Note: Relevant Headcanon Fic: A FOND MEMORY
ESCAPE
The blackness is all encompassing. There are no memories to think about, no dreams to recall, just utter blackness... and warmth. Terribly hot and warm and scalding, but no pain. No pain. No pain... It ricochets around his head for a long time. The minutes tick by, or maybe hours? Oswald isn't sure, time is relative and he can't concentrate except on the black void that is his mind and... the heat, luxurious heat that goes bone deep and keeps him pain free. He's in love with this feeling and wants it to last for-
CRACK! The harsh stinging pain that flows through the blackness and anchors his face onto his body reminds him of where he is and panic sets in. There's warbled sounds that make no sense to him and he's trying to focus enough to swim through the black void. The panic flutters his heart beat faster which sends adrenaline through his veins and that more than anything helps clear the fog.
"Oswald! Wake up!" Another sharp pain laces across his cheek and finally his heavy eyelids flutter open for a second. Confusion setting in as he tries to focus on the blurry face before him. The voice sounds so familiar, a faint smile plays across his thin pale lips as he muscle-remembers the figure. His oh so heavy eyelids slip back closed and oblivion beckons once again. "OSWALD!" He cries out with the sharp pain on his cheek this time. Eyes fully wide and open now. Focusing on the blonde figure before him, Oswald frowns.
"Det- Detective... Wha- where?" He looks around at the room they're in, all stark whites and stainless steel. The heat he'd experienced in his.. what sleep? Coma? He didn't know where he'd been, but the warmth had been real. He's in this tub of sorts, covered up to his neck in what appears to be black sand. The heat radiating from the stuff is so soothing and warm, Oswald's eyes flutter shut once again, but he remembers the slaps on the face from Jim Gordon and pops them open quickly. "Don't hit me again, I'm aware Detective."
"I don't know what that is you're in, but we need to get you out of here. Can you walk?" It's a simple question, but the shorter man isn't sure. He can't feel anything but the heat. Even when he moves his arms there's no sensation that they're moving. Oswald watches as Gordon walks around the room searching for whatever. He notes that the detective looks more like an Arkham orderly then his usual gruff tough-guy appearance. Oswald's thoughts are still jumbled. He doesn't remember why he's in this room or the tub not to mention, if this is Arkham, why he was in Arkham again.
"I honestly do not know Detective."
"Jim, just call me Jim, Oswald."
"I will try, Jim." Moving with intent, Oswald manages to grab the rim of the overly big tub and pull himself to the edge. His chest clears the substance that looks like black sand and he notes that he's not wearing a shirt nor his corset or a brace of any kind. He frowns, concerned. "Uh, Jim... Do- do you see my clothes?" A heat that has nothing to do with what's in the tub creeps around his cheeks and nose. He's embarrassed because he's pretty sure he's naked and, well no one had seen just how bad his ailment was. He remembers the little boy Oswald who had to look at people's chests instead of their faces because of the curve of his spine.
"What?" Oswald looks at Jim, who's searching the room.
"Clothes, do you see clothes of any kind?" He asks as he pulls himself fully from the tub. The searing cold of the air in the room verses the coursing heat that had been engulfing him quickly reverts as he climbs up and over the edge of the tub. Wobbly feet finding cold hard tile as he tries to stand. He nearly falls, unstable legs, a back that hadn't curved in, what? Twenty years? The pain was going to be excruciating.
"No clothes, Oswald, just these flimsy hospital gowns where your ass hangs out." Oswald tries to straighten as Jim nears, heat flooding his face even more as he faces more towards the tub trying to shield his nakedness from the blonde detective. "Here, if you put on two then nothing will be hanging out." Oswald's green eyes look into Jim's blue ones to see if the taller man was making fun of him, but the smile seemed genuine as he takes the flimsy material from Jim. "Hurry, we need to go. We only have minutes until they find the Orderly I knocked out to steal these clothes from."
Awkwardly Oswald dresses in the hospital gowns tying one in front and one in back. Feeling better by just being covered. The curve of his spine is not as severe as when he was nine years old, so he's still able to look Jim in the eye, but the curve is still noticeable. He braces himself for that first step, remembering that it was a soul-tearing knife cut with each step he had taken, holding his breath and he's still not prepared. He thinks the pain must have made him black out for a second because the next thing he knows he's on the floor and Jim has his arms around his shoulders.
