Oswald knows.

Though . . .

Now that he looks back on it, he's not sure when.

Perhaps, it was when Jeremiah had first said Bruce Wayne's name in the Penguin's company, as if the mere word was akin to that of a celestial being.

Or, maybe it was something else.

For instance, whenever the two managed to end up in the same room. Jeremiah's attention would shift to cling to the brunet with those uncanny eyes of his, seemingly transfixed, following his every move. Almost as if, in some odd way, Bruce was the center of Jeremiah's fucked up universe. An anchor, if you will. But that had just been an assumption, at first. He obviously hadn't thought it was correct, a trick of the light and all that. So, Oswald can't say that this was when he'd realized what was going on.

Maybe it was along the lines of the most current circumstance where when Bruce moves, Jeremiah seems to naturally move with him. Similar to how those sappy teen drama books depict it. Magnetism and all that shit. Not that Oswald would ever confirm nor deny the fact of him ever reading one. But this very thing had occurred when both the Penguin's group and the Sirens had joined forces to defend Gotham against Ra's and Jeremiah's plans, finding them with a restrained Bruce in an abandoned warehouse by the river.

It was after Barbara had left their group to confront the enemy, the rest having stayed back, waiting for the time to strike, when the Penguin had caught it: Jeremiah's reaction to the disruption. How he'd instantly gripped Bruce's forearm and tugged him over with him, keeping him close, gun held in the other hand as he kept his eyes firmly on the intruder. It was in his stance. How he hovered. How . . . protective he appeared to be. Seemingly connected to the hip.

Led

By

A

String.

Of course, after this, Oswald still hadn't caught on to what was actually occurring, after all, the bridges had been blown and their tie to the mainland had been utterly severed, like a babe with their umbilical cord newly cut, an unsettling image to use as a comparison, but it fit. So, during the mess, Penguin hadn't been given the opportunity to appraise the situation fully. He was too busy with the fact that it had hardly taken anything for Jeremiah to turn Gotham into a literal Colosseum of kill or be killed.

However, after the whole ordeal-when everything had more or less calmed down (not much, but enough to function)-Oswald had snooped around, managing to catch snippets of conversation on what had occurred prior to them showing up that fateful day. He learned about how Jeremiah had wanted to rise together with Bruce at his side, as equals, while the city burned. Let the city fall, work together, side by side yadda, yadda, the usual schtick.

At this point, Oswald had begun to see the outlined picture, caught onto the pattern, and began to connect the dots when he was given the final piece. It was in the form of a phone call from one of his men who had caught wind of a supposed rumor that Jeremiah was in the middle of an extensive project: digging a tunnel. A tunnel that was apparently for Bruce Wayne . Oswald had sat back in his seat upon hearing that. Whether or not it was true mattered not, it was enough. All he had to do was combine all the facts, all the touches, all the looks, and Penguin found himself left with a pretty obvious picture. One that, to Oswald's chagrin, painted Jeremiah as a mirror image of his past self. A past that brought nothing but displeasure and memories of him being alone, longing, wanting, for someone he could never have.

And, because of that,

Oswald saw the truth of Jeremiah Valeska.

Saw it so distinctly, that, Oswald couldn't help but decide to make it his responsibility to find the remaining Valeska and try his damnedest to rectify the situation. As a result, the following morning Oswald sent out some of his men with strict orders to, no matter the obstacle, find Jeremiah Valeska's hiding spot. On his end, the Penguin scoured the current map of the city which had been marked up with marker and pen with the present areas that all the villains had claimed for themselves. He glowered at the map in distaste, muttering to himself before slamming the table with his palm. "Where is he!?" It was much too early for this.

Nevertheless, Oswald continued, hovering between the crumpled map and the phone at his side. To his utter annoyance, Oswald found himself waiting, and waiting, and waiting. The phone was silent beside him. Taunting. He had half a mind to fling it across the room but chose to throw the glass of wine at the wall instead. The cup smashed pleasingly against the wall, red wine dripping down its surface as Oswald ignored its aftermath, turning back to the map, gnawing a nail as he glared at it. Surely Jeremiah wasn't hiding in a territory led by one of the other villains. He certainly wouldn't be befriending Scarecrow and Jervis Tetch yet, they had been too close with Jerome Valeska for that to happen anytime soon. So their areas were out-he crossed both off with a red marker and sighed when he realized it was almost out of ink. Today just wasn't his day.

