Thanks guys for the support. I started a community, so if you have any other requests for it, let me know. Here's Day one of their week. Some days might be more than one chapter, but I'm sticking to this being a relatively short fic (for me)

Thanks to Seasammy13, Noface, OrangeGoggles, alice in the sweetland, Ruth Lechner, Bella and Guest for reviewing!

Disclaimer: I own only the OC's and the AU plot devices you don't recognize.

It did not take Oswald long before he came to the conclusion all on his own that he found Rosalie Scangarelo entirely lovely. It was the little things that he first took notice of in his discreet watching of her. Her small hands tapping idly to a wordless tune or her feet cross and uncrossing at the ankles with each shift in her seat, were just a few of the things that brought him delight to witness. He had to be discreet of course, in his spying, for Miss Mooney was already watching him with the keen eyes of a tiger. It kept him on his toes and served as a reminder that what he was doing was not only completely inappropriate, but dangerous too.

In all honesty, it was likely vanity that compelled his eyes to her, drawing him in hopelessly like a bee to flowers. It wasn't as if she had said more than two words to him yet, so it had to be of a physical nature. There was no guilt shed on his part for that. The thing that moved books off of shelves was the convoluted idea of 'love at first sight'. Not that he was in love, but he could admit to strong feelings of infatuation. She was a new face, fresh and exciting, delicate and beautiful, everything that he had always been told he would never have.

They were alone now, meaning he was reining in less with his staring. She couldn't notice only because his eyes were shielded behind dark sunglasses. Not the most inconspicuous disguise as it was raining heavily outside, but she didn't seem to notice or at least made no comment if she did. Currently they were driving around Gotham in the back of a slick black car, one with the back extended with the seats facing across from each other. Rosalie was seated across from him, the whitest beacon in the vehicle besides his fair skin. It was impolite to leer at a lady, something his mother had always taught him from a young age, so he kept his gazes respectful. In intervals he would shift from her face to her hands, and then down to her crossed legs, but never up passed her knees. They looked soft and smooth, even beneath the thin layer of nylon. His spindly fingers wanted to steal a touch of them, but that would have only been possible if there was a table situated between them with a large tablecloth draped over, keeping all prying eyes out; Rosalie's included.

The sigh escaped from his lips before he even knew what was happening, drawing the inevitable attention of Rosalie. Her cheeks were a little more flushed from the drink she had shared with Miss Mooney, and it caused a lofty look to blossom in her eyes that set loose a cage of bats in his stomach. It seemed her lips were moving before he could prepare, causing him to work fast on preventing a blunder as she began to address him.

"You're very quiet Mr. Cobblepot. Is that supposed to be for my benefit or were those Miss Mooney's instructions for you?"

His instructions were to keep her company, but he had no delusions that he was a trusted bodyguard, not when her driver had shown himself. Oswald sometimes had his suspicions that there was a certain height to body mass ration that needed to be met in order for one to be with the mob. Could have been what was keeping him out for so long.

"N-no not that, you can address me as Oswald ma'am."

"Oh alright," She agreed with a small and brief smile. "You can call me Ro, everyone else does."

He frowned slightly, his mind made up that he wouldn't call her that if it was something she was expecting from him. He wouldn't be another shade of grey in what he thought was her dreary life. "That wouldn't be the proper behavior for me to follow."

Her brow arched in a quizzical expression. "Fish said you were polite, but I think you're a bit stubborn too."

He laughed with force, and maybe to cover the flustered feeling brought about by her compliment, or whatever it was. Her stare was blank in return, like she couldn't quite understand what the amusing part was, and he hastily cleared his throat, struggling for breath when he swallowed a queer combination of saliva and air. Rosalie set her purse down on the seat beside her, making the bold leap to jump across the expanse of the back seat to come along beside him, patting him on the back so he could catch his breath.

"Don't go dying on me, I need you for a whole week yet and we've barely started this affair."

