Martin and Zsasz are in the sitting room when Oswald and Edward return. Oswald's tired, beaten, and feeling... disheartened after all the events of the day. He wants to lay down, sleep for five years and dream away the days of aftermath that will inevitably follow. He's exhausted overall, but no amount of weariness could ever tear him away from the look of relief his boy gives him when the door opens. Martin jumps up from the couch, leaving his little gun on the table where Zsasz has no doubt been showing him how to care for it.
Martin hugs Oswald around the waist, squeezing him so tightly Oswald is scared something is going to pop.
Oswald has no interest in dislodging him though, not when he's buried his face so fiercely in Oswald's chest and he's shaking with the effort not to cry. His arms tighten as Oswald rubs his cheek in Martin's soft hair, bent over to accommodate for the height difference.
When they pull apart, Martin begins signing, pausing in the middle of his actions to wipe the tears out of his eyes and sniffle. Oswald smiles as he remembers the little he's learned and picked up along the way.
"I was worried-"
Oswald doesn't recognize the last gesture, turning a confused eye up at Zsasz. "What did he say at the end?"
Zsasz crosses his arms, one hand caging his mouth as he tries (and fails) to hide his pleased grin. "Dad," he says, and repeats the gesture, "This means Dad."
Oswald's lips part as he swivels back to Martin, eyes steadily growing just as teary as Martin's. Martin is blubbering now, using his little fists to rub away the wet of his cheeks.
Oswald can't stop himself from hugging him again, holding Martin close as he whispers gratefully, "My boy, my son ."
"Did you remember to feed Charlie?" Oswald asks as Martin is climbing up into bed, the fleece of his penguin pajamas rubbing up against the fluffy cotton of his bulky comforter and producing a sensory sound. Martin likes it when he manages to make a little static spark.
Oswald remembers letting Martin pick out his own pajamas at the store, how he'd made a beeline for the pair and insisted on both the penguins and a set that came with a graphic tee of a bright green parrot (That he said reminded him of Edward's emerald suit). Oswald found it a little funny that Martin chose a duo of aviaries, birds of a feather , if you will, a tribute to both himself and Edward, the pivotal pillars of Martin's life.
Martin also chose a pair of silky, purple and black checkered ones that reminded him of Zsasz, but Oswald considers Zsasz as more of a supporting beam than a pivotal pillar.
That didn't stop Martin from being a bubbly little babe when he showed them off. Zsasz has seemed almost more pleased than Martin himself.
Martin nods his head as Oswald pulls the cover up to his chin. He smiles, leans forward to kiss the top of Martin's head and wishes him a goodnight.
Before he can leave though, Martin catches Oswald by the sleeve.
He turns, surprised, and Martin pulls his pad off of the bedside table to type. Oswald waits patiently, curious enough to try and peek just before Martin presses the talk button. "Are you sad about him?"
Oswald doesn't understand what he means at first, blinking inquisitively.
"Did you like him?"
Oswald is still confused, but clarity comes finally crashing down when Martin starts drawing. It's a pretty simplistic picture, but the bright red smile that stretches from ear to ear and the spiky hair to match really got the message across.
"You mean Jerome?" he asks, hesitantly.
Martin nods, and Oswald sighs.
"He… he was good to me," he admits, wary to say much else and ready to put this topic to rest. He doesn't need it rehashed anymore than Martin needs to really know anything about it.
"Uncle Edward is good to you," Martin says, then pauses. He shyly downturns his chin before adding, "He loves you."
Oswald chuckles to hide his initial blush, determined to brush Martin's little declaration on Edward's behalf off as mere childish dreaming. "And how would you know that?" he says in light teasing.
Martin thumbs at a few more keys before smiling, wide and completely confident in his responding, "He told me."
For one heart-stopping moment, Oswald doesn't take in any air. He frowns. "Martin, stop it. You swore you wouldn't lie to me. We don't lie to each other."
Martin waves his arms a little frantically, no no no , "I'm not lying."
Oswald's grimace deepens. "Edward wouldn't-"
"He loves you, Dad."
"Martin-"
"He loves you, I know it."
Oswald goes to speak again, but the tablet is faster.
" You know it."
Oswald makes an ungraceful exit, shaking his head. It's a bit of an effort to rush out of the room with the cane, but it clacks along beside him noisily enough to drown out Martin's concerned automated voice.
Oswald doesn't make a habit of visiting Edward's room, and he's really only been inside a handful of times. Once to make sure the room was ready and set for his arrival, again to help Edward unpack, and a final time one late night with two cups of cocoa and a nightcap.