It was many red pen's later, three hours to be exact when Oswald was just sitting down for lunch, that he was rewarded with a phone call. He dove across the table for it, nearly knocking his plate off, and snapping it open with a flourish.

"We got one." At the confirmation, the Penguin's lips twitched up into a smile of anticipation.

"You're positive?" He prompted before shifting in his chair, suddenly growing suspicious. Had it really been this easy?

"Yeah, boss. It's definitely one of his." A moment of silence followed, leaving Oswald's suspicion to modify itself, becoming impatience in a matter of seconds.

"And!? Where is he then?"

"Ah, sorry. We're still working on him. All we've gotten out of him was something' to do with a tunnel for Bruce, boss." Bringing up his free hand, Oswald rubbed his temple.

"I know that much. Coerce him into telling us Valeska's location!"

"I-Well-W-We are, Boss. Have been for some time. He's not talkin'." Sighing now, Oswald closed his eyes. Did no one know how to things around here but him?

"Fine, fine" He snapped. "I'll be down there in fifteen. The address?"

Hardly five minutes had past when Oswald found himself limping out the door and into his vehicle, twisting the cane of his till it was situated stiffly between his legs-and leaned his weight on it. The driver simply looked at him and with that, they were off, and just as they were, the sky-a darkened twisted mass of clouds-opened up and rain poured from the heavens. The Penguin pursed his lips as he stared out the rain-streaked windows. Oh, how this city had fallen. He loved a good crime. Especially a well-thought out one. But never one against his personal self, and never like the one Jeremiah had unleashed onto Gotham. His home. There were psychotic plans, and then there was Jeremiah's. He had to give credit though, if the Valeska had been going for pure chaos and anarchy, he'd certainly achieved it. The city had sunk, falling into itself metaphorically, becoming a true nightmare, such so that order was hard to control. Now they just had to get off, somehow.

It hadn't taken long to squeeze the info out of the supporter (take off a few fingers and toes and someone can recall anything ). However, as luck would have it, as he'd been leaving, Penguin had come face to face with Bruce, the kid a brooding shadow as he made his way up and down the streets. They'd stopped, the younger obviously suspicious, but he'd remained to hear him out. All he had to say was Jeremiah's name and Oswald had seen the look in the kid's eyes, one of betrayal and hatred. If he'd been anyone else, Penguin wouldn't have known to look for anything else in that glare, but it was there, beneath it all, the sorrow, the guilt, the affection, the loss of someone one cared about. It hurt more then Oswald cared to admit. Edward had never reciprocated him and here he was, watching a similar situation burning to ash, although it seemingly was mutual to some degree on both ends. Or maybe he was really reading too much into it. Seeing what he wanted to see. Seeing what he'd wanted to see in his own. After all, it could be friendship he was perceiving. This thought only grew the longer they talked. Bruce had been tight on the details but he told Penguin about how they'd known each other before Jeremiah had lost his minds. They'd been friends . . . . Was he misreading the situation here? No, no, he was right, at least about Jeremiah's side of things, he was positive. . . . Or maybe Jeremiah was literally insane and was just hopelessly obsessed over the kid.

He sighed.

Oswald wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

Penguin found himself standing outside the entrance to the tunnel, his eyes narrowed to see into its inky blackness and failing to make out much of interest. There were lights, but the ones that had survived were limited with their light, and the rest were void. Great. This was a perfect start.

Taking a breath and asserting every bit of his confidence, Oswald made his way into the tunnel, allowing the darkness to swallow up his form. His cane tapped a soothing rhythm as he slowly made his way, using what little light escaped the ones above, for he realized that some were working, but sporadically, blinking rapidly before going out for seconds on end. He became ever watchful the further he went, looking out for any of Jeremiah's followers, and keeping silent, listening for any movement, even forgoing the use of his cane to limp along so noise was down to a minimum.

