Chapter Ten: Heart To Heart

Thanks to my smart comment towards Frankie Carbone ("Bite me!"), and my attack on Tom, and the untimely demise that followed on behalf of the one and only Don Salvatore Maroni, I was given a week's 'suspension'. By that meaning, I was getting a paid vacation—Maroni considered it a service to have done away with a sleazy guy like Tom, and both he and Oswald agreed that I needed some R&R.

When Oswald awoke to get ready for work, I was up, making breakfast. He and I smiled at each other in acknowledgment before he went into the bathroom; I heard the shower running, and I anticipated the smell of cologne and soap that would follow when he and I embraced.

My cell phone went off as I was setting the table and Oswald, fully dressed in his suit, came into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table as I put his plate in front of him. He grinned like a little boy, happy with the pancakes and sausage and banana on it. I answered the phone, expecting Jim. Instead, I heard a female's voice.

"Sylvia, are you available for a lunch date?" she said.

"Barbara?" I muttered. "Why are you calling from Jim's phone?"

"He had your number on speed dial."

"That doesn't really answer my question," I said, sitting at the table with Oswald, who looked at me curiously. "Are you okay? You sound worried."

"Why would I be worried?"

I shrugged, saying, "You're engaged to a police officer, and a hard-headed one at that, Barb. You have every reason to be. What's up?"

"I need to talk to someone."

"Why not Jim?"

"He's…. we're not really talking at the moment."

Ah….

Oswald watched as I engaged my future sister-in-law in what appeared to be a therapeutic session (for her, not for me). While it wasn't the first time Barbara had called me for a girl's chat, it certainly was the first time regarding my own brother. Her voice was soft, like she was making a secret collect call.

"So, can you make it?" Barbara asked hopefully.

"My boss recently gave me some time off," I chuckled, smirking at Oswald who returned the small mischievous smile. "I can meet you. Where do you want to go?"

"Could you meet me here?"

"At your place?"

"Yes," said Barbara, her voice becoming a little softer. "Jim is acting…. odd."

"He's a cop," I said, shrugging again. "Have you considered that…."

Barbara hissed, "Don't tell me he's doing it to keep me safe."

"Well, what do you want me to say? Dad was the same way, you know. He kept secrets all the time. It's the way of the business; it's a family trait, passed on from generation to generation. And Jim is no different."

"You don't have any secrets," Barbara pointed out.

Oswald finished the sausage and with two full cheeks, he looked at me, reminding me of a chipmunk. I suppressed a laugh. If Barbara only knew my secret.

"I'll come as soon as I'm finished eating," I stated.

"Thank you. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome. I'll see you soon."

"Thanks again."

Click.

I placed the phone on the table, sighing. Oswald's look of concern deepened.

"I imagine your afternoon will be busy," Oswald noted.

I shook my head.

"That was Barbara. She wants to talk."

"About what? Whom?"

"Jim, it appears. He's keeping secrets from her."

Oswald said with a hint of sarcasm, "Like what, exactly?"

I nudged his uninjured leg with my foot playfully and he grinned broadly at me. Shameless.

"You know what. Jim wouldn't tell her about you. But she suspects something."

Barbara was in trouble, deeply troubled by Jim's profession and secretive personality. I admitted that ever since Oswald's return back to my life, Jim had become more edgy, but otherwise, normal and high-strung. Barbara, of course, didn't know who Oswald Cobblepot was or why or how Jim was tied into it. If Barbara had an inkling of what might have happened or what had changed Jim, it was certainly driving her crazy.

I wouldn't be doing her any favors. I sure as hell wouldn't be telling her about Oswald any time soon.

"Everyone else thinks I'm a dead man." Oswald said dismissively, digging into his pancakes. "Maybe she assumes that your brother killed me." He looked up pointedly, adding as an afterthought, "Everyone else does."

I smiled saying, "And how would she assume such a thing?"

"My dear, you should know better than anyone else the way rumors spread in Gotham," Oswald returned. "Like a brush fire."

I debated in turn: "She lives in a sheltered world. The only time she knows there's bad stuff happening in Gotham is if Jim tells her."

"You don't tell her anything?" Oswald countered.

"I don't tell her anything." I reaffirmed. "Barbara's innocent—it's annoying, really. She knows about me as much as Jim has told her."

"Meaning?"
"She thinks I am a trouble maker, but nothing more." I said smoothly, getting up to fetch a second cup of coffee. "Jim hasn't told her the times I've been arrested, or countless other crimes of which I've been guilty. So, I doubt he'd come out and say he killed a man."