The room is so entirely Edward. What exactly that means is mystery to anyone other than Oswald. The far wall is littered in pinned up news clippings, riddles, and other various pictures and articles written about the Riddler. It's almost as if his alter ego has built himself a little shrine of sorts in the back corner and Edward is forced to live with it as a constant reminder.
Oswald knows that Edward fought with the egocentric side of himself for years and he still holds some grudges against the Riddler, even if he has come to embrace it. It's a matter of the day, where his emotions are at, and whether or not he's feeling particularly loving or charitable.
Oswald used to be steadfast in the knowledge that he preferred the Riddler, the dark side of Edward that he helped bring out into the light, but these days he's not too sure. He loves to watch the Riddler work, loves to see that powerful man conduct himself like he's fighting against a world that he's a thousand times smarter than. He loves the intellectual, the planner, the pristine example of a polished criminal, always ready to prove his superiority in a battle of wits.
Oswald has no issues with admitting he was attracted to power.
He always had been.
...But Oswald also loves the gentle side of Edward. He adores the sweet good morning smiles and nervous hand holding. He loves seeing Edward interact with Martin, the way he wears his adopted fatherhood like a badge of honor. He loves him, devious criminal or sweetheart medical examiner with an adorable dorky combover.
The four poster bed has a spread of different shades of forest green. The comforter is upturned, glasses already set by the glass of water beside the bed. He can hear the water running from the ensuite bathroom and comes to the conclusion that Edward's already in the process of getting himself ready for bed.
It's late after all… a reasonable thing to be doing at this hour.…
Oswald finds himself fidgeting beside the bed, playing with his cane nervously and almost dropping it when he finally hears the water shut off and the door open.
Edward walks out, hand towel wrapped around his neck to catch the droplets from his damp hair and a hand playing with the freshly shaved skin on his chin.
"Oh, Oswald," he says, a little flustered and squinting without his glasses, "Hello."
"...Hello," he replies lamely.
"Did you need something?"
Oswald is certain there are a million more elegant ways he could have gone about it, a hundred different ways he could have said it, but what comes out of his mouth is a sudden, rather alarmingly loud, "Martin told me that you're in love with me."
Edward pauses in the middle of pulling the towel from his neck. He blinks, peering over at Oswald with a look of a deer caught in the headlights.
"I…" he stumbles, and finally gets around to draping the towel over the footboard, "What- why did he-"
"He asked me about Jerome," Oswald quietly replies to the implied question, and lets his gaze list off to the side. "That boy is… he's far too perceptive for his own good, really."
Edward chuckles, but it's low and ultimately self-deprecating. "I would think that's a good thing for a future kingpin, wouldn't you?"
Oswald shrugs. "Not if he's going to use those talents against us ," he smirks.
Edward laughs, and this time it's genuine. The sugary smile Oswald's come to love and lean on when he feels his most weary stretches from cheek to cheek. Oswald adores that smile. He finds himself limping a little closer to take Edward's hand and sighing.
He might not even really need to ask. There's enough proof in his actions , in those damn smiles , for Oswald to realize he's loved.
...But at the same time… Oswald wants to hear it- needs to hear it.
"Do you?" he asks, soft and timid, admittedly just a little nervous that maybe he won't get the answer he's looking for.
There's always a chance he's more invested again; that Edward doesn't feel the same way and Oswald is about to make an utter fool of himself. He's terrified, Oswald realizes, that history will repeat itself and this time he won't be able to get back up again.
"Wait," he says, just as Edward's finally worked up to moving his own mouth. He starts to retract his hand, ready to pull away and retreat back to his own room and forget this night ever happened, "nevermind, don't tell me. I-"
"I do. Oswald, I do love you," Edward says quickly, holding fast to Oswald and unwilling to let him slip away.
He draws Oswald's hand up to kiss over his knuckles tenderly, letting his eyes fall shut as he does so. It's almost like Ed's kissed him on the mouth, Oswald's breath is so completely knocked out of him.
"You.…"
"I do," Edward repeats, this time smiling, drifting just a little closer until their chests bump together lightly. "I'm so sorry I didn't just say so earlier."
Oswald shakes his head, still breathless and fighting back a few tears that are being pushed to the frontlines by his overflowing emotions.
"It's fine, I never asked-"
"No, that's not an excuse. I know that it… it means a lot to you. We've been here before and… I really didn't want to rush. I should have said something though." He collects himself, Oswald's other hand, and then the courage to continue on. "I wanted to give you more time after Jerome… and-"
Oswald pulls Edward a little closer by their joined hands and into a tender kiss. It's a cliché, he knows, stopping your partner's ramblings with a kiss, but the combination of realizing Edward's actually in love with him, that he's been thinking of Oswald and what would be best for him…. It's entirely too overwhelming.