There were no men that he could see, even long after Oswald could no longer see the opening to the tunnel. So they'd already made decent headway. That also wasn't too comforting. But, why a tunnel? Why a tunnel for Bruce Wayne? That still didn't make any sense to Oswald, no matter how long he walked and picked at his brain for a possibility. However, he came to a halt, both physically and mentally when he caught a barely audible noise. He strained his ears, moving forward in the dark, stretching out his hand and clinging to the wall as he moved. The sounds were louder now-encompassing and echoing off the walls-sounds of people working, digging, slaving away. Remaining silent (although with all the noise, Penguin was sure no one would hear if he suddenly were trip) Oswald kept to the wall till it curved, opting to peer around it instead of continuing on.

The sounds weren't just there for aesthetic, people, men and women, young and old worked at the sides of the tunnel, their eyes blank, movements stilted. Hypnotized . This left Oswald confused, he hadn't thought Jeremiah would have been able to form such an affiliation with Jervis Tetch so promptly. Though, not too astonishing, he'd known many-himself included-to side with whoever was available at the time. Perhaps it was just a simple alliance. After all, Oswald didn't see Jervis although, now that he'd looked past the workers, he'd spotted him, Jeremiah. Unlike the hypnotized recruits, Jeremiah was at the far end, seated comfortably on a chair, one leg crossed over the other, holding a flashlight and flipping through a magazine with a bored expression. Oswald frowned, coming to stand around the corner and brought down his cane with a loud smack to the hard floor, announcing his presence in a way that even he was proud of.

Piercing green eyes flicked up the instant Jeremiah perceived the sound and met Oswald's blue gaze, his own glinting in the dim light. The hand holding the flashlight tilted upwards so its light shone into the Penguin's face. Jeremiah cocked his head with a smile at his visitors face, only for his eyes to drift down to a watch on his other wrist.

"You took longer than I thought, Penguin." The magazine was promptly shut, "I was speculating on it taking an hour after you'd received the intel. But you took your time, didn't you." Jeremiah slipped his right leg off the other and stood in such a graceful manner that Oswald couldn't help but purse his lips at.

"If you knew of my arrival," Oswald smiled, tightly. "Why didn't you run for the hills, hm? You seem to be doing a lot of that lately, Valeska. Running and hiding from the light of day like a rat. Even dug a tunnel for yourself! Right at home!" Jeremiah didn't rise to the bait, instead, he dropped the magazine onto the seat and drifted forward, his hands lay idly at his sides, eyes non-blinking. . . . Had he blinked since Oswald had arrived? He wasn't all that sure. It was unnerving and Penguin wasn't fond of unnerving characters.

"Comparable to a rat, I may be. But, a rat, I certainly am not." Jeremiah emphasized the point by looking down at his crisp suit and pulling a hair off its fabric, indicating his humanity in the physical sense. Though, to the Penguin, he would have bet that there had been some loss in humanity when the gas had overtaken Jeremiah . . . unless there hadn't been any to begin with. Perhaps, like Jerome, Jeremiah had been concealing his real intentions all along. Oswald's grip on his cane tightened.

"Uh-huh, just as you're certainly sane, too." Oswald couldn't help but thrust the verbal barb out and was smugly satisfied when something tensed in Jeremiah's face. It was small. Hardly noticeable. But it was there.

Those eyes rose back to meet his, their sheen unsettling in the dim light as they glowered, a green fire burning far in their depths.

"I am sane." The words were pointed, confident , and irritated. Irritated in a way that the aspect of his sanity had certainly been the subject of far too many conversations already. So Oswald did what he thought was best: change the subject back to safer terrain.

He didn't get the chance too.

"Although the timing isn't what I'd previously desired when I let slip about the tunnel, I assumed a mob would arrive. Not," Jeremiah's eyes flicked up and down his form faster then Oswald could blink, "A solitary individual without any backup whatsoever." Neither moved, "So, tell me, Penguin, why are you here? All alone."

Oswald forced a smile and, in one swift movement, had jerked out the gun from his coat pocket. He may have come alone, but he wasn't foolish enough to not come prepared. Even if he'd first come here with the prospect of proving himself falsely on the matter of what was happening between Jeremiah and Bruce, perhaps . . . it would be better to simply shoot the other now. Feelings be damned. It would definitely disperse grief that was certain to come later on from the Valeska. He was a walking bomb after all.

