Chapter 52

The minute I enter the Gotham precinct, I spot Ed waiting by the entrance, wearing a leather policeman's jacket and a policeman's cap haphazardly tipped to the side of his head.

"Who's ready to patrol?" he smiles broadly, adjusting his jacket at the cost of his hat falling to the ground.

I smile, picking up his hat, "Don't you have work to do? I'm starting to suspect that you don't actually work in the morgue."

"I'm criminally underused," he states confidently, snatching back his hat and holding it to his chest, "and I need an activity to fill up my free time. Plus, I just like spending time with you."

Two familiar female voices suddenly catch my attention, and I move past Ed to investigate. I look over into the desk area to find Renee and Barbara sitting down in two chairs, the both of them sipping a coffee.

"Barbara, I'm not the Trickstress, but if you think you're being pursued by her, I can put you under police protection-"

She waves her hand abruptly, "No...no police protection. I have Jim after all, he's protection enough."

Renee leans back in her chair, "Alright, if you insist. Although, it must get lonely, what with James being in the office all the time. You have friends you can talk to?"

"Well, my artistry keeps me busy, and I still talk to V when I get the chance. You've met her before, right?"

Renee rolls her eyes, "Mhm."

"Hey girls," I interrupt, walking over to the little area they've set up for themselves.

"Morning Natalie. Did you see the new doormat we got in this morning?" Renee asks sarcastically.

I scrunch my eyebrows, not quite catching her drift, "...pardon?"

She and Barbara chuckle quietly amongst themselves, before Renee explains, "I'm talking about Ed. He's been waiting for you by the door for at least fifteen...twenty minutes. I'm starting to wonder how he gets any work done."

I don't want to admit that I've been taking him out whenever I have to patrol a beat, since that is breaking the rules. I also don't want to admit to Barbara that I'm the Trickstress, although why she suspects Renee, I'm not sure. We look nothing alike, although that may be hard to tell through a costume and mask.

"Natalie!" Ed calls in a shouted whisper, cupping his hands around his mouth and speaking in a shouted whisper. He impatiently gestures to the watch on his left hand with a slender finger, and I sigh.

"Well, mustn't keep the doormat waiting," I joke, "see you two later."

I walk back over to Ed, who stares me down with a thoughtful expression, "More enigmas, I see."

"It was just a conversation, Ed. What's so mysterious about it?"

He grins, taking off the police jacket and handing it to me, "The way you approached those two women. Cautious, calculated, like how a predator stalks its prey. Waiting for just the right moment to make your move, you treat every casual conversation as if it were a complex game of chess."

Wow, for Ed, that's a rather insightful comment on social interaction, something he's never specialized in. Perhaps he's finally gaining a sense of social skills, or maybe I'm just that predictable.

"I treat everything with caution, but never like a game of chess. That would be terrifying, considering how bad I am at chess."

Walking out into the space where I've parked the police cruiser, we get in, strapping in our seatbelts.

"Your skills may be...inadequate. But perhaps...you sometimes let others win," he counters.

I blow a raspberry, causing some of my hair to fly up before settling back down again, "No I don't. I like to win, who doesn't?"

I start up the car and head out. Ed takes out a small notebook from his pocket and begins turning to pages, "Well, yes, your endgame is victory, of course. But your strategy often includes taking small losses. If we're speaking in the metaphor of chess, you're willing to sacrifice a pawn or bishop in order to capture the opponent's king."

I shrug, "That's not a sacrifice. Pawns and bishops are generally useless in the grander scheme."

"Exactly. You see, you choose your losses carefully, picking ones that, in retrospective, are useless. But taking in these losses, you instill confidence in your opponent, allowing you to make the final strike to victory!" Ed declares dramatically, raising his fist in the air in excitement and accidentally hitting the top of the car.

He slowly lowers his hand and shakes it out, an embarrassed expression on his face. I chuckle, "Well, what about you? What's your strategy?"

His head pops up, and he calmly closes his pocketbook, "...hide."

I can't help but laugh a little at that, further embarrassing Ed. He scrunches his shoulders in and lowers his head, balling up his fists.

"Awe, it's okay Ed. You make up for your lack of social skills with your intellect," I assure him, patting him on the shoulder.

He slumps his shoulders, "But I'm not even recognized for that."

I raise an eyebrow, "You will, trust me. One day they'll realize that you have more potential than what your current job requires. But right now...well, I think they just need a little helping along into coming to that realization."