The kiss isn't fierce. It's not a heart-stopping, blood-pumping moment of passion and lust like the cliché normally goes.
But it is incredibly heartfelt.
The press of lips is short, sweet, and filled with all the emotions and realizations that have been running circles in Oswald's brain. He smiles as he pulls back, even laughing just a little at the absurdity of the moment. Edward's grin is wider than Oswald's and his laugh is twice as loud. He always was the more bubbly personality of the two and Oswald is honestly all the more ecstatic to see it.
Edward kisses him again, this time a little deeper, swallowing down Oswald's pleased rumbles and bringing his hands out of Oswald's grasp to wind around his torso, one at the top of his back, the other settling over its low curve.
It progresses steadily from there. The subtle undressing of clothes starts with Edward loosening Oswald's tie to reach under his collar and kiss along his neck. Oswald is glad that Edward's glasses are already off, so he doesn't have to worry about knocking them askew. Edward's hands slip up underneath Oswald's coat to better feel the shape of his back, and the trail ends with the jacket on the floor despite Oswald's protests. Edward's bare foot coyly taps the top of Oswald's Oxfords. Oswald chuckles, then happily complies.
They wind up on the bed eventually, making pit stops in the middle of the room, against the wall, and leaning by the bedpost before finally coming to a rest atop the mattress. Edward's sheets are surprisingly soft, and Oswald's sudden desire to feel the fabric against his skin is what brings him to pulling his shirt over his head.
Edward groans and leans forward to drop little kisses over his collarbone. The downward descent of his lips takes Oswald by surprise, startling a gasp from him before Edward's even reached his belly. This slow, amorous way of paying one another attention is new to Oswald. He thinks he should feel impatient, already knowing what sorts of pleasures are yet to come, but he isn't. He's enjoying the soft presses of lips, the sluggish way Edward's fingers caress his sides and up his thighs. Whenever he'd done things like this with Jerome it had always been always fast, rough, and right to the point. The way Edward is taking his time, losing himself to each action, almost like he's worshiping Oswald with every movement… it has Oswald feeling light and feathery, breathy with desire and wishing he could stay in this moment forever.
Edward mouths at his hip as his fingers begin working at the front of Oswald's trousers. Oswald brings a hand up to his mouth, the other clutching at the sheets beside his waist.
He swears he can feel Edward's smirk against his belly as he says, low and teasing, "What tastes better than it smells?"
Oswald doesn't have the time (or, frankly, the mind) to answer before Edward's tongue is dragging over the newly exposed areas of skin, giving him both the answer to the riddle and a trail of goosebumps up his arms.
Oswald's pants are down around his thighs, Edward's weight across them holding down Oswald's legs as he works. It's a good thing too, he can hardly keep himself from bucking up without the help.
His face is right there , so torturously close that Oswald can feel his warm breath in contrast to the slight cold of the room. He's tempted to grab at Edward's hair and force him closer, to feel that crafty mouth over his cock… but then he'd miss out on the little nips, the kisses, Edward rubbing his cheek against him, soft from the recent shave. Oswald thinks about these things and keeps his hands right where they are.
When Edward finally does wrap his lips around him, Oswald lets out a strangled cry, a little wet and very breathy. He has to push Edward away for fear of cumming too soon.
"If you keep doing that I might-"
Edward nods, hums, and returns to mouthing at the skin around his aching, wet cock. Oswald chokes and tosses his head back.
Edward groans, pulls his head up and away long enough to sigh disheartenedly, "My lube is in the dresser…."
Whining, Oswald reaches for Edward's retreating form. "No, don't go..."
He clicks his tongue, lifting up over Oswald to drop a reassuring kiss to his lips. Oswald is almost too distracted by the smooth, rippling motion of his upper body, rolling over him, to return it before he's gone.
The rumble of the wooden drawer sliding out of the dresser has Oswald turning his head, taking in the long, naked slope of his back. Edward, a connoisseur of the arts himself, looks elegant enough to be framed and mounted on a wall beside all the other great beauties of the world. He's the undiscovered eighth wonder. Oswald finds his mouth not going dry so much as it's wetting with a renewed appetite. As he stares, his deep hungering for intimacy slowly grows ravenous.
Edward turns, bottle in hand, and smiles in a way that might look wicked in any other context, but here and now, is purely lust driven. There's no devious motives hiding behind this smile apart from the mischievous things Edward wants to do to him.
