Ed sits next to me on the bed, getting entirely too close to my personal space. "Oh, heavens no. I assure you I have no ill intentions toward you."
"Then what are your intentions?" I challenge.
"These murders changed me." Ed tells me.
He starts babbling something about caterpillars and butterflies. I come to the unsettling conclusion that I'm not hallucinating. I'm really trapped in a madman's apartment. What I wouldn't give to be in my own bed, to not have anyone pestering me.
"You're one of the city's most notorious killers," Ed goes on.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, good sir," I inform him coldly.
Ed laughs wildly. This time, he doesn't try to stop me from getting out of bed. I limp over to the window and stare out at the skyline of Gotham.
Ed
"My empire is in ruins," frets Mr. Penguin. "I'm a wanted man with no friends." He sniffles and chokes out, "My mother, the one person I swore to protect, is dead because of my weakness. Believe me when I tell you that this path you're on is nothing but destruction and pain."
I almost feel sorry for this broken little man. My other side berates me for being so soft-hearted, urging me to put Mr. Penguin out of his misery so we wouldn't have to hear any more of his whining. I wasn't fond of my own mother, truth be told; the idea of Mr. Penguin being so attached to his is a foreign concept. Even though his back is turned, I try to work my face into an expression of sympathy.
Oswald
"Wanted or not, I'm leaving," I declare.
I think for a wild second about just jumping out the window. I'd break my good leg in the process at the very least, but I would be rid of Ed. I make it about two steps before I collapse.
Ed
"Oh my," I mutter, looking at the prone form of my houseguest.
Getting Mr. Penguin back into bed isn't very difficult; the man is laughably slight, almost no muscle whatsoever. Of course, killing doesn't always require brute strength, another thing I learned from Ms. Kringle. Once Mr. Penguin is sound asleep, I decide to search for a get-well present to cheer him up. Mr. Penguin tosses and turns all night, talking rapidly under his breath. I imagine he's delirious from his fever. I put on my coat and head for the all-night pharmacy to buy some Tylenol. On the way, I happen to run into someone that Mr. Penguin would love to meet...
Oswald
I'm dimly aware of a muffled groaning sound. I open my eyes and discover a man sitting at the foot of my bed, a pillowcase taped over his head. All I can do is stare, dumbfounded.
"Tah-dah!" Ed calls triumphantly.
"What is that?" I ask groggily.
"This is Mr. Leonard," Ed introduces as though I'm supposed to know who he is. "You were talking in your sleep last night about Galavan killing your mother."
"I was?" I'm disgusted with myself. I hate being vulnerable. I suppose it comes from being a sickly child who was constantly bullied and later ending up as Fish Mooney's umbrella boy.
"Mr. Leonard here works for Galavan...before he was arrested, of course," Ed goes on.
My old friend Jim is the man responsible for bringing that scumbag to justice. Of course, the crime he was arrested for was the kidnapping of useless Mayor James, not the murder of my dear, sweet mother.
"I thought you'd be pleased," says Ed. "He's a gift for you."
This reminds me of Mother's favorite Christmas movie, the scene where the inbred redneck cousin presents Chevy Chase with his bound and gagged boss. Oh, how Mother and I used to laugh! We'd sit there drinking hot cocoa and eating cookies until my bedtime, when she'd recite "The Night Before Christmas." When I got a bit older, Mother and I would recite it together. She tried one year to bring me the bully who flushed my head down the toilet, but he got away from her.
"What exactly am I supposed to do with a Leonard?" I ask nastily.
Ed
I can't believe Mr. Penguin is so ungrateful. If only he knew how much trouble I went through to find Mr. Leonard.
"You're supposed to kill him," I say. "I thought you'd want retribution for your mother's death and it might cheer ya up."
I take a switchblade out of my pocket and flick it open. Mr. Penguin takes the knife, stands up, and moves toward Mr. Leonard. The screams from under the pillowcase get louder. Oh, what fun this will be! I can hardly stand the anticipation! Mr. Penguin surprises me by dropping the knife.
