Ed quietly played the piano in time with the record he'd put on. Oswald had been sleeping the rest of the night, it was now morning and Kristen had returned to work. It was about time Oswald actually woke up, his wounds would be tended to well enough that he should be fine so long as he took it easy.
The song haunted Oswald in his sleep, calling up memories reaching back into the murkiest depths of his childhood… But no. That wasn't possible, he remembered, as he slowly emerged into painful awareness. His mother was gone. Gone forever, and it was his fault… His eyes blinked open, to find that strange man playing the familiar song on a piano… Had there even been a piano here before? And how had he known? How could he possibly have…
Oswald regarded him for a long moment with confused suspicion. "Why are you playing that?" Was he mocking him? Or did the lunatic actually think he was helping?
"You were humming it in your sleep. I figured it was something you found comforting." He said quietly, as he stopped playing and turned towards Oswald.
He looked down, the weight of his grief too heavy now to bear. "Every night when I was young," he heard himself saying haltingly, the memories spilling out of him. "My mother would sing that song to me, when I was going to bed." He found himself looking up at Edward. The guy was a stranger, and already seen him as weak and vulnerable as he'd ever been. It wasn't as if it mattered. Why shouldn't he talk about it? "And every time, she would tell me… 'Oswald,'" He was on the verge of tears now, his voice choking up despite his best efforts to keep it together. Her caring words echoed in his head, and he knew no one would ever talk to him that way again. "'Don't listen to the other children. … You're handsome, and clever… And someday you will be a great man.'" So much for that. He choked up at the memory, at the totality of everything he'd lost. "She said that every time… That's all I have left now." He looked up at Edward, who for some reason, was listening attentively, though he had no reason to. "Memories. And they're like daggers in my heart."
"You're lucky." Edward said quietly.
"What?" Oswald hissed, staring back at him. His first impressions had been right. This man was completely insane. "How, exactly, am I lucky?"
"Two nights ago," Edward said quietly. "My father was killed …" He said though he didn't specify by who. "And you know what I felt?" He asked, though he could tell Oswald didn't care. "Nothing …" He said. "He laid at my feet covered in blood, and I felt nothing … Once he'd been taken care of … I felt joy. Because I never had those experiences with my father. I don't have those memories … You're lucky to have had joy in your life … She sounds like a good woman."
"She was," he said quietly, shaking with the effort it took not to break down crying. "And now she's gone." All because he had failed to protect the one person in his life who had ever cared about him. She would never have been in danger in the first place if it hadn't been for him.
"I would still consider you lucky." He said. "Mr. Penguin, for some men love is a source of strength." He said getting up from the bed and moving towards the dining room table so that Oswald would not be able to leave unless he planned on climbing over the bed, in which case he'd have time to stop him. "But for you and I it will always be our most crippling weakness."
Oswald had heard just about enough of this. He was not about to let anyone tell him what to do with his own grief. Ignoring the pain of movement, he made his way clumsily to the other end of the bed and got up. "This little visit is over," he said, heading for the door. "Move aside, Ed."
"You are better off unencumbered." Edward said harshly as he stopped Oswald from leaving.
Staring up at Edward, for a moment, Edward was too angry to speak. "What did you say?" he hissed in barely above a whisper.
"You said it yourself. Your mother is dead because of your weakness." He said harshly. "But what you need to realize is your weakness … Was her!"
His words set Oswald's brittle feelings ablaze with rage. He snatched up a knife from the kitchen counter, pressing it to Edward's throat as he grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him forward, trembling with fury. "My mother was a saint!" he shouted, his voice cracking with grief. "The only person who truly cared about me, and now she's gone!" How dare this pompous lunatic look down at him with his smug face and talk to him like that, talk about his mother like that… "And I have nothing left!"
Edward felt himself freeze as Oswald pressed the knife again his throat, remaining on his guard despite Oswald not killing him right away. He would need to be careful what he said, this would be crucial … For both of them.
"A man with nothing he loves … Is a man who cannot be bargained. A man who cannot be betrayed. A man who answers to no one … But himself." Edward said looking down at the short man who was shaking with anger, though he seemed to be calming. "And that … Is the man that I see before me." Ed said seriously. "A free man."
Edward's words seemed to hit him one by one, cold and hard and impossible to ignore. It struck him as a cruel, callous way to talk about the only person in his entire life who had ever loved him, or ever would. But was he really wrong? Wasn't that what he'd always wanted, to be completely invulnerable, completely in control? Wasn't that what he needed to become a great man, like his mother had always known he could be? He couldn't help thinking about what his mother would have thought if she could have heard this, if she had known the thoughts running through his head right now, if she could see what he was becoming… But she never would. He was free now to be the monster he'd always known he had to be, without worrying about breaking his mother's heart.
His trembling hands let go of Edward's shirt, and he slowly lowered the knife, looking away from him, his eyes downcast now. He didn't know how to feel anymore.
Edward watched him as he backed down, his words sinking in. He moved his hand to the blade of the knife and pulled it from Oswald's suddenly light grip. He closed the knife, and placed it into his pocket.
Still staring down at the floor, Oswald didn't bother trying to hold onto the knife, just letting Edward take it from him. After everything that had happened, he just felt so emotionally drained. But he knew now that he wouldn't be able to just give up. He was going to have to carry on, even though he'd been so sure that he couldn't, to rebuild his ruined empire from nothing. Right now, though, the thought of starting over was just overwhelming. He didn't even know where to begin this time.
"It's a little hypocritical," he said quietly, his voice calmer than before, though he still didn't raise his eyes from the floor. "Don't you think? What about your weakness?"
"I do admit I do still have a weakness. Kristen would be my weakness … As I would be hers … But I'm not the one trying to build an empire and take over the city. But we would be willing to help you do so. So no, you are not alone." I
"Well, that just solves everything, doesn't it?" Oswald said, with a slightly bitter hint of sarcasm in his voice. "An amateur killer and his girlfriend should help me take down Galavan in no time." But it was better than nothing, at least. Since he was unsure where he stood with Jim now, he would have to take what alliances he could get. Everyone had their uses, and Edward and Kristen were inexplicably stubborn about helping him. He thought he was beginning to understand Edward's twisted motivations, at least enough that he would soon be able to predict his reliability… But Kristen was still a mystery. "Why?" he said, finally looking up at Edward again. "What do you care?"
"Because I think we would be mutually beneficial to us both." He said with a slight smile. "Because we need each other. And because I think we could become the very best of friends." He said raising an eyebrow, that smirk not leaving his face.
"Perhaps," Oswald said, straightening a little. The grief still wouldn't leave him alone, but he needed to be able to push it back just enough to function. "I could use a friend."
"Well then you have one. Two if you'll accept Kristen." He said with a kind smile. "Are you hungry?" He asked. "We can order Chinese if you want."
Oswald shook his head, and opened his mouth to give his go-to response from the past couple of days, that he wasn't hungry… But his stomach growled, interrupting him. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd accepted food. "Actually, yes," he said, surprised at the realization. "Now that you mention it, I am pretty hungry." It was time to start getting his strength back up again… He was going to need it after all.