Maybe it should be unnerving, that smile, but Oswald has lived through the terrors of his wrath and is more than ready to surrender to the pleasant things it promises this time around. This time around and forever.
Edward works him open slowly when he returns to the bed, towering over Oswald with his height and planting little kisses over his face while Oswald squirms.
It's a little sloppy at times and Oswald feels very undignified like this, but he loves every humiliating second of it. The messy sounds and embarrassingly guttural moans only seem to spur Edward on even more. He works faster, breathes a little harder, and his head eventually falls into the juncture of Oswald's neck to leave love bites on his skin.
"Amazing…" he says in a whisper, seemingly unintentional.
Edward lets out a breathy sigh, aligning the head of his straining erection with Oswald's stretched hole. He wants so very much to just push in, finally feel at home inside of the man he's shared so much history with-who's been waiting for this since the day Edward told him he believed in him, but he can't yet. Instead he leans forward, looming over Oswald and rubbing his hip with his free hand.
"You're sure you're alright with this?"
Oswald whimpers, nodding his head. "I may not have done this before, but I promise am beyond ready to. I always wanted… it to be you-"
Ed can't help himself, he pushes forward on the last word, reveling in Oswald's surprised gasp as his hands fly up to Ed's arms, gripping tightly and tossing his head back. "Ed, it's-"
"You're amazing Oswald," Edward interrupts, leaning forward to capture Oswald's lips in a heated kiss.
He spouts praise after praise over and over like a series of rambling mantras. Oswald starts to feel drunk on it; the attention and lavish affection. He's unused to this much endearment, but he finds himself unwilling to give up even a second of it.
It's wet and a little uncoordinated, Edward focusing on keeping his thrusts light while Oswald gets used to the feeling, and Oswald just doing his best not to fall apart beneath Edward. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time. He needs to feel it all, finally connect with Edward the way he wanted to a lifetime ago, but it's all so new and breathtaking that he's not sure how much he can handle all at once.
Edward holds him close, like he'd afraid Oswald might disappear if he lets go. Maybe he has before. Ed's told him about the hallucinations. Maybe Oswald has disappeared on him too many times already.
So he wraps his arms around Edward's neck, kisses deeper, moans a little louder, gives Edward everything in the hopes that he'll realize that Oswald isn't going anywhere anymore. They've passed that point. More importantly they've gotten through it. They found each other again.
Not too many people in Gotham can say that for themselves.
But Oswald can.
He's endured so much, betrayals and loss, but this makes it all worth it.
Edward shifts his mouth away from Oswald's lips to breathe into his neck, groaning when Oswald tugs on his hair, eager to throw it all out of shape just like how Edward's wrecked his own. He wants to see it afterward, to lay in bed with Edward and be able to see him disheveled and unkempt because Oswald brought him to that point.
He gasps, tips his head back and lets Ed drop tiny nips along the curve of his neck, moaning in an accompaniment of vibration, pushing in and out of Oswald with an unhurried rhythm and so much love that Oswald couldn't possibly describe it to its full extent. He can't articulate these things and do them justice. The way the moon spills in through the open windows and lights up the starry expression on Ed's face, the shine in his eyes, the adoration in his breathless laugh. It's all a religious experience and Oswald has never been one to worship others, but like this, he could see himself caving-maybe even being happy to. The way Edward lights up the room reminds Oswald of the sun, so rarely seen through Gotham's ever present, gloomy overcast.
But it's been sunnier in Gotham lately.
Oswald blames Edward.
He whines, high and breathy as Edward drives in with a new angle, a new goal, holding up Oswald's bad leg against his hip with care and kissing away any brief noises of pain. It's so innately romantic that Oswald almost wants to laugh, tell Ed how corny he's being and maybe play off his own embarrassment with a joke. He's never felt so loved or wanted in all his life, and he can't, for the life of him, explain why he might deserve this.
Maybe it's just the blushing muses of a virgin giving himself to someone for the first time, but Oswald can't imagine this would have been as magical with anyone else. There's too much history here. There's too much broken sorrow turned into new life. Nothing could beat that.
When Oswald cums, it's after a slow build. It pours out from him like cream from a pitcher; as unhurried as the rest of the sex had been. He holds onto Edward like his life depends on it, chanting his name under his breath and burying his face in Ed's shoulder. Ed follows after another moment, and lifts his hand to cup Oswald cheek and give him a final kiss, short and chaste but filled with no less emotion. It holds all the love Edward has to give, and Oswald returns it happily.