"Oswald? What the hell did they do to you? You can't walk can you?" Jim's gruff voice full of concern which only embarrasses Oswald even more.
"Don't worry Det- Jim, I can. I can manage." He hates that he needs Jim's help to get back to his feet. He notices that Jim pauses to look at him. "What? Where do we go- which way?" Jim shakes his head and frowns.
"Uh, thi- this way." He says heading to the door at the back of the room. "Seriously Oswald, what did they do to you? Your foot- you're.. You're not standing-" Jim stops, Oswald sees a faint, the barest hint really, reddening Jim's cheeks.
"Nothing Jim, or at least I don't remember..." The green eyed man trails off, eyes dropping as he holds out is arms. "This is me... How I always am when I'm not... When I have no-" Damn it, why was literally being naked to the detective so damn hard. "When I am not wearing a cors- brace that helps with- with my condition..." His cheeks burn realizing that Jim Gordon was the first person to ever know about this side of Oswald. He starts walking towards the door, faster with no limp, but paying the price with every step. He notices also with every step it's like the years of brace therapy is reversing. His back screaming at him. He cannot keep the pain off his face, but thankfully Jim doesn't say anything as he catches up to Oswald.
"Find him! I know he's here for Cobblepot!" The shout is plainly heard through the door and the two men look at each other knowing that they're heading to this room to check on Oswald.
"We have to go." Jim says, eyes wide as he looks at Oswald. The detective's hand grasps Oswald's upper arm as he kicks the door open and ushers the smaller man through. They close the door just in time to hear the other door unlock and open.
"Shit! Doctor Strange is going to be pissed! FIND HIM!" Oswald and Jim do not linger to hear the rest, they race towards a stairwell and Jim lets Oswald's arm go as he opens the door.
"Go." Oswald doesn't hesitate, but he does mentally curse, he hated stairs.
"Up or down, Jim?" He asks as Jim grabs an errant pipe to bar the door with. Oswald muses that they must be in a part of the hospital where patients do not wonder around, otherwise why would there be a convenient pipe like that lying in a stairwell.
"Up." Again, Jim takes Oswald's upper arm to what? Steady him? Lead him? Make sure he doesn't wander off? Oswald isn't sure, but with the pain in his back, he's not complaining. Going up the stairs is slowing them down what with the jarring pain that's clearly etched across the smaller man's face. Oswald can see the concern on the detective's face with the heavy set of his brows. After the third landing the green-eyed man's hope of no more stairs wains as does his stamina and endurance. He sinks to his knees, panting, his back screaming. "Oswald?" Jim makes his name into a question, kneeling down beside him. "We have to keep going."
Oswald nods his head, "I... know..." He says between breaths. "Give... me... a second." Jim's expression reads understanding but Oswald can feel the tension and urgency in the set of the detective's shoulders. He surges to his feet, adrenaline helping him, but for how much longer? He hates feeling weak, he hates his condition, and he most assuredly hates that Jim is seeing it. "Let's g-" His words are cut off as Jim Gordon does an undignified thing and scoops his arms under Oswald's legs and picks him up. The ex-mob boss has no choice but to hold on, arms wrapping around Gordon's neck. "Detective! Please, this is unnecc-"
"Hush, we have to hurry and you're in pain, I can see it." Jim states gruffly, his eyes glancing up to look into Oswald's eyes. The smaller man's breath hitches with how serious Gordon's expression is and... how close their faces are. Oswald looks down, yet again embarrassed. He doesn't say a word as the detective easily lopes up two more flights of stairs and they finally exit the stairwell. He's ready to be put back on his feet, but Jim doesn't stop at the door.
"Detective, you can put me down now. I feel I can walk." Oswald says, but Jim ignores him as they hear more shouts in the distance. "Cameras." Green eyes looking into the corner of the hallway they're in.
"Yep, they're tracking us now. Gotta find that..." Jim trails off as he's checking door knob after door knob along the hall. A door just up ahead opens. "Ah ha!" Jim exclaims as they make their way towards. Jim ducks behind the door as an Orderly slips out. The door goes to swing shut, but Oswald reaches out and grabs it. He glances at Jim, who's also looking at him, that half smile that always seemed so out of place on the detective's face playing across his lips. Smiles were rare things for Jim Gordon, or so Oswald thought, trying to remember the last time he'd seen the man smile.
