Oswald regarded the crisp invitation edged with gold, the words on it mocking him.

You and a guest are cordially invited to the wedding of Edward Nygma and Leslie Thompkins. In lieu of gifts, we ask for donations to be made to one of the following charities...

How altruistic. That little touch about donations was Lee's idea, no doubt. It certainly couldn't have been Ed's.

Oswald threw back another shot of whisky. He was so over Ed. He was. He didn't know why this damn invitation was getting to him so badly.
He fumbled for the scotch, managed to snag it on the second try, and, mindful that it was five hundred dollars a bottle, poured it very carefully into the glass. Hardly got any on the desk.

It was the sheer spiteful nature of it, that was it. Not sent as a goodwill gesture, he was sure, but rather to rub it in his face, once again, that Ed was straight, had always been straight, get-it-through-your-head-Oswald.

Well, he got it, all right, about half a second after Ed fucking shot him. Must Ed belabor the point?

Despite Ed mouthing platitudes about love being a weakness, he sure was prone to falling into that sort of trap. It was so obvious that Lee was using him for her own convoluted purposes, not that it was any of Oswald's business.

So. Anyway. An invitation to this laughable affair. Clearly meant to drive home the fact that Oswald would always be alone and miserable. Oh, and it was presented to "You and a guest," Ed knew damn well Oswald didn't have anyone to ask to go with him.

Oswald hoisted himself to his feet and paced around his immaculate office, toying with the idea of hiring an escort. Finding a man willing to pretend to be Oswald's boyfriend was not a problem, but convincing Ed that they were a real couple would be. Ed would see right through it.

Of course, Oswald could always make up a story, spin a tale of...of eyes meeting across a crowded room, or...

Oswald made a disgusted noise in his throat and made his way back to his chair. The thought of bringing an escort into his confidence, allowing a stranger to peek into his insecurities and concocting a ruse to cover up his pathetic personal life made him bristle. No, no he could never allow himself to be so vulnerable.

It took three shots of hard liquor to slow the thoughts rampaging through his mind, the blessed numbness dulling the edges of his anger and he nodded off at his desk.

His next moment of awareness came when someone began shaking his shoulder in a most rude way and shoved something white in his face. A letter or something equally loathsome.

"You see this, Oswald?" someone shouted in his ear. "You got one too, right?"

Oswald groped for his cane and the knife in it, reacting on automatic, then he paused, and squinted.

The slightly blurred features of Jim Gordon scowled above him.

"Get off me!" he snapped, shoving Jim."What are you blathering about?"

Jim staggered back a couple of steps, swayed, then lumbered forward, still waving the missive. "This!" Jim said, aggrieved. "Invited ever'body, I bet."

Oswald leaned back and tried to focus on the white rectangle Jim was brandishing in his face. Now that Jim had stopped shaking him so rudely, he could see that it was the same wedding invitation.

How dare Jim barge in here! Took a lot of nerve. He was about to deliver the full force of his wrath, to scream for his halfwit bodyguards to sling the high and mighty Jim Gordon out on his ass, but now that Jim was fully in focus, he hesitated.

Jim's hair was dishevelled and his voice slurred, but far more distracting was the fact that Jim's tie was gone and his shirt was open almost to his navel. And he wasn't wearing an undershirt, either.

Oswald blushed to the roots of his hair, a confusing tangle of embarrassment and desire leaving him momentarily breathless.

The henchman, Louis, who'd followed Jim into the office coughed nervously. "He pushed past me, boss. You want I should get him outta here?"

Oswald forcibly redirected his attention past the expanse of bare skin just off to the right. "Where the hell is Trevor?" There were supposed to be two men on the door.

"Bathroom."

Oswald rubbed his eyes. "In future, I expect better effort. Get out."

As soon as he got rid of Jim, Louis was getting demoted. Or possibly get a couple of limbs broken, he hadn't decided yet.

Oswald coughed and looked pointedly at the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat."