He moves to the side and is careful to set Oswald's leg down again so that it won't pain him. Oswald slides up next to him, content and tired, letting his eyes fall shut as he rests his head in the crook of Edward's arm. He fits there like a puzzle piece, slotted into place. He belongs there.
"Ed... I..." Oswald trails off, unsure how he could properly word everything that he feels in this moment.
"I love you Oswald." Ed smiles, tilting his head down to peek over at his drowsy lover, "I can't even begin to say how much."
Oswald almost wants to cry, so overjoyed and overflowing with vast emotion. "I've loved you for years, Edward. If it hasn't died out by this point, I think it's safe to say it never will."
Edward snorts, pulls Oswald just a little closer, and tells him to get some rest.
Edward lovingly suggests the idea of seeing a therapist to Oswald. While it takes some convincing (and maybe a few sinfully sexual bribes from Ed) he finally agrees to meet with one every other week just outside of Gotham. It would be far too risky to see one within the city line, after all. He's never exactly been what you'd call 'inconspicuous'. People know who he is. She's a criminal therapist, and that helps. He can say things freely and know that she will remain professional throughout. Criminal therapists are something fairly new to Gotham, but places like Metropolis and New York have been providing the service for years. Their first session is mainly eaten up by introductions and his councilor informing him of all the things in place to insure his privacy remains unsullied. Apparently as a requirement to work in major criminal counseling, there's a test taken to ensure all workers are immune to various methods of torture, bribery, and even basic forms of mind control.
Patrice is a kind lady with a smile that would dazzle millions, choppy brown locks that are starting to go a little grey at the roots to accompany her pleasant crows feet, and a take-no-shit attitude when pushed beyond a very wide limit. She's patient and understanding, but informs him right from the start that she doesn't tolerate threats to her life or any other shenanigans of the sort. She's there to be of help and if Oswald ever starts to feel that she's unneeded, there is no need to worry about her silence. He can leave anytime without worry. The only time anything leaves her office is if Oswald threatens either his immediate family (I.E. Martin) or his own life.
Oswald is impressed with the profession overall.
Patrice is also a little on the hefty side, but that only makes it easier for Oswald to also share trivial things like how he fears gaining weight under stress. How he misses his mother's goulash or that Zsasz is a sleepwalker and keeps making hoards of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the middle of the night. He and Martin can only eat so many by themselves before it gets tiresome.
He talks about Jerome and his extremely anomalous love life.
She doesn't judge. She asks questions and helps him achieve useful answers at his own pace. Sometimes she even gives him homework like taking some time in a day to remind himself that he's safe or plan an outing with Martin every once in a while. She tells him to assess his living situation and his lifestyle, to make changes where needed to help him feel safer if necessary.
Oswald gets a little extra security, vetted by himself, Edward, and Zsasz. Between the three of them, they only accept a handful of men, but they know they've got the best of the best and it helps Oswald feel more at ease in the end. He commits to a routine walk around the grounds with Martin to keep himself from becoming a recluse. Sometimes Edward joins, sometimes Zsasz tags along and lets Martin ride on his shoulders.
He discusses the transference, how it's affected him, and she finds him the help he needs. They talk through it, Oswald puts some of his trust in Edward and they share the burden together.
Eventually he opens up about it to Martin. There isn't really much else to do after he sneaks out of bed to find Edward helping calm Oswald in the living room, tears coming down in waves he just can't stop. Oswald becomes even more determined to get better after scaring his boy like that. He'd never seen Oswald cry like that before. Oswald sets out to make sure it doesn't happen again.
He makes real progress, feels better, healthier , and eventually it becomes easier to ignore the urge to look over his shoulder.
Eventually he forgets that he ever needed to altogether.
Martin is always chipper when he sees Oswald and Edward together. Oswald is thankful for his love and support, knowing his boy only wants to see him happy. He loves that kind of familial love and absolutely adores every second of it. Even when they're a long time into a comfortable level of affection and Martin has grown a couple inches, a year and a half in age, and hair down to his shoulders that he absolutely refuses to cut off until he has enough to make a wig for Zsasz, it still warms his heart to see it.
They're out for dinner at Zack's when the usual squirmy, chipper behavior Oswald's come to expect from Martin whenever he and Edward are particularly attached to one another. The restaurant is the same, filled with the usual suspects, the same upholstery, and the little jukebox Oswald had let Edward tinker with the last time they were there together. The place is the same, but apparently the owner's changed. The menus have a different name now printed along the top with little inserted notes that say under new management .
"Excuse me," he says, stopping a passing waitress, and curiously asks, "what happened to the old owner?"