Jeremiah didn't even twitch at the sight of the weapon, instead, his red lips curled into a grin that had Oswald recalling Jerome's own devious smile. They really were similar. Even if Jeremiah now was as white as a sheet, had dyed his hair a black that-oddly enough-had a greenish tint, and also had taken up the usage of makeup for reason's the Penguin couldn't perceive.

With an air of indifference towards the apparent threat, Jeremiah-still grinning-gestured to the tunnel about them, the workers still continuing as if neither were there. "Tell me, Penguin. What do you think of my gift for Bruce?" The wide grin curled into a tiny smile and Oswald found the affectionate tone and how the name had fallen from Jeremiah's lips like a prayer hard to miss. Hell, even if he'd been deaf, the simple fact that actual emotions were glittering behind those soulless eyes were sufficient enough to detect the elation. Though, Penguin still didn't understand the tunnel in general.

"How the hell is a tunnel a gift for him?" Oswald balked, confused.

Jeremiah had looked away, gazing absently as he watched the workers. It was almost like he'd forgotten that Penguin was currently holding a gun, though Oswald knew that wasn't the case.

"It'll end at Wayne manor when it's complete." The Penguin blinked, looking hard at the younger man whose eyes were drifting about, no longer seeming to see the tunnel as his gaze was a million miles away, in a place that Oswald could not reach-before they fell back to his, hard and cold once more. Two lumps of green zircon staring back into his own. With a tiny huff, Oswald realized the man still hadn't blinked, and this time, Oswald had been taking note. What, had the gas removed the act of blinking altogether? Looking past the fact that the non-blinking only attributed to the man's oddness-something Oswald hadn't thought could be added to at this point-was it really possible? He'd come all this way to prove it to himself, whether it be true or false. Was Jeremiah capable of such a thing? . . . . Of course who was he to ask that of all people? . . . But it was proven, at least in his eyes, that Jeremiah was indeed in love with Bruce Wayne. Well, apparently even lunatics like Jeremiah Valeska could love. Who'd have thought?

Oswald sighed, to his displeasure, this whole ordeal was giving him flashbacks to when he'd been fawning over Ed and the Penguin had to swallow down the urge to frown at the unwelcome memories. Instead, he eyed Jeremiah, the gun heavy in his grip.

"You Valeska twins really know nothing of subtly." Those bright green eyes narrowed at the mention of Jerome before glazing over with a look of curiosity hinted with bewilderment. The eyes shone. Why, dear God, do they not blink!?

"To what are you referring too?"

Oswald threw up the hand not holding the gun, gesturing towards the tunnel just as Jeremiah had only seconds ago, but, in comparison, his was jerky and undoubtedly irritated by the flush overwhelming his face. " THIS! All this, Jeremiah! It's all for Bruce, right?" Jeremiah gave him a simple nod, waiting for him to get the point. "So, instead of just telling him the truth, you decided to make an elaborate plan of . . . what? Trying to get him back to his manor after YOU willingly helped blow the bridges? You're the reason he can't get home!" Oswald limped forward, his cane melodically hitting the hard floor as he neared the other and pulled the gun back in order to rub the side of his hand against his forehead in distress. Was Jeremiah really this dumb? "Well, let me tell you from experience!" The gun dropped to his side as Oswald got right into the other's personal space. "This. Will. NOT . Make him love you!" Oswald was practically spitting as he got into Jeremiah's face, his own craned to look up at him with a sneer, teeth bared and eyes feral, glaring into those damned unblinking eyes. Jeremiah, much to the Penguin's surprise, actually does blink at this and, to Oswald's satisfaction, tenses; his mouth opening and closing before blinking once more, then his eyes are drifting past Penguin's face, staring off past his shoulder, deep in thought.

"Did you hear me?" Oswald snaps, cupping both the gun and cane tightly in his balled up fists. "You're going to lose him at this rate, Jeremiah!"

Jeremiah remained silent, those eyes so lost in thought that Oswald began to wonder if he'd been wrong in his previous assumption. No! No, he was right! There were too many factors! He was done second-guessing himself.

Nothing was said from the Penguin, nor the Valeska, then, a soft: "I don't . . . " Green eyes closed for a brief moment, as if truly confused, they reopened and Oswald had to fight the desire to step back at the raw emotion he found within their depths. There was confusion, disbelief, and a brief flicker of something akin to realization beginning to exist. Jeremiah licked his lips, his Adams apple bobbing. " . . . What makes you think I'm in love with him?" The word in question was hushed on the other's lips, as if the very sound of it was impossible for Jeremiah to comprehend. The Penguin rolled his eyes with a sigh of exasperation.