Ed smiles, "Of course, thank you Natalie," he adjusts himself so that he's facing forward, "you know, you're the only one I can really talk to, especially of subjects concerning my...insecurities."

"Not a problem, what're friends for, you know?" I casually respond.

"Yes indeed. You know, friendship is so important. It's something I find a lot of people take for granted. I mean, you were my first friend ever, heaven knows what I would've become if not for your influence," he crosses his arms and looks up at the blueish-gray sky in a ponderous manner.

I suddenly think of Oswald. If someone had been his friend growing up, would he be as psychotic as he is now? And if I hadn't befriended Ed, would he have gone done the same road as Oswald? These were all valid questions, ones that will probably never get a straight answer. It's never good to linger on hypotheticals, but I still can't help but wonder: if I could've met Oswald when we were young, could I have helped him?

I arrive home to find Oswald sitting at the dining room table, twiddling his thumbs, his head lowered out of sight.

"How was work?" he asks, keeping his head down.

I shrug, sitting down at the chair next to him, "Fine. The club has been pretty empty lately."

He chuckles, "Hmph. Serves Fish right."

I stop as I notice that Oswald has been deliberately keeping his head down during our conversation, "Oswald? Are you okay?"

His jet black bangs keep me from seeing his expression, so I can only imagine his malicious grin as he begins gleefully laughing, "Oh Trixie, you have no idea what I've been through today."

"What's the damage?" I ask bluntly, getting up from my chair and crossing toward him.

Getting on my knees, I lift his face up and see that he has a black eye, blood dripping from his mouth and some of it staining his undone shirt.

"What happened?"

"I told Don Maroni about my previous connection with the Falcone family. I even offered to help him sabotage the Royal Flush Casino by manipulating Raoul. But Maroni instead had me beaten," he admits, every word sounding like a spit.

I take by the arm and stand, "C'mon, I'll get a washcloth to wipe off the blood. You go change your suit and lie down."

"Can we have bathtime again?" he asks, his tone now innocent and child-like.

I smile, "Maybe once you're feeling better."

"Oh, I'm feeling much better now that you're here," he coos, his playful smile compensating for his cheesy advance.

I help him to my bed, which in the last couple of nights has become our bed. I lift him up and flop him down, allowing him to bounce against the mattress. Next, I move to the bathroom and prepare a hot washcloth and basin for Oswald before returning to the bedroom. Wiping his face with the cloth, I squeeze out the blood from the towel every so often. He stares at me, smiling.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

I continue wiping his face, "I know. It's just...I want to. I mean, what're friends for?"

Oswald grins, his gritty teeth showing a fair amount of blood on them as well, "Of course you do. But you're not my servant. Come up onto the bed with me."

Putting the washcloth down, I walk over to the other side of the bed and hoist myself over, my weight shifting the bed so that Oswald slides toward me. Our bodies touch, and I take his hand, nuzzling in closer. Oswald stares up at the ceiling, while he wraps his arms around me.

"I love you," he mutters, before kissing me on the cheek.

Instead of responding to him this time, I remain silent, pondering his sincerity, as well as my own. We've grown so close in such a short amount of time, is it wrong to suspect that what we-or at I feel isn't real?

Oswald turns to me, realizing something's amiss. He shakes me with his large hands, as if expecting a response, but he gets none.

"Uhm...Trixie, you're suppose to say 'I love you too', it's only polite."

I shift my body so that I face him, "Politeness, huh? Well, what if I just don't feel like being polite?"

He stares at me, confused, "Perhaps I've misphrased this but, you do love me, correct?"

"I, I don't know," I admit, shrugging.

It's a dangerous business to be telling someone like Oswald the truth, but I don't fear him like I use to,

especially now that I've seen him at his most...vulnerable. In the end, he's just a man, albeit a very strange one.

"Weren't you not just washing my face and neck with a cloth? Isn't that action enough to prove your love?"

I roll my eyes, "Oswald."

He firmly grasps my arm, "You're not flaking on me, are you, Trixie?"

I pull away from him as I hear the shaking insecurity in his voice, "Oswald, if I don't want to say 'I love you', you can't force me to."

I get off of the bed and start walking toward the door when the bed creaks, and a pair of feet hit the wooden ground. I turn to meet a bitter Oswald, his head lowered, blood still dripping from his mouth, "Oh, is that so?"