She lifts an eyebrow. "You didn't hear? It was that freak with the messed up face."
The table stills.
Edward's eye catches Oswald out from the corner and his hand finds Oswald's beneath the table. He squeezes once, offering support and understanding however he can.
"Apparently he was the owner's like… nephew or something. Came in here and shot him. I'm so glad he's dead," she says, and Oswald tenses. "One less demented criminal hanging around Gotham."
Oswald is boiling over with a sudden rage. He isn't entirely certain of where it came from, the insult to his own person, the way she spoke about Jerome, the fact that she thought this was a great way to explain the situation in front of his young boy, whatever the reason, he's quickly losing his temper.
Before Oswald can make a move to tell her off though, Edward squeezes his leg. Oswald turns to him and watches Edward's grin grow wide, fake, and the tiniest hint of menacing. The look is aimed at their unsuspecting waitress, who startles when she finally catches sight of Edward's eerie leer.
"Is…" she clears her throat and tries to smile again, a polite server's smile, "is something the matter, sir-?"
"Edward Nygma," he says, lightly waving the hand not planted on Oswald's thigh. "Better known as the Riddler, and my associate here, Oswald Cobblepot, more commonly known as the Penguin."
Watching the girl's face drain from a rosy pink to a sickly pale is ever so satisfying. Her eyes widen, flickering between Ed and Oswald in rapid succession as the statement sinks in. Her mouth opens and shuts a few times before she outright bows her head in a panicked moment of fear. "I am so sorry sir, I- I really didn't mean to offend you- I just-"
"Burgers all around please, fries on the side, two chocolate milkshakes, extra whipped cream on mine, and a fork for him." Edward smiles, tilting his head towards Oswald. "For when he inevitably gives up trying to eat with his hands."
The girl blunders, but scribbles down the order obediently before scurrying away in a flustered heap of worry. She's practically hiding behind the counter when Edward looks up again in triumph.
Oswald lets out his held-in snickering when she's finally gone. "Oh, I sometimes forget how fun it is to terrify people."
Edward nods to Martin. "Keep that in mind for your future escersions, let 'em have it if you need to." He grins, and adds, "We'll have to include the more fun bits of a criminal life in your lessons as well."
Martin holds up two thumbs, smiling wide.
Oswald nudges Edward with an elbow. "We're really doing burgers tonight?"
"You promised to show me you could do it." He chuckles, "But I did get you the fork, just in case."
Watching Oswald try to eat a burger with his hands is as messy as it is entertaining, and Edward and Martin quickly fall into shameless laughter beside him. Martin's got a fair amount of mustard on his cheek as well, but Oswald can't chide him for it. He's got a mess of condiments all over his face. He'd wipe it off, obtain the manners his mother had taught him, but the bright smiles around the table and cheery laughter wins out over his pride.
He'll drop the whole thing in his lap if it means they can all keep laughing like this forever.
Martin excuses himself once they're home again well before his established bedtime. When Oswald asks, he feigns weariness, but Oswald can see that he's far from actually tired. He doesn't stop him though, simply side eyes his mischievous boy with a knowing look. When he turns back to Edward, fully intending to ask if he has any idea what Martin might be up to, Edward gives him a grin, takes his hand, and leads Oswald away from the hallway and into the sitting room.
"Edward?" he asks once they're seated, his hands still in Edward's.
In front of him, Edward takes a deep breath, and Oswald starts to worry.
"Is something the matter?"
"No," Edward laughs out rather nervously, "No, nothing is the matter… this is just a little difficult to get out."
Oswald frowns, but listens intently, nodding for Edward to continue. He fumbles for another minute, skirting around a variety of seemingly unconnected things, some of the things he and Oswald have gone through, how great Martin is, jumping to how pretty he finds Oswald's eyes and back again in seconds… it's a real mess. Oswald finds it a bit difficult to keep up with his ramblings.
"Ed…."
"Okay, wait," he says quickly, before Oswald can unwittingly convince him to lose his courage, "Maybe this will be easier if I just get right into it…."
Before Oswald can question him or try and find out exactly what Ed is trying to tell him, his breath is simply stolen away. His eyes widen, chest pounds, and his stomach starts to do little flips that leave him nauseous.
Edward slips off the couch and onto one knee, still holding Oswald's hands in his own.
"Edward?" he asks, eyes wet and cheeks steadily flushing pink.
"I never actually imagined myself doing this…" he says, shutting his own eyes and laughing somewhat self-depreciatingly, "but I've heard you never really do until you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with… you, uh, you know? "
Oswald bites his lips as he listens to the rest of Edward's rambling.