He exhaled quietly as Jim at last put a comfortable distance between them, flopping down into the plush chair. With the safety of the desk between them, Oswald felt he could breathe normally again. "I must assume you're all in a lather about the invitation to Ed and Leslie's wedding." He picked up his own invitation where it lay on a stack of folders, and tossed it down again.

Jim snorted. "It's spite," he muttered. "The last time I saw her she tried to kill me. I can't...I don't even..." He threw his hands up as if giving up on any kind of understanding of women or of life in general, then let them fall onto the chair's arms with a thump.

"Yes, spite. Good enough reason." Oswald tapped his fingers on the armrest, then shrugged. What the hell. He supposed a drink in commiseration and shared self-pity wouldn't hurt.

Oswald got up to take another shot glass from the cabinet. Returning to the desk, he sat down and poured out two shots from the scotch bottle at his elbow.

Jim nodded his thanks, and took his, knocking it back in one go and grimacing.

Oswald peeked at him from the corner of his eyes. It was difficult to know where to put his gaze. Somehow the way Jim sprawled against the back of his chair caused his partially unbuttoned shirt to gape even wider, leaving a rather large expanse of his chest on display. Soft skin over the hard muscle of Jim's pecs.

Should Oswald say something? Jim probably wasn't entirely aware of the state of his shirt, but...

Damn it. He really didn't know what to say. Would you mind covering up, Jim? I can't handle the sight of your awesome bod.

The shotglass was leaving a ring on his polished desk and he busied himself with wiping it off with a napkin and shoving a hardcover book under the glass as a makeshift coaster.

Jim's sudden presence had ruined the pleasant numbness he'd previously achieved. Now his feelings bubbled to the surface again, raw and bare.

Somewhere beyond the heightened hum of Oswald's anxious libido, Jim was talking, but Oswald found his eyes straying to Jim's open shirt again until he was finally able to direct his gaze over to a spot just beyond Jim's ear. At last he could focus on what the other man was saying.

"...weren't any hard feelings, we both have to move on, but she really wants me there. He send you a note? Letter or something?"

Oswald met the other man's irritated frown. "Who?"

"Edward." Jim sounded exasperated. "Thought you two had a thing. He send you a personal letter or anything?"

"No, he did not." Oswald didn't feel like divulging the true nature of his relationship with Ed as it wasn't any of Jim's damn business anyway. He sipped at his drink, shrugging noncommitally. "So what's your point?"

"I think we should go together."

That open shirt was really incredibly distracting. "Go where?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "To the wedding, Oswald," he enunciated deliberately and slowly. "Jesus, you're drunk."

"So are you," Oswald snapped. "And I think I can do what I like in my own office! You know what, I've had it with you barging in here like you own the place, blundering around like a near-sighted elephant, so why don't you..."

At last, Jim's words sunk in.

"The wedding? With me?"

Jim's grin was lopsided as he relaxed again. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? Show 'em we've moved on."

A number of conflicting thoughts competed for Oswald's attention, and at last he tackled the one foremost in his mind. "Moved on. But...aren't you...Why would being with me..."

Jim sighed as if annoyed by his obtuseness. "I'm bi, Oswald."

"Since when?" Oswald shut his eyes. Stupid, and tactless.

Fortunately Jim decided to ignore his rude question. "You wanna go with me or not?" he demanded.

The brusqueness was classic Jim, but Oswald found himself struggling to accept the bizarreness of the words, and their implications. He definitely shouldn't have taken that last drink. His thoughts were more muddled than ever, the alcoholic buzz making it hard to concentrate.

Here Jim was, apparently having exhausted all other options, deciding to give Oswald a go. At least for the singular purpose of attending this horrible wedding.

Oswald should have felt insulted at being chosen as a last resort, should have been offended, should have felt something other than this wonderful, absurd, totally illogical golden feeling of a path opening up before him.

In addition, the prospect of the shocked look on Ed's face when he walked into the wedding venue on the arm of James Gordon of all people was too good to pass up.

A slow, evil smile spread across his face.

Jim chuckled and pointed at him. "See? Told ya it's a good idea."