They slip through the door and Oswald smiles looking around. "I know this place. Put me down Jim. Thank you." His mind isn't on the detective at that moment. This was the room that held all the personal effects of the inmates of Arkham, so Oswald's clothes were in here, but which locker?
"What is this place? There's no exit. Oswald we need to go." Oswald is looking at the locker numbers trying to trick his memory into cooperating with him.
"My clothes Jim, they're here. I am of no use to you or us in my... present condition." Oswald admits as he turns to look at the handsome blonde man. When had he noticed that Gordon was attractive? So not the time to contemplate changes... He breaks eye contact with the blue eyed man and starts searching the lockers again. What he does remember was his first stay in Arkham. Did they use the same lockers? Would they have assigned him a new locker? This was his best bet. "Yes!" His clothes neatly folded with the corset on top just like last time.
Did he lose time? Was he dreaming that he had been released from Arkham? Did everything that had happened in the last few years not happen? Had he been in a drug-hazed hallucination this whole time and Gordon was just now getting him out? Had the whole Edward Nygma thing been in his head? With shaking hands, he pulls his clothes out of the locker and tries to ignore that Jim Gordon was there to see him dress. He slides the corset around himself and laces it tightly, pulling the cinches into place that allows his back a rest and brings back his limp; his thoughts going to his mother. Was she still alive? Suddenly he needs to know if he's crazy. He grabs his slacks and pulls them on too much in a hurry to zip and fasten his pants before turning towards Gordon, who's bright blue eyes are glued to the smaller man's frame.
"Jim.." His name doesn't grab his attention. Oswald's cheeks flame bright red in embarrassment. "Gordon!" Finally the blue eyes find his green ones. "I'm having a crazy moment... Is Galavan...?" Jim's expression changes as his eyes flicker downward before coming back to Oswald's face.
"Galavan's dead. You shot him with a grenade launcher, remember?" Concern seeps into Jim's face, but Oswald has no time to think about that as all the terrible shitty things that has happened come rushing back to him. He's trying not to let the emotion get to him, but it's been a very trying few hours.
"Right, Jim. Of course." He turns his back to the detective realizing that he still was not fully dressed. Fingers fumbling at the zip of his pants. Jim clears his throat awkwardly.
"Ar- are you alright?" Jim's voice is closer then keeping watch at the door as he had been. If Jim shows sympathy or worse, pity, then Oswald was likely to break. He could't stand for the detective to see everything all at once. He fears that he's lost Jim Gordon as a friend after this. Horrible thoughts lead to more horrible thoughts as his emotions over what happened with Nygma surfaces. He shrugs it off, angrily wiping at his eyes. He hated tears. If he could surgically remove them, he would.
"Fuck!" He exclaims, disbelief that his slacks were getting the best of him. He flinches when he feels a hand on his bare shoulder. Seriously never in a million years would he suspect James Gordon touching him for any reason other than to hit him; although that hadn't happened in a long time. He finally succeeds in zipping his pants and securing the button. An arm reaches around and grabs his black dress shirt.
"Oswald, I don't know what they did to you in here or why... But I'm guessing that the last few minutes have been pretty traumatic for you." Oswald turns as Jim holds open his shirt for him. The smaller man accepts his help with the shirt, shrugging into it. He doesn't answer Gordon because he doesn't know what to say. Jim clears his throat as he stands there in front of him. Oswald's numb fingers again fumble this time with the buttons on his shirt. Jim's fingers nimbly help with that. Green eyes following the movements, trying to push all the grief aside. Thin lips frown as Jim's fingers pause at the last button that would completely cover the corset that Oswald was wearing.
Glancing up, the smaller man studies Gordon's face, unable to identify the expression. "Detective?" Jim's eyes glance up and then quickly back down.
"This," He moves his fingers only slightly to touch the top of the corset which stops right beneath Oswald's breast. "This is why you limp? Why your leg..." Oswald sighs.
"Yes. It's a cors- brace. I've always worn it, since I was little. The back pain is... unbearable, much more so than the dull ache in my hip that I get from wearing the brace." Quickly Jim finishes buttoning the shirt, knuckles playing lightly over the bare skin around his collar bone before the detective puts distance between them. "So why am I back in Arkham? I have no memory of what has happened."
"We can talk later, Oswald, we need to get out of here. Cat- Selena is waiting for us through one of these doors and I forgot which one. I thought it was this one," Jim says while watching out the small window on the door. "but, it's not. Come on." The blonde holds out a hand, palm up. It's an invite to take his hand, but the smaller man suspects that that's not the gesture Jim meant to make towards him.
