Chapter 3

I follow Oswald up several flights of stairs in a dark building to his apartment. The stairs moan with each step, as if the floorboards are about to give out right under us.

"Mother should be home. You'll love her, she's wonderful." he tells me as we ascend the final flight.

He reaches into the pockets of his suit and unlocks the door, letting it slowly creak open. The door opens to a small apartment, decorated in a Victorian fashion. Lace coverings envelope the tables, chairs, and practically everything else. There's a general antiquated feel to the furniture, as if all of the furnishings are actually from the Victorian era.

"Mother, I'm home!" he calls out.

One of the bedroom doors open, and a ghostly older woman appears in the doorway, "Ozzy, you're home ear-" her expression widens as she notices me.

While not a mother myself, I can imagine what would go through a mother's mind when her son comes homes with a woman in a dirty, slinky dress.

"Who's she?" she asks accusingly.

"Mother, this is Trixie, she saved my from...from some muggers. But she got her dress soaked in the process, and I offered to help her clean it up," he explains, although at least from my perspective, he's a terrible liar.

"Oh…" she realizes, "well...I've been meaning to do a load anyway. I'll start up the washer. In the meantime, Oswald, fetch her one of my old dresses."

As she leaves the room, I smirk at Oswald, "Did she call you Ozzy?"

He smiles bashfully, "It's...her nickname for me," he tries to conceal his blushing by turning away, "I'll...I'll get you that dress."
He shuffles off into her room, leaving me alone in the doorway. I close the door and take a seat on the well-used couch that serves as the centerpiece of the small living room. No television, or even a radio. There's a fireplace opposite the couch, and right in front of my feet is a faded mahogany coffee table, with a rather expensive china tea set set out.

"I'm not sure if this'll fit you but, uh, you can try it on in my room," he says, carefully handing me a neatly folded bundle.

His fingers graze my hand as he hands me the clothes. I swear he's doing that on purpose. I look up at him, but all he gives is an innocent smile.

Taking the clothes, I head into the other bedroom door he gestures to. Opening the door, I see a simple bedroom filled to the brim with stacks of old leather bound books. A double bed sits at the center against the back wall, and intricate sketches of birds hang from the walls.

I set the dress on the bed and unfold it, it's a simple baby blue dress, with a curved collar and two buttons down the breast. I throw off the dress Amanda gave me and slip into the new one. It's form fitting around the waist, but it's definitely classier than eye-catching piece I was wearing earlier tonight.

"Are you dressed?" Oswald asks, peeking in through the door. He sees that I'm changed, and he spends a couple of seconds examining me, his eyes wandering.

"Well, what do you think?" I ask, might as well ask his opinion if he's going to look at me like that.

"Be-beautiful...I, I mean, very nice, very, very...nice."

I smile, "Thanks."

I pick up my dirty dress and carry it to the small side room which serves as the laundry room. Mrs. Cobblepot takes my dress along with a heap of dulled clothes and throws it into the washer,

"Well, while we wait for this to wash, how about I put on some music and we can, uhm, get to know each other?" she offers, "Have you had supper yet?"

I realize I haven't, "No, I don't, I don't usually eat dinner."

"Well, good thing I didn't eat the last of tonight's supper, you can have that, if you like," she offers.

I nod my head, "Alright."

I watch her walk over to the small kitchen corner seated in one corner of the apartment. As soon as I near the kitchen, I catch a whiff of the strong smell of tuna. I notice the small disposal bin in the corner filled to the brim with empty cans of supplemental tuna, the kind the government gives out for free. I wonder, do they still give out those jars of peanut butter too?

"Here you go. Hope it hasn't gotten too cold," she offers me a plate of dried, pinkish yellow tuna, which I take.

"Thank you."

Taking the plate over to the table, Oswald sits on the couch, patting the seat next to him as a gesture for me to sit there. I smile, taking the seat, and I notice as I sit down, Oswald scoots just a little closer so that our legs and elbows are touching just a little. His body is warm on contact, even through his suit, and I can't help but blush.

Mrs. Cobblepot dusts off a record player hidden behind some curtains and picks out a record labelled: Gotham City Municipal Swing Band and Other Singles from the shelf below, "Oh, I haven't played this thing in ages."

She sets the record on the spindle, sets the needle on the record, and music starts playing. She sits down in one of the chairs adjacent the couch, "So dear, what brings you to Gotham City?"

