She was still covered with blood as they got into his car. She was wearing a white dress that looked like it had been taken off the discount rack at a bridal store, and coupled with her pale skin and hair it made her look like a ghost.

She sat down in the backseat next to him and seemed as still as a statue as lights and streets passed them by.

Oswald still didn't know exactly why Emma had decided to show up – normally he didn't believe in such coincidences. And yet.

Unlike so many others in his life, Emma had never tried to bargain with him for anything. And if tonight's actions on her part had been somehow planned, did that include the look of horror and raw anguish on her face? Because that had not seemed like an act to him at all.

He patted his pockets and held out a linen handkerchief to her across the seats. She took it from his hand but instead of wiping herself off she held it in her hands with a death grip. She kept staring out the window, not looking at him at all.

"Martin owes his life to you tonight. I thank you for that." he said softly. After a long moment, Emma answered him with a question.

"He's important to you isn't he?" her voice was at odds with her appearance at the moment – too light and untroubled to be what she was really feeling. He considered her words and wondered if he should tell her the truth – because by now, it was undeniable even to himself.

"Yes. "

"Then I guess that it was okay. "

He thought that was an odd thing to say. It was more like she was saying it to herself rather than to him. It seemed that the more she was in his life, the less he actually understood her.

The car started on its trek towards his manor, but when Emma noticed, she suddenly became agitated – her eyes widened and she looked almost afraid.

"Where are we going?"

"Back home – and if you can stomach it, I believe Magda can offer something to eat that isn't pie." he said, smiling wryly.

But Emma wasn't amused – in fact, she was looking more and more lost.

"I can't go there right now. I have to go home."

Oswald smoothed down his blazer and scoffed at her words.

"You don't have a home though, do you? Your clothes are always filthy. "

Without any warning, Emma opened the door at her side and rolled out on the curb. The car swerved a bit and Oswald yelled for the chauffeur to stop. But when he managed to step out of the car himself, he could just catch the tail-end of her white dress disappearing around the corner.

Oswald grit his teeth and exhaled into the cold air.

She was gone.

In the following days, several messes ensued that kept Oswald busy.

He confronted Sofia Falcone as the liar he had realized that she was, and saved martin by staging his death.

Unfortunately, that also meant that he had to send the boy away – far, far away.

Being a father was never going to be in the cards for him anyway, so why even pretend it could happen?

I don't want to leave you.

Those words had affected him more than he could afford to recognize. As a result he became more aggressive at work – angry and moody at anyone who even dared look at him in any way he considered impolite.

He had also evaded getting arrested – in the nick of time really. If he wasn't so paranoid about everyone on his payroll, if he hadn't put spies on the key people within his organization, he would have missed the details of the secretly held meetings between Zsasz and Sofia, the ones he had never told him about.

Him and Gordon had come to an agreement about that – had practically served Zsasz up on a silver platter by giving him a fake assignment to kill a government official that never showed up to the designated spot. The man who never misses a shot got hit himself with a tranquilizer dart – the only way to get him without having any casualties. If Zsasz had a gun in his hand – or any pointed object for that matter, he was near unbeatable.

As a result, he was in quite a bitter mood. He had taken to emptying out the scotch in his office more often than not, then throwing the empty bottle against the closest wall. His grip on the underbelly of the city wasn't slipping – but things had not gone according to plan – not at all.

People still whispered behind his back. Still looked down at him like he was worth less than dirt.

"I have been too merciful, haven't I Mr. Penn?"

"Sorry sir?"

Oswald continued, nodding to himself.

"Yes, it's been quite some time since I did something….worthy of note. Made my intentions clear."

Oswald lifted his gaze from the fireplace in his office and drained the last contents of his glass before setting it down heavily on the mantle.

Something not quite sane played about his features that night, something that only showed itself when he had been taunted one too many times as a boy, or pushed too hard by now-deceased relatives.

There were things you had to do sometimes – even if you didn't even like doing them. But you had to because it was needed. Like cleaning, you had sweep away all the dirt that you could find so it wouldn't fester.

The mob had a similar way of doing things.

Every couple of years you simply had to get rid of any distrusting souls who didn't support the cause.

Oswald liked that idea. He liked it a lot in fact.