"Lead the way, Jim." He says limping over to the door, but ignoring the hand that's offered. He feels like it could be a trap and yet he doesn't know why. This is good guy James Gordon. He's been up and down so many paths since arriving in Gotham, but he's been able to keep the good within him. But no kindness has ever been rewarded for Oswald. Especially after what happened with Nygma. Gordon glances at the green eyed man before opening the door, making a show of dropping his hand that he'd offered. If it was a sincere gesture then Gordon could get over the fact that Oswald had rejected it.
They slip out of the door and move as fast as Oswald's limp would allow. Thankfully as they turn the corner they see a hand stick out from behind a door with a familiar fingerless glove covering it. They spur on some extra speed, a feat in and of itself for Oswald and they gain the door right before Orderlies see them. Selena locks the door behind them and Jim manhandles several pieces of furniture in front of the locked door.
"We needed at least one of those desks to reach the vent Gordon." Selena says eyeing the vent ten feet above their heads.
"Shit." Jim says eyeing what was left in the room. Oswald's wondering how he was going to navigate through air conditioning ducts without anyone hearing him. There were only so many times during the day that you are reminded that you hate your life before it starts sounding like your mantra instead of just an inconvenience. "Hey, I can use this," He starts pulling a filing cabinet over to the spot under the exposed grate. "and I can boost you two up. Lead the way Selena. Oswald will follow and I'll bring up the rear. Do you have my gun?"
"Yup." Selena pulls out Jim's gun from the close, almost invisible backpack she had strapped to her. Gordon sticks the gun in the waistband of the orderly scrubs he's wearing, then climbs up onto the top of the filing cabinet which is barely wide enough to hold one person, much less two. Using a desk chair, Selena joins Jim on top of the cabinet. Oswald watches as he picks up the lithe teenager, putting his arms around her thighs, lifting her up and well within reach of the grate. She makes quick work of unlatching it and then swings free of Jim's arms to scamper up into the pipe. The small man is shaking his head, thin lips parted in confusion.
Jim looks down and yet again, holds out his hand for Oswald to take. "You're turn, Oswald." Surprised green eyes look into the Detective's blue ones in disbelief.
"Jim, I can't do that. I- I can't do what she just did." Gordon shakes his head, that small half smile showing back up. Oswald has the suspicion that he's being made fun of now.
"Nonsense. Take my hand." The blonde man sounds so sure of himself. Oswald places his cold hand into Jim's very warm one. He's almost thrown off guard as Gordon pulls. He quickly places his twisted foot on the desk chair and climbs up. It was true, barely any extra room for them both on top of that filing cabinet, but Jim has his arms wrapped around Oswald's waist to keep him in place. "Ok, hold still." The detective bends down at the knees and slides his arms down and around Oswald's thighs. The same maneuver he used on Selena. The smaller man's hands are on Jim's shoulders to steady himself and to keep him from falling, them both from falling. There's a loud bang on the door behind them and it startles them both. Teetering just a bit, Oswald lowers himself to grasp better onto Gordon's shoulders.
"Shit!" Oswald says trying to keep them from falling, his heart thumping in his chest, never admitting out loud just how much that had frightened him.
"Indeed," Jim says, pretty close to Oswald's ear. That too startles the already jittery ex-mob boss. "Ok, we gotta hurry, stand back up. Ready?" Oswald does what Gordon asks.
"Ready, Jim." But he so was not ready for that lift. He cries out, cursing himself for being such a baby. Selena's hands are dangling in his face as he looks up and he let's go of Jim's collar to grab her hands. Thankful that she was strong as well as lithe, she helps him up and into the pipe.
"CLEAR!" Selena yells as Oswald catches his breath leaning against the pipe well away from the edge. There's a loud crash as Jim's hands appear on the ledge of the pipe.
"No way, but up and out now." Jim grunts as he pulls himself up. "That was the filing cabinet falling." He chuckles with a funny smile on his lips. Green eyes watch him with wonder. This was a side of Gordon that he was sure no one but intimate friends saw. He turns in the pipe to see if Selena was watching as well, but her backside is swaying ten yards down the pipe.
"Come on! There's a time-table!" Selena calls behind her.
"Let's go." Jim says as he nudges Oswald's good foot. The smaller man nods and turns to crawl, half-limp after the street cat.
To Be Continued