Water leaked from the corner of his eyes, unnoticed once again because of his sunglasses. He heeded her words, a bit too carefully perhaps because of her use of the words need and affair. He wouldn't fail her now, something in his brain computing that he was charged to her for a reason, like Lancelot to Guinevere. He was conscious that her hand was still on his back, tucked between his shoulders and he had no way of begging for her to remove it when he began a nervous tremble. The small tremors wracked his body, and he hoped to whoever was listening that she would stop staring. If she stared for too long, she might see him, and that was his greatest fear.

"I assure you that I am well now," He said in what was his politest form of dismissal. "It would be safer if you returned to your seat." Safer because she would be less likely to end up in harm's way, lest he commit some form of larceny upon her; an untoward touch or caress.

She looked like she wanted to make some form of protest, and he wondered if he was a rarity to tell her no. She was Mr. Falcone's niece after all. Instead, she shifted back over to her seat, knocking on the window separating them from the driver. "Could you stop here please?"

There was a curt nod from the driver, and the car began to slow into a full stop in a neighborhood that was not all well to do like the so many streets of Gotham. Rosalie snatched up her purse and was stepping out of the car before Oswald could make a move to stop her; the result of being left stupefied by her proximity, but he recovered quickly, scooping up his umbrella as he made to follow her.

"Rosalie!" He called, voice fragile but stern as he hurried in uneven steps to catch her through the rain. She answered to the sound of her name, hair already drenched at the top with a smile playing on her mouth. It probably had to do with his stubborn determination and the use of her full name. He was grateful she waited for him regardless, and as a courtesy he opened up his umbrella, unleashing it like a weapon. She seemed to survey his actions as he wielded it above his head, stepping closer until it shielded them both from the pouring rain. "You'll g-get sick from a chill." And then he'll get scolded by Miss Mooney for it.

"That's very considerate of you Oswald, thank you," She said, looping her arm through his, forcing yet another contact between them. His arm grew taut, hanging between them like a piece of steel as she guided him forward. "I used to come here all the time when I was a girl, well, when I was younger than I am now."

He was perhaps one of the best guides of Gotham considering his affinity for his home, and he had filed away in his memory that the location she was indicating to was a small café were musicians were free to exploit their musical talent on the clients. It had a classic look of old and rundown, even when it was new, and he was pleasantly surprised by her apparent affection towards the establishment. "Are you gifted in the musical arts?"

"No," She declined wistfully. "But I am an excellent listener, and I would sometimes dance on occasion, if the particular song struck me and I was in a well enough mood."

He would dance all of her songs with her if she asked it, even if he looked like an awkward hobgoblin while doing so. "You grew up in Gotham too?" He asked in somewhat infantile delight. Unfortunately, Rosalie didn't look to share his sentimental attachment to the city, the light leaving her eyes until they looked like two puddles of murky water.

"I've never left," She said despondently. "And I won't be going anywhere anytime soon, not with my recent engagement."

Oswald thought he might trip over himself, and he realized it was his world spinning in on itself. "You're engaged?" He choked out forcefully.

"Miss Mooney didn't tell you . . . strange."

It wasn't. It was a bait, to see what he would do without this information and whether or not he would have to return to Miss Mooney with his tail in hand. "That's lovely for you. Congratulations." And let her husband-to-be's eyes be plucked out from his head by crows.

"I suppose it's an event to say something like that, but I'm not happy about it Oswald."

"I don't understand," He really didn't. "Aren't you in l-love?"

"No, of course not," She said, now leading them inside the small café that was almost completely desolate. "I mean, he's not bad, but when does a person like me get to marry for love? The notion doesn't exist; my life is dictated by my family."