"Well, THIS is a good start of proving it," he gestured to the tunnel once more with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes wide, voice echoing around them. "Or! Let's talk about your obsession with him. You think I didn't hear about how all Ra's had to do was simply mention Bruce and you suddenly were on board!? Or the fact that you shot Selina? Or, how about, the looks full of longing?" He stamped his cane harshly to the floor, pursing his lips.

Jeremiah's eyes darted away, scrambling to think of what to say. He apparently wasn't prepared for this conversation of all things. He chewed the inside of his lip in consideration. " . . . I simply want his friendship, Penguin. A brother."

" Friendship?" Oswald scoffed, followed quickly by a harsh laugh. "Uh-huh, sure it's friendship. Come on, don't play me for a fool, Valeska. Anyone that's been in a similar position can see it! And I can Certainly see it." Oswald swallowed as he recalled Edward. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, turning to stare at a random worker, trying to get his bearings back and calm down his boiling blood. Noting the other's silence, Oswald looked at the other from the corner of his eye, frowning at the lost expression on Jeremiah's face as he himself realized that, even though he'd been right, Jeremiah hadn't even known . " . . . Dear God, you're so obsessed that you don't even realize it . . . Do you?"

For the first time, Jeremiah says absolutely nothing. He forgoes everything to simply stare at him, his eyes blinking before turning around and looking down the tunnel.

Oswald sighs, looking at the gun still clutched in his hand and pocketing it. His eyes lift to stare at the other's back which is rigid and tense.

"Whether you want it or not, Jeremiah here's some advice. Forget the damn tunnel. If you care about Bruce at all . . . . you have to know, somewhere in the screwed up brain of yours, this isn't going to get his attention the way you subconsciously want it to. This won't make him love you. It'll only push him away." Believe me, I know. He wanted to add that last part, but he'd already said too much. He had found Jeremiah, proven-to some extent-that he'd been right and not losing his mind, and hopefully opened his eyes a bit-though that had certainly not been the plan at the start, but whatever, it was done.

Straightening his suit, Oswald limped past Jeremiah.

"Penguin." A part of Oswald wished he hadn't stopped but he did, though he didn't turn around, simply waited. The silence that followed was brimming with various things unsaid, he could practically feel the others unblinking eyes boring into his back, unsure what to say, unsure how to voice what he wanted to express. A rare moment in any Valeska's case, he knew from personal experience.

When nothing came, the Penguin gave a stiff tip of his head. "Just take what I've told you and think on it, Valeska. Before it's too late. Once you burn this bridge, no pun intended, the possibility of you rebuilding it with him is very, very improbable." He stood straight, sniffing lightly as he himself wondered if it were possible to fix what he and Edward had had."I wish you luck. Hopefully, you'll succeed where I did not. Good day, Jeremiah. I pray we will not meet again, though that too is quite unlikely." With those final words, Oswald confidently limped up the tunnel, never looking back.

Not moving a muscle, Jeremiah's eyes followed him until he could no longer make out the Penguin's form from the encompassing darkness. Green eyes abounding with dispute and doubt fell to the floor, his hands clenching over and over at his sides. He did nothing for a while. Simply stood and meditated, contemplating over his own emotions, on Penguin's words, on Bruce . He went in circles, always coming back to Bruce, his face, that small smile of his, those dark, alluring eyes and the days when they'd been nothing more than two friends working together.

Jeremiah let slip a prolonged sigh, whispering the other's name in admission, his shoulders sagging as he made the conscious decision to go find Ecco, locate Jervis Tetch, and have the hypnosis lifted from the workers.

They'd no longer be needing the tunnel after all.

Author: So I can up with this headcanon of mine where Jeremiah, due to him having been in his bunker for far too long, doesn't really know that what he feels for Bruce is love. When I came up with that a few months ago, I took it and ran with it. And here we are! Finally, this is complete. It's also up on Archive of Our Own, in case you see it and think it was stolen somehow.

Please do comment if you get the chance!

Have a wonderful day, luvs.

-Jinx of the desert