"I know… this is… really still kind of a weird time, but you're doing so well Oswald. I really think you've… you're getting a handle on things. I can see it. You've been uh…" he trails off, looks incredibly sheepish, "You're doing really well, Oswald, and I'm very proud of you."
Oswald sniffs, grins, and gratefully squeezes his hand.
"I really think you've changed. You're a better man. You're, uh… you're more confident and… you're stunning. Well, I mean-"
Edward groans to himself and Oswald merely laughs.
He shakes his head, "Damn it, I'm trying to ask you to marry me, Oswald."
Oswald smiles, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing with joy. He's never heard Edward make such a fool out of himself with words. Each sentence seems half baked, like he can't actually get his thoughts together at the moment and it's the highest compliment Oswald has ever been paid in his life. Edward Nygma is losing his wits over him, over this , and it's absolutely marvelous.
Edward scoffs at himself, "God, I'm really screwing this up, aren't I?"
Oswald shakes his head, cups Edward's cheek, "I'm enjoying myself."
He snorts, "Of course you are."
"Not stupid, sweet. I love you too, you know." Oswald simpers, and leans forward to kiss Edward on the lips, soft, happy, more in love than he ever thought would be possible for someone like himself. "And yes," he adds with a chuckle, "I would love the chance to legally bind you to me."
Edward knocks him gently in the arm, but pulls him down for another kiss anyway, grinning like the madman he is.
Their engagement period isn't long, but they justify it with the fact that they've known each other for years. They're past whether or not this is the right decision. They've been hurtling towards one another for ages, this is just the formality at this point.
Oswald is nervously dressing himself in a wing off the corner of the church when Jim Gordon finds him. Oswald is only slightly miffed, maybe more about Jim not bothering to RSVP and then turning up unannounced just before he's set to walk than anything else.
"Jim." he greets politely, taking a break from trying to get his tie straight to turn and look at his vacillating friend, "How nice to see you on this pleasant day. You didn't send back your RSVP, I didn't think you were going to come. I'm very glad you made it."
Jim nods, but looks hesitant before speaking. "Oswald." he says, but that's as far as he gets before he starts looking sheepish, glaring somewhere off to the side, "I'm uh, really sorry to bring you this today, but… Well, I figured..."
"Spit it out Jim," Oswald insists, "or save it for another time. I have to finish getting ready and I really don't have time to waste here."
Jim sighs, scratches at his neck, and finally gets the words out. It's like pulling teeth, but he manages it, "Jerome... he said some things to me on that roof. Before he died… I thought you should know about it."
Oswald blinks, staring at Jim incredulously. "I... I don't know if I'm interested in hearing it, Jim. I'm not even sure why you feel me an important recipient of that information. I- Today of all days, you-"
"I wouldn't have told you at all, but- but I sort of realized its importance today ." he says, already irritable, "He talked about you while we were on the roof… He's actually… kinda how I knew you were on that blimp."
Oswald frowns, but nods for Jim to continue, "...Alright."
"He told me to tell you that he... well, he said -"
" Jim , just spit it out, for the love of Pete!"
"He liked you," Jim spits out violently, like the very idea offends him in some way.
Oswald's jaw drops, but before he can really think to berate him, he laughs "You... you can't be serious, James. He wouldn't have- Jerome Valeska wasn't the type of man to say something like that ." he scoffs, tossing his arms up between them.
The entire notion is ridiculous. That Jim thought to tease him like this was even more so. Oswald doesn't get the joke here.
Jim snorts bitterly, "I was just as surprised as you. I think I almost fell off that roof myself, actually. It caught me completely off guard, but he looked dead serious, Oswald."
" Jim ," he huffs, about to tell Jim off for butting into his personal business like this before he realizes how this must look; how his association with Jerome might appear to the cop who was in charge of the investigation, "he and I-"
"Whatever your relationship was, I don't care." he sighed, lifting two fingers to the bridge of his nose, and the other hand to silence Oswald, "He just said he was sorry. He said to wish you luck… you know, with Ed." He gestures towards Oswald and Oswald can't even find the words to respond with.
Instead he stills, mouth still open, eyes wide and disbelieving before he goes into an obscene amount of flailing, babbling, then angry guffaws.
Because in no rational world would Jerome Valeska wish Oswald Cobblepot luck with Edward Nygma. He's half convinced this is just some big joke Jim has cruelly decided to play on him on his wedding day. Of course, if that's the case, then-
"Why would you bring this to me today, Jim?" he asks harshly, eyes narrowing, " Of all days ."
