Oswald had always loved the Gotham City Library. When he was a child his mom would bring him on Saturdays and they would browse through and pick out two books each time. One for him and one for her. She would make him read the one he picked out to her in the afternoon while she cleaned, and tell him what a smart boy he was for knowing how to read so well even when he mispronounced something. She would always pick something Hungarian and read it to him at night which always put him to sleep.
That was something she had actually continued to do well into his adulthood on nights when he couldn't sleep. When he was recovering and mourning her death in Edward's care, he shared this story among many other things he probably shouldn't have shared. One sleepless night Edward popped up from the couch and said he could hear Oswald twisting and turning. Oswald mumbled that he was sorry to have woken him and protested when he heard Edward shuffle across the small space between the couch and bed. When he flipped on the light, Oswald had tucked his head under the covers in disapproval and heard some fumbling around on the bookshelf. Of course Ed had a book in Hungarian. Of course he knew how to read it too. His voice was soft, and despite his mispronunciation of some of the words, Oswald fell asleep in about 20 minutes. In their brief time living in the mansion together, Oswald would knock on Edward's door when he saw the light on inside still and Ed would wordlessly follow him to his room, sit on the bed next to him and read The Paul Street Boys to him again until they both fell asleep.
He smiled softly, sadly, while looking out of the window. The sky was gray, it was always so gray it never felt like it ever truly because daytime. He remembered how the old books of the library smelled, how every pillar outside and inside seemed to be so proud and intricate, he remembered the sun shining through the windows of it, making everything glow with warmth. His mother, Edward, and the sun had all left him now.
"We're here." Jim placed a hand on his arm tenderly.
Remembering his cane this time, he accepted Jim's helping hand to get out the car. Jim steeled himself, looking around alertly. They quickly walked to an old fire escape door, forgoing the beautiful heavy front doors for the secrecy of a side entrance. Oswald looked around the library in disappointment. He almost expected it to look the same despite logic preparing him for the reality. The thick coat of dust and even a few cobwebs seemed to billow up with every step they took. The dull light from outside seemed to barely illuminate everything. Torn books and crumpled paper were thrown in corners, and everything smelled damp.
They moved very slowly, eyes and ears peeled for the possibility of a threat. In the middle of the library they were seeing less trash and dust, until they finally found a whole room-sized area of clean tables and books piled on them still intact. Jim nodded toward the books and a collection of candles on another table nearby.
"We're not alone." He whispered. Oswald nodded in agreement.
"Maybe they stepped out?" He offered, half hoping. He wanted to go smoothly.
"The candle wax is still drying, so doubtful." Jim shrugged. "That's why we came together. We knew this was a possibility." He took a match out of his pants pocket and handled it to Oswald.
"You sure I should?" Oswald hesitated, Jim gave him the go-ahead. "Anyone who was going to kill us would've have done it by now. They probably just want us to hurry up and go." He pointed the gun around the room, while Oswald lit a few of the candles.
"How will I know where to find the relevant books?" Oswald asked, suddenly realizing they hadn't thought this through. He laid the papers they had been looking at earlier out on the table. They both looked around, a little lost for a minute.
"Looks like we have luck on our side." Jim pointed to one of the books in the stack. "Not sure if this will help but it's a good start." Oswald grabbed it from the pile.
"A Brief History of Weapons – Chemical and Mechanical." Oswald laughed quietly. "Fortune really does favor the bold. We're just going to take everything that might be useful to Mr. Fox right?" He opened the book to the index at the end, seeing many matches to the documents they had brought.
Jim nodded and sat down. Oswald looked at him surprised.
"This might go faster if I help, actually. I can move quick if need be, but we've been sitting here with a lit candle for a few minutes and no one has shot us yet." He gave Oswald a wry smile.
"Well, you are the expert, Detective." Oswald smirked back at him, feeling very at ease despite the fact that this was unknown territory.
The poured over the books on the table for close to an hour, stacking up the ones with any mention of the chemicals in Crane's new concoction. With the candlelight and their close proximity to each other it was almost romantic, at least that's what Oswald felt when he reached across Jim to get the next book and looked into Jim's eyes playfully.
"I could hand you the books, you know." Jim raised an eyebrow at him.
"I know." Oswald said unconcerned.
Jim shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of how nice Oswald looked again today. His eyes lingered on Oswald's glinting eyes in the candlelight before slowing moving down the slope of his nose, getting to his soft lips pressed together firmly while he concentrated.
"I think that's it for this pile. We have quite a few books. That should be enough to help Lucius get started. Good work Oswald."
"Maybe I should have been a detective too." Oswald half-teased.
"I think you could've been. You're smart Oswald, I've always thought that." Jim said. "It's a shame you chose to use your talents to oppose the law."
Oswald frowned a little. "I like to think of myself as helping promote law and order, just not in the way the corrupt city officials did before."
"I don't want to argue with you in the middle of dangerous task." Jim frowned back.
"So now it's dangerous again?" Oswald found himself snickering. "Just seconds ago we were flirting but I guess everything happens on your terms, right Jim?" He pulled out a large canvas bag and began aggressively shoving the books into it.
"What?" Jim asked, taken aback. "Flirting? I wasn't-"
"Let's stop playing this game Jim." Oswald said bluntly while he stopped putting the books in the bag and stared at the table. The candle started to flicker. "I think you know that I care for you, and I think you use it to your advantage while you judge me for being a criminal."
"I would never use something like that against you." Jim's brow furrowed. "I didn't know you cared in that way." Jim spoke slowly and carefully but it was obvious he felt a little awkward.
The realization of what he had confessed to hit Oswald and he looked at Jim hurriedly, trying to backpedal.
"It's just, I think we are close friends and then you remind me how little you think of me. That's all I mean." His heart was racing at the idea of being rejected again, he hoped Jim would let him have his dignity and accept the lie.
Jim looked a little hurt but nodded. "Right. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you Oswald." He laid his hand on Oswald's shoulder. "I apologize."
Oswald nodded and forced an uncomfortable smile. "Please forgive me for my outburst." He felt suddenly cold and nauseous.
All the candles went out at once. By the time their eyes adjusted to the much dimmer light, the bag and the file were both gone.
"Well, that was uncomfortable for me to listen to. I can't imagine how awkward it must have been to actually experience it." Came a booming sarcastic voice. Oswald and Jim stood up quickly, the former pulling his knife from his cane and the latter pulling out his gun and pointing it towards the voice.
"Then again, I can certainly empathize with you Jim." Edward strutted out from behind a bookshelf, grinning. "Having been on the end of an unexpected declaration of love from Oswald myself."