Oswald
"I'm done," I declare. "I need some rest. And then I'm leaving Gotham forever."
I lie down and pull the blankets over my head. The next time I open my eyes, Mr. Leonard is gone. I don't know what Ed's done with him and, frankly, I don't give a damn. I hear music...along with Ed's tonedeaf singing voice. Even though he's butchering the song, I recognize it instantly and miss Mother so much it hurts.
"Why are you playing this?" I ask.
"I can bring tears to your eyes and resurrect the dead. I form in an instant and last a lifetime. What am I?"
I groan. I hate riddles, but it's probably safer to play along with the lunatic. "A memory."
"You were humming this under your covers," Ed adds creepily.
I can't stop the memory from flooding out of my mouth, how Mother used to sing me this song every night before I went to sleep. "And every night, she would tell me, 'Oswald, don't listen to the other children. You're handsome and clever. And someday, you will be a great man.' All I have left are memories and they're like daggers in my heart."
Ed shows me his dead girlfriend's glasses. He doesn't feel sad when he looks at them anymore. "And do you know why?"
"No. And I don't care," I tell him flatly. "And this little visit is over. I will simply bid you adieu."
I start for the door. My legs feel like rubber. I don't care if I roll down the stairs as long as I'm away from him.
Ed
I try to explain to Mr. Penguin how love isn't all it's cracked up to be. It makes you weak, gives your enemies chances to hurt you.
"Move aside, Ed!" he orders.
I bite down a chuckle. It's adorable that Mr. Penguin still thinks he's in charge when he's utterly at my mercy. I goad him more about his mother being his greatest weakness. Mr. Penguin does something I don't entirely expect. He snatches a kitchen knife from the counter behind him and grabs my sweater.
"My mother was a saint!" he shouts at me. "She was the only person who ever loved me! Now I have nothing!"
"A man who has nothing cannot be bargained with," I tell him. "A man who answers to no one but himself and cannot be betrayed is what I see before me."
This shocks Mr. Penguin into letting go of me and lowering the knife. I quickly take it from him before he changes his mind about killing me. I should probably hide all the sharp objects from him. He could be suicidal as well as homicidal; it just wouldn't do for my mentor to kill himself before he teaches me anything.
I smile blandly. "I imagine you're quite hungry, Mr. Penguin. You've been asleep or delirious most of the time you've been here."
"I want sushi."
This time, I can't hold in my laughter. That is just too on-the-nose. "Trust me, the sushi in this neighborhood would give you food poisoning. I don't feel like cleaning up after you, so let's order in Chinese, shall we?"
Oswald
Ed doesn't wait for me to answer; he just grabs a takeout menu and dials the phone. I don't even have the energy to sulk about not getting sushi; the last thing I can remember eating is a tea sandwich I stole from Ed in the woods. I feel like I might pass out again, so I take a seat at the kitchen table. Well, just a table, really. This studio apartment is nothing compared to the luxury I'm used to. Ed sets the table and cracks open a bottle of wine.
I sniff disdainfully at the label. "I've met winos with better taste."
"There's no need to be grumpy, Mr. Penguin."
I hope he doesn't put candles on the table or I'll take my chances getting myself down the stairs. I ignore Ed's constant riddles as he sets the table. Of course he doesn't have proper wine glasses, just beer steins. It doesn't take long for the deliveryman to arrive and Ed at least has the manners to serve me first. I have no idea what's in the carton he hands me, but at this point, I'm too hungry to care. I pretend I don't find Ed irksome, smiling graciously and drinking his godawful cheap wine.
After dinner, Ed leads me in singing Mother's lullaby. He doesn't realize that I'm not half as drunk as I appear to be. I conversationally ask what happened to Mr. Leonard. Ed shows me to his coat closet; Mr. Leonard is still bound and gagged inside.
"Mother always said a party wasn't a party without entertainment," I say.
"Your mother was quite the intelligent lady," Ed says, pulling the struggling Mr. Leonard out of the closet.
Perhaps I could learn to like Ed Nygma after all...