Oswald smiled deviously: "He didn't."

"I'm aware," I returned, gesturing to him. "She'd be in complete denial, of course, if she did hear any sort of rumor."

"I can't imagine why. You seem content with murder," Oswald said smoothly, licking his lips.

I said sheepishly, "In my defense, I never killed anyone."

"You shot one of our hired gentlemen in the face," Oswald reminded, allowing me to recall the man that had also tried to rape me on top of the dead former manager.

I pointed at him saying, "You know that was self-defense."

Oswald slowly got to his feet and slightly staggered towards the counter, setting his plate in the kitchen sink. He took a step towards me, placing one hand on the back of my chair, the other caressed my face.

"And had it not been self-defense, would you have delivered the same sentence?"

"He tried to take what wasn't his," I said softly. "What's yours." I grinned darkly, adding, "I'd have killed him either way."

Pleased with my response, Oswald grinned widely, whispering, "I count myself lucky then."

He lowered his head to mine for a short and tender kiss. He moved to withdraw; I caught his tie, and pulled him back so as to deepen the kiss. First it was quick, sweet pecks, then as he reciprocated with the same heat, the kissing became more passionate. Then I heard him sigh in protest.

"I have to go," Oswald sighed, withdrawing reluctantly. "Breakfast was delicious, as always."

I beamed with his approval.

"That reminds me," Oswald noted suddenly.

I looked at him curiously as he moved to the refrigerator, opening the door and gesturing to the lower shelf. Inside was a pink box, unlabeled.

"What's that?" I asked.

"If you don't mind," said Oswald smoothly, "I would like you to run something of an errand for me. I was going to do it myself, but seeing as I'm running a little behind…."

I took the box off the shelf, looking inside.

"What's this?"

"Cannoli," Oswald answered.

I looked at him questionably.

"It's for the hired help," he explained.

"Isn't that sweet," I mused. "Why the extended generosity?"

I placed the box on the counter; he closed the refrigerator door. In one smooth movement, his arms wrapped around my waist, his body pinned me between himself and the counter. His lips touched mine briefly in a light kiss.

"There's a price to be paid when one needs to tie up loose ends," said Oswald softly. He cradled my face with one hand, his thumb sliding over my lower lip. "But the cost goes up when someone tries to hurt my employee."

"You told me the other night that you'd already killed them."

"Perhaps I'd gotten ahead of myself."

"Or perhaps you had one glass of wine too many?"

"Regardless, here we are."

"So, by that, I am guessing that there's more than just ricotta cheese in those pastries?" I presumed quietly.

Oswald smiled deviously before pressing his lips against mine, tender at first then when I returned it, it became passionate as the last.

"He didn't really hurt me, you know," I reminded softly.

Oswald nipped my bottom lip, saying, "Like you said, Pet. He tried to take what isn't his. I won't have anyone stealing what is mine."

I pushed my hips against his, smirking when I heard him sigh longingly.

"Oswald, your jealousy is showing."

He looked at me reproachfully.

"But I like it." I whispered, grinning darkly. I pushed myself against him once more, and he did the same to me, extracting a wanton keen from my lips.

We kissed a while longer.

"I thought you said you're running late." I mumbled.

"I am."

"Then you best get a move on, yeah?"

He pulled away from me reluctantly, straightening his tie and jacket.

"You don't mind taking it to them, do you?" Oswald asked.

"I'll take care of it." I returned, smirking as I put the top on the box. "It'll be my pleasure."

"Be pleasant," Oswald reminded.

"Don't worry, I've got this. You have nothing to worry about."

"I appreciate the favor."

I walked with him to the door, smiling when he kissed me on the cheek.

"Don't even mention it," I said, shrugging. "I'd do anything for you, Oz. Tell Maroni I said 'hi', will you? Assuming, of course, that he lets you get a word in."

"He wants the casino badly enough—he'll listen to me."

Oswald buttoned his jacket, smoothing out the little wrinkles that had tried to envelope in the fine fabric during our brief making out.

"You sound pretty certain about that," I noted as he buttoned his cuff links. "Confidence looks good on you, Boss."

Oswald smirked at me. He just loved hearing me call him that.

"Let me know when you get to her apartment," Oswald said calmly, although I could detect that familiar protective tone like I normally heard in Jim's voice.

"Call or text?" I asked.

"Whichever," Oswald said.