He draws his pocketknife, and runs toward me, hobbling on his bump leg. I duck under him, letting him run past me and into the living room. I whip around, scrabbling for my closet where I keep my knives. Oswald comes charging back for me, a fierce determination in his eyes. Using his height to get the upper hand, he tackles me to the ground, clawing with his hands to muscle his way on top of me.

"Hahaha...oh, that was fun, truly. But now...this is where the real fun happens," he growls, before diving in and kissing my neck.

I squirm as his tongue laps my neckline, and he struggles to keep me in place. Raising his knife, I'm too late to react as he jabs it into my shoulder. I scream before wrenching the blade out of his hand, letting it clatter to the ground before covering my shoulder in pain. I may have gotten rid of the weapon, but Oswald is still on top of me.

"Oh no, look what you've done," he coos almost sadistically. He places his hand on my wounded shoulder, squeezing it so that more blood runs from the wound, "I can fix your pain, if you'd only let me."

He kisses me on the lips, and I take him in, wrapping my good arm around him and pulling him closer. He lets out an animalistic moan as he reaches down to undo his belt, "Yes…"

Oswald jerks back and yelps in pain as I kick him in the groin, leaving me time to scramble out from under him. I kick him again in the stomach, getting up and stepping directly on his back. He squeals in agony, gasping for air as I grab him by the throat with both hands and pull him up. I want to kill him. Lover or not, no one gets away with that twice and doesn't pay for it. But as I hold him upright, clutching him at the neck, watching the life start to drain out of him, I remember how helpless the poor fool can be. All of his pain, anger, and compulsive behavior stem from his need to feel important, to feel wanted. I gave him that feeling, satisfied his deep psychological need, if only temporarily. Who could blame him for wanting more?

I toss him to the side, letting him fall onto the coffee table, shattering it under his weight. I march to the

kitchen cabinet to look for some bandages, "Get out."

Oswald slowly stands, his bum leg shaking violently, "...excuse me?"

I sigh, getting an emergency kit from the cabinet, "You get yourself cleaned up, pack your things, then leave, today."

He stares in silence as I clean and wrap up my own injury.

"Do I have to repeat myself?"

He shakes his head, "No...it's just that...well, it's awfully late to be dropping in at this hour. Perhaps I could stay...just one more night?"

I roll my eyes, "Oswald, you're literally just going downstairs."

"I know, but, Mom's probably already asleep, and I'd hate to wake her-"

"Cut your bullshit," I interrupt, "if you want another night, then fine. I don't feel like arguing with you tonight."

He bows his head, "Thank you, Trixie."

"Just sleep on the couch this time," I yawn, before closing the bedroom door, making sure to lock it and secure a chair on the knob. Just a precaution.

With the bedroom door closed, I grab a spare leather briefcase from the closet and begin packing his clothes. This has been a long time coming, Oswald isn't exactly roommate material, let alone boyfriend material. I'll bet he used his argument with his mother as an excuse to get closer to me, the loser.

And yet, as I pack his things, I run my hand through the soft fabric of one of his suits. I've always admired how nice they look on him, or how I'd feel his warmth beneath them whenever we embraced...

I shake off these thoughts, they're what have made me weak, allowed him to manipulate me however he pleases. I quickly wash up and then hop into bed. Well, after today, he'll never manipulate me again. Never.

Author's Note: Happy Valentine's Day, here's your extra chapter (although in reading this I realize how inappropriate this chapter may be in accordance to the spirit of Valentine's Day, like Oswald said, "timing is everything")

Narutoske: Thank you, and yeah, when looking through all the possible candidates of who could be Batwoman, it was between her and Renee Montoya, but Renee couldn't be Batwoman because she becomes the Question. And Barbara is the only female on the show rich enough to be able to have all the necessary equipment.

As for the Oswald's POV, it's true what he and Natalie have isn't exactly what would be considered healthy, and I think this chapter shows that more than anything. But yes, he's very unpredictable, and he will absolutely hurt people if need be

Fuchsia Grasshopper: Jim may start stirring up some more trouble as Natalie becomes closer to Barbara, you never know ;) And Ed's always a little on the quirky side, but in the end, he's a wonderful friend. And I feel like I should do Barbara some justice as a character, the potential mother of Barbara Gordon deserves at least that. As for Oswald, well, their falling out and her kicking him out will definitely change the dynamic between them

Thanks! :)