"He asked me to. Dying man's last request and everything… I couldn't really say no. But I've never been good with timing," Jim says, "especially when it comes to weddings."
Oswald glares. "A lesson you would do well to learn quickly, Jim. It's done you no favors today."
"I just thought..." he sighs, and Oswald watches Jim start to slowly crumple in front of him, "I let Lee walk down the aisle with Mario before she could understand my feelings. I didn't say anything sooner. As much as I hated Jerome... I guess I kind of sympathize."
Oswald gapes, his surprise and dislike slowly morphing into an outraged pain. "You have no right to push your feelings on me, James Gordon! And blaming a dead man is even lower of you. Why in the world would you have thought this was a good idea? Unless you came here with the intention of causing me pain!"
"He wished you luck , Oswald." James says quickly, forcefully, "He was trying to tell you he was letting you go-that you should let him go. I thought you should know that. Today. It was important."
"James." Oswald says, taking a step closer, "You don't know what my relationship was to him, and my circumstances are vastly different from what yours were. We weren't in love. We didn't have a white picket fence life set out for us like you and Mrs. Thompkins did." He scowls. "We weren't even together." He blinks, looking down with something close to shame. "It meant nothing."
Jim frowns, but his eyes soften when he takes stock of Oswald's face. "Oswald... If it meant nothing, why are you crying?"
Oswald gasps, completely unaware that he'd shed even a single tear, and lifts a hand to his cheek to find it soaked.
It's hard to breathe from that point. "I..."
"Oswald, it's alright." Jim's hand gently falls onto his shoulder. " It's alright ."
"We weren't in love, Jim," he says again, almost like he's reassuring himself of that fact rather than Jim, but his eyes are stained this time with a sadness, lips wet and shaky, "It wasn't like that, not really, but it still... it still meant something . It hurts so much to admit that, but it did. It was something ."
Jim nods in understanding, but graciously says nothing, lets Oswald finish.
"There was never any possible future between us. There couldn't have been. But Ed-"
"Oswald, you're right." Jim says quickly, "You're nothing like Lee. It's different for you. You and Ed... as weird as this entire thing is, you both really deserve each other. I honestly hope you and your weird little family are happy together."
Oswald smiles with a short laugh and wipes his tears. "Thank you, James. That… really means a great deal to me. Especially coming from you. I seem to keep finding myself in a position where I owe you my life… and here I owe you again, for this…"
Oswald sighs, "I think you were right. I did need to know."
James hits him in the arm somewhat fondly. "Believe it or not, sometimes I get things right. Now go get married. Nygma's gotta be getting impatient by now."
"You're welcome to stay, Jim," Oswald blurts out before Jim can turn away completely, "I did send you an invitation… I know weddings are… difficult for you, but it would be lovely to have you, James."
Jim grins halfheartedly, "I'm really not good with weddings, Oswald."
"You could just stay for the reception? There will be cake. Martin chose the frosting."
Jim snorts and rubs at the back of his neck. Oswald can see the very moment he relents, shoulders slumping before he huffs. "Alright Oswald, I'll stay."
"I hope you enjoy mint frosting then," Oswald smiles. "Colored purple, of course."
Jim chortles.
As Oswald fiddles with the flower clipped to his suit jacket, decorated with pearled pins to match the one Edward will have on him when they meet at the altar, he does think of Jerome one last time. It's a fleeting thought, as he reaffirms the fact that he and Jerome never could have had this. This family he was about to create with Edward. There could never have been this level of intimacy between them. Not him and Jerome, not Jerome and Martin, none of it. If Jerome had lived, if Oswald had wound up with him, it would have ended with one or both of them dead. Martin might have become an orphan again, and Oswald could simply never do that to him.
As the large double doors open, and Oswald starts to make his way down the aisle through the bright and sunny lights pouring in from the stained glass, he knows this is where he's meant to be; Edward waiting at the front with his hands clasped in front of him and a huge smile on his face, Martin close beside him with an equally wide grin and a little purple pillow in his hands.
When he makes it to them, Oswald doesn't think of Jerome. He thinks of the family he has-of just how lucky he is to have it. Zsasz, his maid of honor (a title he'd insisted upon being able to keep) takes his bouquet with a sweet expression and a nod, holding it to his stomach like a trophy. He thinks of his mother and his father, how proud of him they would be. He thinks of how happy he is, as Martin lifts the tiny pillow at the minister's command and Edward slips the ring onto Oswald's finger, and how happy he will be in the future.
And Oswald is, happy.