"Oooh, I get choices—you spoil me." I teased.

"You make it too easy," he returned.

He and I kissed one more time.

"I love you," Oswald whispered.

"Love you too, Oswald."

He smiled happily and then left for work.

I headed over to Barbara and Jim's apartment, parking the car on the curb. As I headed up the elevator (because I certainly was not going to be using the stairs), I pulled out my phone and hit number 1 on the speed dial.

When the other line picked up, I said calmly, "I'm here."

"Let me know when you leave," Oswald returned firmly.

In the background, I could hear Maroni's familiar Italian accent coming out, more talk about the casino. The elevator door opened and I made my way towards the apartment.

"I will." I promised.

"Good. I love you."

"And I, you."

He and I hung up at the same time. Then I knocked on Barbara's door. She opened it almost immediately, startling me in the process. Her eyes were red, looking as though she had been crying or maybe she hadn't been sleeping either—or both. But she smiled briefly when she saw it was I who had knocked. Eagerly, she stepped to the side and allowed my entry.

"You got here a little faster than I thought you would," she said.

I turned to her as she closed the door.

"Well, I figured you needed the company. You sounded worried on the phone."

Barbara's smile disappeared.

"Let's sit, shall we?" Barbara offered, gesturing to the kitchen.

I took a seat at the table while she poured two glasses of wine. I doubted she needed the alcohol at this moment but I didn't protest.

"You like red wine, don't you?"

I nodded.

"I prefer chardonnay, but I'm afraid we're out. I normally get it from the store down the street, it's only a few blocks from here, actually." Barbara said, her voice shook a little. "Sometimes I go out of my way, outside of Gotham. There's a winery…."

"Barbara."

She looked at me, startled.

"You're rambling," I pointed out.

Barbara smiled weakly, saying, "I'm sorry."

She interlaced her fingers together to hide the shaking, placing them on the table in front of her. Her eyes were cast downward as though she was shifting through the numerous files of countless dilemmas in her head and then she slowly looked at me, realizing for a moment that I'd been sitting in front of her the entire time.

When I first met Barbara Kean, I thought she was a snob. Her hair was always finely brushed, not a lock out of place. She had these startling blue eyes that could make a man or woman's heart stop beating and then electrically shock right back to its lively pulse. Her voice was always hallowed, always calm and proper. I'd never met her parents—I doubted I would like them.

But seeing her now, Barbara had changed a little. Worry lines were a constant on her forehead, and her eyes were dull.

"You wanted to talk about Jim." I mentioned calmly. "You said he was acting odd, keeping secrets from you."

She nodded.

"What do you think he's keeping from you?" I asked curiously. I took the wine and sipped it a minute, placing it back.

"MCU came by the house," Barbara said quietly, looking at me strangely.

I rolled my eyes.

"Major Crimes?"

"Yes," said Barbara. "Well…. not on business, exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"Do you know Montoya?"

I nodded, "I'm familiar with the name, but I have never met her personally."

Barbara leaned forward, her eyes darkening.

"She came by the apartment, told me that Jim murdered someone."

"Mario Pepper's death was a frame job, but he never killed him." I recalled.

"Not him, someone else," Barbara said, shaking her head. "Someone I don't know, someone that Jim won't talk to me about."

"Who does Montoya think Jim killed this time?" I questioned, unable to hide the cynicism in my tone.

"A man by the name of Oswald Cobblepot. She asked me to ask Jim about him, but when I did, he couldn't tell me anything," said Barbara softly. She looked at me pointedly, "Do you know a man by that name?"

"Can't say I do," I lied. "But you know…if Jim can't tell you anything, he's likely trying to protect you—don't give me that look—you know it's true. In your heart, you do. And what does Montoya actually know, huh? Does she have proof?"

"No."
"Does she have witnesses?"

"I don't know—she didn't tell me anything."

"Then you're worried about nothing, aren't you?" I said calmly.

Barbara stood up suddenly, and started pacing the kitchen. She leaned against the table, a hand shuffling roughly through her hair as she looked at me with frustration.

"You know Jim better than anyone else," said Barbara. "If you knew something that I didn't—concerning a murder—you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Barbara..."

"Wouldn't you!"

I leaned back in my chair, pushing the wine away. Then she sighed, closing her eyes in a prayer for patience before smiling sadly at me.

"I'm sorry for snapping…." She whispered. "I'm just so worried about him, you know. I love him, more than anything in the world, and I feel like he's keeping secrets from me. I don't like it. How do you deal with it?"