Why does she assume I'm from out of town? "I'm actually from here madam," I explain, "it's just I was working up in Star City for awhile, and I decided to return home."

"Return to Gotham? Why?" she asks, shocked.

Uh...uhm...gotta think of something quick, "Well, while yes, most outsiders wouldn't consider Gotham as their first choice of residence, many people, such as myself, consider to be a special place with a lot of potential."

"Gotham is our home," Oswald states proudly.

The song on the record changed to an upbeat orchestral piece. Oswald suddenly gets up, and offers his hand to me. Setting down my plate, I cautiously take his hand, and he leads me to the small open space in the living room floor. He suddenly starts...dancing. Letting go of my hand, he starts twisting his hips and moving his arms back and forth in some sort of jive. It's awkward as hell, but it's all for fun, so I join him, trying to mimic his strange dance. We twist around in opposite directions simultaneously, our eyes never breaking contact.

"Oh, you kids!" Mrs. Cobblepot chuckles as she watches from her seat.

The song eventually stops, and changes to a slower, but still dance appropriate piece. Oswald stops dancing, and so do I. He offers his hand once again, and this time I take it without hesitation. He takes my right hand and extends it out, while he places his own right on my waist, leaving me to place my left on his shoulder. He then takes me into a moderate waltz around the room, our cheeks pressed together. We turn as the small confines of the room allow us to, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a stern, disapproving look on Mrs. Cobblepot's face.

"Your mother doesn't seem to quite like me," I whisper to him, as he releases me into a twirl and then pulls me back in again.

"She's just surprised is all. She's not use to the idea of me having friends."

I smirk, "Friends, huh? I think she senses you have a little more in mind than just friends."

I can tell he's also smiling, "Well, as a famous man once said, love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs."

The record comes to screeching halt, and we both look up to see that Mrs. Cobblepot has pulled the needle from the record, leaving it spin aimlessly, "Well, I think that's enough dancing for one day. It's getting late, you should be on your way uhm...Trixie."

"But Mother, her dress is still in the wash. She should stay over, just for tonight," Oswald pleads.

She crosses her arms, "She can pick up the dress in the morning, and besides, there's no where she could slee-"

"She could sleep with me, there's enough room for two-"

Mrs. Cobblepot eyes bulge out at his poor choice of words, but they eventually settle, "...she can sleep here, but on the couch...if that's alright with you Trixie."

I should decline, I already feel like I'm intruding on these two. Oswald's a clear mother's boy, and without any clear father figure present, it explains why Mrs. Cobblepot's become so attached to her son and visa versa. But Oswald's begging expression, and the fact that he's practically standing in the way of the front door, lead me to consider otherwise.

"...alright. One night, thank you, both of you for your generous hospitality." I smile.

Oswald's fiery green eyes light up, "Yes!"

"Ozzy, may I talk to you...alone?" she asks her son, gesturing towards her room.

They enter the room and she closes the door behind her, glaring at me as she does. I cross my arms, maybe I made the wrong decision staying with this family for the night. While she seems kind on the exterior, his mother is two steps away from kicking me out. But Oswald...man, what a nice guy.

Author's Notes:

Songs on the record player (in order of appearance):

Jeeves/Jervis (first song)

Gotham City Municipal Swing Band (the song where they start to dance)

Fred Astaire Cheek To Cheek (change to waltz)

Also, since there's such an outpour of reviews on the last chapter, I felt the need to start responding to them. If the reviews keep up this pace I will definitely continue.

Guest: Here you go! :)

Cee: Thanks, the two's relationship will only go up from here. And if you want to see where this originated from, read my Batman fic "The Doctor Is In" which this fic is actually based off of (takes place many years later, so spoiler alert for this fic).

: Yes, Oswald is adorbs :3. And yeah, I imagine many people in Gotham are desperate for work, most people don't chooseto become criminals, they do it out of necessity.

Lola93091: Yeah, it's technically his mother's place, but he refers to it as "his place" because...because English. And yeah, their apartment is based on the one that appeared in the show.

mk10: Thanks, I'm trying to make him endearing now so we still like him when he goes cray-cray.

EJ: Here it is! :)

Shadow Cat Mistress: Lol, no problem, either Natalie or Trixie is fine, as Mr. Dent might say, they're "two sides of the same coin".

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Thanks :)