Oswald inclined his head to acknowledge that it was, in fact, a good idea, giving Jim the credit. "Very well, I accept." He poured again and they raised their drinks to each other in a toast, grinning like idiots. Oswald could barely control the giggles threatening to break out. Man, he'd forgotten how good it felt to have Jim as a co-conspirator.

"We'll need a cover story."

"Easy enough," Jim said, his smile taking on a roguish tilt that made Oswald's heart flutter. "We go on a few outings, let people see us. Word'll get around, they got informants. Just like you." And the sanctimonious bastard actually smirked at him. Smirked.

"Oh, don't act so superior. Like the GCPD doesn't have their own stool pigeons," Oswald said. "The ticket scalper on Union. And that ex-con you keep 'running into' at the bakery on 122nd." He smiled at Jim's surprised look.

Jim chuckled ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Touche. So, let's shake on it." He levered himself to his feet and came around the side of the desk, hand outstretched.

Oswald stood to meet him and accepted the proffered hand.

But Jim didn't step back once the deal was sealed in the time-honored tradition. "How about the rest of it?"

Oswald groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Ugh, I'm too tired to get into details. If you have any ideas for a date sometime in the next week, just give me a call, and I'll..."

"No, not that. If we're going to make people think we're a couple, we have to be convincing." Jim stepped a little closer, clsoe enough so Oswald could feel the heat of his body, and he reached for Oswald's hand again and held it, rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

Oswald's breath hitched and his heart felt as if it was going to thunder its way out of his ribs."Oh, I see. You're referring, of course, to...to physical intimacy."

"Yeah. We should practice."

"Oh. Well. You mean...kissing?"

"Mm-hm." Jim's eyes flickered down to his mouth, then back up to meet his gaze, and Oswald felt a blush flood his entire body.

He swallowed hard, furious at himself for blushing, for the tremor in his voice, while at the same time increasingly scared out of his wits. "Um, sure. Why not? If you want to," he said carelessly.

By sheer force of will Oswald met Jim's eyes, though he was unable to keep himself from darting a glance once again down to Jim's lips, his neck, his partially visible chest.

Oswald looked away. He really couldn't, not until...

"Your shirt," he murmured, waving a hand vaguely in Jim's direction.

Jim glanced down, and, mercifully, at last, buttoned up.

When Oswald met Jim's eyes again, the other man raised his eyebrows slightly as if asking if everything was satisfactory.

Oswald couldn't speak. He could only nod, feeling as if the floor were about to drop out from under him.

Jim touched his hand to Oswald's chin, lightly holding him with thumb and forefinger, and moved in.

The rest of the world disappeared. Nothing else existed but Jim and the touch of his hand on his chin, on the way his other hand slid around the small of Oswald's back as if to hold him in place, and oh God, did Oswald need that extra bit of support because his legs just about folded.

His hands came to rest against Jim's biceps, and, oh God, they were as firm and lovely as he'd always suspected. Well, he'd been on the receiving end of Jim's temper often enough, he might as well get some enjoyment out of the other man's muscles for once.

Jim's mouth moved against his, slowly, exploringly, and Oswald did his best to mimic his movements, though it was a little more difficult to breathe than he'd expected, and it didn't help that most of the air had rushed out of his lungs when Jim took hold of him, so all too soon Oswald was forced to draw in an embarrassingly large gulp of air.

Jim drew his head back and his hand dropped from Oswald's neck to lie on his shoulder. Oswald tightened his grip on Jim's arms, sucking in air, feeling slightly dizzy, wanting, needing more of this.

Jim watched him with a little smile on his face, looking altogether too smug, apparently pleased at having left Oswald breathless.

Oswald swallowed hard and set his jaw. Jim had Oswald beat as far as experience went, and he so obviously knew what he was doing, but Oswald refused to give him the satisfaction of swooning and becoming a biddable lapdog panting for more.

Although Oswald definitely, desperately wanted more. It was pathetic how badly he wanted, but no need to let Jim know that.

"I'm a little rusty," Oswald said defiantly. "Could use more practice."

Jim hummed in agreement. "Guess we better."

