There was really no reason to run like he had hell itself after him, late was late, but that didn't stop Edward from nearly colliding with the poor cart pusher as he hurried out into the bleak Gotham night. The woman he'd met by the wine had been very nice, and she'd distracted him for far, far too long. As he drove to the mansion in the rain, he spent more time making up a good excuse than looking at the road, and it was probably pure dumb luck he didn't get into an accident.
He stumbled in through the door, all apologies, wine bottle in hand, and was met with silence. That wasn't right, where was the maid? There ought to be at least someone home. He knew he should have been here hours ago, but he was here now.
"Oswald?" Edward cried, hesitant, as he walked slowly through the house, ignoring the way his shoes sluiced uncomfortably. "Hello?"
It was with a growing sense of unease Edward slowly moved through the silent house, not wanting to stay but unable to leave. The rain was battering against the windows, and the house was nearly completely dark.
Finally, he carefully opened the door to the kitchen, not sure what he was going to face.
Oswald sat at the kitchen table, his thin hands wrapped around a mug which contents must be cold, judging from the lack of steam. He looked tired, wan, as if he was the background of one of those depressing renaissance pictures.
"Hey" Edward said quietly, feeling guilt throb deep in his stomach. It laid there, coiled like a snake, ready to strike.
"I've eaten" was the cool reply, and guilt raised its head.
"I'm sorry."
"Where were you?" the face was carefully blank, but his alpha senses could clearly pick up hurt disappointed lonely abandoned in a mess of purple and grey and guilt opened her mouth, baring sharp fangs dripping venom.
"I bought wine" he said, uselessly. Oswald finally, finally turned to look at him. His eyes were guarded, like chips of ice, showing nothing.
"No, thank you."
Edward frowned. Oswald had specifically asked him to buy a bottle of wine, why was he refusing it now?
"Leftovers in the fridge" well, okay, so he wasn't in complete shit. If he had been, Oswald wouldn't have offered to feed him.
Edward put the bottle on the counter, then went to get that plate. They were silent as he reheated it in the microwave, silent as he ate, the only sound the rain and the scraping of cutlery against fine china.
Finally, dinner was finished and Edward looked at his untouched wine glass.
"I'm sorry" he said, the words burning his lips.
Oswald looked up from his cup, the contents untouched since Ed came home.
"I know" he said.
"Wine?" Edward offered, feeling a bit helpless. He didn't know what to say. Wasn't sure what they were to each other.
Oswald shook his head no. At Edward's questioning gaze, he flashed a quick, unsure little grin. "Doctor's recommendation."
Edward's heart fell into his stomach, upsetting guilt and making it bite, poison turning the organ cold and sour.
"What's wrong" he said but didn't want to know. He crossed the knife over the fork, needing to move his hands.
"That depends" Oswald said, unusually cryptic.
"On?"
"You."