"I don't deal with it—I accept it for what it is, and I move on," I answered honestly. "Jim has always had secrets. Being a cop demands that kind of mystery. That's why most of the cops in the joint are either single, divorced, or cheating on their spouses. But Jim loves you, and he does whatever he can to keep you safe."

Barbara sat down. Silence passed between us for a moment.

"He talks about your past," said Barbara quietly. "He says you've been in trouble a few times."

"Well, this isn't our first conversation," I reminded. "I've told you a few of them myself."

"Yeah—you mentioned you took mail from mail boxes and you've taken a pack of cigarettes from a convenient store, but you never mentioned that you used to…."
"To what?" I asked.

"Jim says you've mugged people," said Barbara quietly. "And you've robbed a couple banks….is that true?"

I nodded.

"I thought you said you didn't keep any secrets?" Barbara asked calmly.

"I never said that," I replied. "I have a lot of secrets. Too many. Not everything I say or do gets told to you. In that aspect, Jim and I are very much alike."

"So, you don't know what he's hiding either?"

"Is that the reason you asked me to come?" I responded.

Barbara frowned.

Apparently, it was.

I drank the rest of the sour wine, holding back a horrid grimace. She watched me resentfully.

"Montoya said he killed Oswald Cobblepot," said Barbara. "Said he did it on the orders of Carmine Falcone. Would that sound like something Jim would do?"

"I can see you're trying to extract information from me, and that's all fine and dandy," I said sarcastically, "but let me ask you something first. Why would Montoya, high-standing officer of Major Crimes Unit, come to the fiancée of her suspect with these accusations without evidence or testimony?"

Barbara pressed her lips together. Guilty.

I approached her.

"We're friends," Barbara said quickly.

"Friends? Really…." I smiled knowingly. "Is that all?"

"Fine. We were more than that—but that doesn't take away from what she told me," Barbara said curtly. "Does that sound like something Jim would do?"

"You're engaged to the man. Shouldn't you know the answer to that?" I chuckled. "That Montoya woman really put her hooks into you, didn't she?"

"Don't patronize me," Barbara snapped. "I'm asking you because you know Jim. You grew up with him."

"I'm aware."

"So, you'd know what he's capable of—more than anyone else, right?"
I nodded.

"Do you think he did it?"

Her voice was pleading, begging for me to tell her otherwise. She didn't want the truth at all; she wanted someone to tell her that Jim was incapable of killing a man in cold blood. By this time, we were standing close, with our voices rising to the ceiling.

"Jim is capable of killing someone, Barbara. When I first heard the rumor, I'll admit that I thought he did." I told her truthfully. Barbara let out a dry sob. "But, but…." I took her hands in mine. "I know for a fact that he didn't kill anyone."

"How do you know?" Barbara said, her voice barely over a whisper.

"Like you said—I know Jim," I returned gently. "And Jim stands on a moral ground thicker than a rainforest."

Barbara gripped my hands hard, looking not just into my eyes, but through them. She was trying to see if I was lying to comfort her, but what I said was true, forgiving the fact that my proof lived inside my apartment. Full of relief, for now, Barbara let out a long, deep sigh and hugged me close to her.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "But…."

"But?"

"I need to hear it from him," Barbara said quietly. "I just do."

"Good luck with that endeavor," I muttered as she withdrew. "You're trying to open a safe that's been locked for eons—he's a stubborn jackass."

Barbara laughed shakily, smiling at me.

"I know. But thanks for coming over. I just needed to talk to someone who knew him, you know? Gather some insight."

"So, what will you ask him when the time presents itself?" I asked, sitting and leaning back in the same chair.

"I want half of what he has to carry," Barbara stated, business-like. "He carries my half easily."

"What is your half?" I questioned.

Barbara gave me a look that read 'don't ask', but it was obviously unreasonable since I'd already done so. I dismissed the question carelessly.

"How's the art gallery?" I asked conversationally. "Any new pieces of interest?"

"Not really. Most of it is drab, I have to admit."

"No buyers?"

"All are buyers," said Barbara, taking the first sip of her wine. She made the same grimacing expression, coughing shortly after. "Ah! This is terrible!"

I gestured to my empty glass saying, "But drinkable."

She stood and threw the rest of it down the kitchen sink, looking at me humorously.

"Have you eaten lunch yet?" She asked.

"No."

"Do you want to eat lunch here?"

I nodded, saying, "I have the time."

Barbara smiled happily.