She pulled out one of the wooden chairs, its uneven legs scraping against the floor as she took her seat at one of the unoccupied tables. Folding up his umbrella, he joined at her side, only noticing just now that her driver had not followed them. It was the only reason she could be open with this story. Oswald couldn't feel like he could relate to her on any level now though. She had been born sucking on a silver spoon, whether she had asked for it or not, whilst all he had growing up was his mother—whom he loved dearly. Empathy would be the best approach, and he was already superb at that because of listening to Miss Mooney all day.

"I'm sure they are only looking to protect you. You are Don Falcone's niece after all."

"I think that's written on my birth certificate," She said sarcastically. "But I suppose there's a certain romanticized quality to growing up in this lifestyle. Is that why you so desperately want to be a professional criminal?"

Her inquiries had him feeling twitchy, but he wouldn't press the panic button just yet. "Gotham is my home, what else would I be doing?"

She seemed stuck on an answer for him, her lips forming an 'O' before she smiled thinly. "Good point. You need to have edge to survive, and I haven't met anyone who's entirely good in this city."

Neither had Oswald, but he was keeping his eyes opened to the one who would have the fatal flaw of a bleeding heart. He kept quiet with that thought, only the music from the old piano in the corner of the room making any sound because of the gentleman seated at it. Rosalie was looking at him hard, her visage still shaded to him behind his dark lenses.

"Take off your sunglasses." She commanded suddenly.

"Why?" his voice was a fragile whisper, and he kept his hands hidden beneath the table as they shook.

"Because I like your eyes," Her head tilted to the side, not a woman to be trifled with when she was used to getting what she wanted from any man, excluding her Uncle. "Please Oswald?"

Only for you. His hands slid up to the frames, grasping each arm between his fingers until he drew them back off his face. He kept his eyes downcast, afraid he'd see her wince back again if he looked her in the eye. He heard her chair scrape back, and her once pristine heels, now dirtied from rain water, were standing directly before him in his view as well as her opened palms.

"Dance with me."

She gained his attention again by trick of command. Miss Mooney was right, he was obedient. But Rosalie wasn't expecting anything from him but his company, and he was usually never the one broached for that, having never had a proper friend that wasn't kept behind a cage. He set his umbrella down on the table with the sunglasses, stripped of his armor as he gingerly took her hands in his own, and my was he surprised by how small hers were inside of his.

"See, I'm not so horrible." She jested, moving her hands from his grasp to rest down against his chest while his moved accordingly around her waist. His hold was veil thin, barely there on the small of her back that dipped in a smooth curve like a bow.

"I know that." He wheezed a nervous laugh before his face fell into a calm expression. The piano player was watching them as he switched to a slower tempo of despairing romance. Rosalie's fingers were spread wide on his chest, feeling up and down slowly on the material of his waistcoat and tugging at his tie, but to what purpose he didn't know. What would Miss Mooney say if she saw them together right now? Nothing good, no, Oswald was certain of that.

"I think I'm looking forward to the rest of our week," Her tone was as cool as the rain water that seeped into his clothes, and he could feel his own heart beating as she wrapped a hand around the end of his tie, giving it a gentle tug as she gazed up at his face. "This has been a wonderful evening, memorable for me."

Could it really be? She must have had so many great memories because of the advantages of her upbringing that he failed to see how this moment would be anything but trite for her. Indeed, his life paled in comparison to hers. Oswald didn't say anything else though, terrified he would ruin the moment when his heart was abound with ardor. He just held her until the song was over, and the time arrived for her to return home for another day.

This all seems sweet doesn't it? You know that means it won't last, nothing does in Gotham. I want this story to be unconventional in the telling, where it proceeds to move backwards in how the normal development of a relationship would occur. Next chapter will have Rosalie's POV for a little bit, so we can finally see what she is thinking of Oswald. His are pretty clear here, so let's stick on track with that. Also, any thoughts on last night's episode?! Poor Robin Lord Taylor just bit the dust on Walking dead on Sunday also (spoiler alert for those who are just getting into that)

Chapter song: Before my time by Scarlett Johansson (I didn't even know she sang for the longest time, but it's beautiful!)