He moved in again. Oswald slid his hands up Jim's arms, over his shoulders, until they came to rest on the back of his head, Oswald's fingers sinking into his short hair.

Jim's hands on his back smoothed up and down, occasionally pressing between his shoulder blades or along his spine. And all the while there was the movement of lips, of Jim gently seizing his bottom lip with teeth, occasionally his tongue darting out, which Oswald clumsily did his best to reciprocate.

It was a little easier, now, to coordinate his breathing with the press and release of their lips, and Oswald didn't feel so much that he was gulping for air like a landed fish.

Eventually, Jim drew back with a soft wet sound. "We good?"

Oswald re-adjusted his sleeves. "Yes, well." He cleared his throat. "I suppose that was sufficient." He did his best to fix Jim with a cold, haughty look to regain some footing and let Jim know he wasn't going to be turned into a pile of mush just with a little lip-locking, but wasn't sure how well it succeeded.

Jim, as usual, appeared unaffected by Oswald's attempt at coolness, and gave him one more peck on the lips. "Call you later."

He walked out, taking Oswald's heart with him.

Oswald lightly touched his fingertips to his lips. Everything was different now. He felt as if every one of his molecules was slowly being infused with warmth, spreading outward from wherever Jim touched him, forever changed. Jim kissed him so tenderly...he never would have expected...

Oswald sat behind the desk and clapped his hands over his mouth, giggling. His first real kiss, and shared with Jim. Well, why shouldn't he take a certain pleasure in it, to bask in the afterglow of Jim's attentions?

Because it was illusory. It wasn't real.

With a groan he dragged his hands down his face, his euphoria plummeting. All that making out was just pretend, part of the ruse they were concocting to stick it to their respective exes. What had he gotten himself into?

Perhaps he merely needed to get into the spirit of the thing. He was going to be spending a lot more time in Jim's company, so it would almost be like they were really dating. Almost. He shouldn't take it so seriously. Yes, that was the right attitude, just relax and enjoy himself for once, he could do that.

Maybe if he told himself that often enough he'd believe it.

Jim heaved a sigh as he made it past Oswald's granite-faced thugs and out onto the street, exhilirated at how much progress he'd already made.

It'd been touch and go for a little while there, trying to get in to see Oswald. Jim lingered in the club, trying to avoid the attention of Oswald's henchmen, any one of whom might be under orders to give him the boot.

And then one of the goons guarding Oswald's door left, and he took a chance, striding up and declaring, "I'm hear to see Penguin."

A technique he learned from Bullock, using words that implied he had an appointment although he didn't specifically say so, and the thug hesitated. Jim didn't give him time to think, but swept past him and went in, impulsively undoing half the buttons on his shirt as he crossed the room to where Oswald had nodded off over a half-empty bottle.

A cheap trick, and he'd probably feel like a bit of a slut tomorrow. God knew what the henchman thought. But it worked, that was the important thing, keeping Oswald unbalanced and possibly...dare he hoped... intrigued?

At least it stopped Oswald from throwing Jim out on his ass right away, and gave him enough time to explain his plan. His proposition. His big stupid cover story in which he could get close to Oswald again, because Jim couldn't care less about the damn wedding.

What he wanted was Oswald. Jim was done pretending not to care about him.

He'd crossed too many lines, he knew that, trampled Oswald's forgiving nature once too often, until the other man wouldn't have anything to do with him.

This was his last chance. Date Oswald under the pretext of the wedding, convince him that Jim had changed, and hopefully, Oswald would smile at him again the way he always used to. Or as close to that as possible. There wasn't really any way to regain what they'd had in the early days of their association, too much water under the bridge.

But Jim hoped nevertheless that something could be salvaged from the ashes, and maybe Oswald would like him again.

Jim felt a tingle go up his spine as he remembered their kiss, how Oswald was the one who suggested another. That had to mean something, didn't it? Jjim had always been better at actions than fancy words anyway, and he would be the first to admit he wasn't the greatest at coming up with master plans, but so far this one seemed to be working.

He needed a little more time. And practice. He'd gladly give Oswald all the practice he wanted.