Chapter Six: Strongest of All, Weakened By One

As one could have expected, the door to the Van Dahl mansion was unlocked. Oswald still had expected her to come home; a lot sooner, perhaps...but there it was. If he hadn't been contrite, he would have left the door locked. Alas, here it was, not so. Anyone and their brother could have come into the mansion and rob him blind (not that many would have even dared do something so foolish). Quietly, Sylvia entered and closed the door with the softest 'click'. She put her coat on the stand behind it, and then walked completely inside.

A small sound of someone stoking the fire alerted her to a presence in the living room. She leaned against the wall in relief when she noticed that it was Mr. Bell, who was squatted in front of the mantle, trying to revive the dying fire. He wore a maroon-colored bathrobe, fire-engine red wool cap, and matching pajamas.

"Mr. Bell. You're out of bed."

Her voice vaguely startled the manservant, but Mr. Bell was smiling when he peered over his shoulder at her.

"Oh, dear. It appears that I've been discovered," He joked, straightening to his full height. However, when he did, a grimace of pain hedged his expression of amusement in the slightest way.

Sylvia pretended not to notice. A comment on Mr. Bell's age wouldn't have boosted his ego; he was nearing the age of fifty; his physical prowess had prolonged the inevitable deterioration of age, and so far the only issue seemed to be his immune system, which evidently had lacked the proper discipline to keep him from getting sick. But even for a man nearing fifty, he looked like he was in a greater deal of pain than he let on.

"Are you feeling better?" Sylvia asked as she pulled off her gloves one finger at time, and placed them on the end table nearest to the couch. "You seem like it, at least."

"I was down for the count, but I'm back to my usual self. If I may ask, why are you home so late?"

Almost coyly, she responded, "Were you expecting me?"

"Personally, I thought you were already in bed. So, one can only see why I was so startled when I heard you coming through the front door," Mr. Bell explained, smiling a little. He noticed that she was still wearing what she'd worn on the way out earlier this morning, and his brow furrowed. "Why are you home so late?"

"I had business to take care of at the club."

He looked at the clock sitting on the mantle of the fire place: it was a few minutes past midnight.

"Is Oz still up?"

"He went to bed, as far as I know it."

"I'm going to check on him."

"Did you two have an argument?"

Sylvia halted in mid-step, turning on her heel to look at him: "Why do you ask that?"

Mr. Bell smiled knowingly, saying, "I've seen the extent of Mr. Cobblepot's temper, I dare say. But there's always an intricate difference in his tantrums. How he behaves post-temper severely depends on whether he was made furious by his cronies or by your doing, my lady. That said, he was particularly grumpier than usual this afternoon."

"How would you know that, seeing as you were supposed to be in bed? The doctor said 'one week'. Not 'six days'."

"I feel a lot better, milady," Mr. Bell reassured. He glanced below the mantle, adding, "I can't say the same for this lamentable excuse for a fire."

"There's more wood in the back...And I don't care if you feel better, Mr. Bell. The doctor said…."

"I am ten times better. I know my health more than that old flatulent hack," Mr. Bell argued, albeit in a good humor. "I could do five cartwheels and a front flip over the Golden Gate Bridge to prove that I have never felt better. Should I prove myself to you now or later in the morning?"

Sylvia resigned, "Don't bother. I believe you."

"Now that my health has been thoroughly discussed, I'd like to know if I am correct in my presumption. You and Mr. Cobblepot did have a little disagreement?"

Sylvia gave him a look and that made Mr. Bell grin knowingly. He didn't even need a verbal confirmation when it came to her; she could convey a thousand conversations with her facial expressions alone.

"Well, I'm sure whatever the disagreement, you and Mr. Cobblepot will work it out." He said confidently. "Now, do excuse me, milady. I'm going to fetch more firewood. It's colder than Antarctica in this place."

He bowed to the waist. Straightening, he tried hiding a grimace of pain, which Sylvia decided to ignore. He then left shortly to the back of the mansion.

Sylvia watched him, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. She'd surely see Mr. Bell live to the age of 100, rolling around in a wheel chair and being partly supported by a ventilator, and he'd still vow that he could do a front flip over that damn bridge. But that's one of the reasons she liked him; he was feisty, turning fifty years old in another few months. Fifty years old going on sixty, if he wasn't careful enough.

The bedroom door was cracked open. Just enough for her to peek through into the dark space. As she opened the door gingerly, Sylvia noticed that Oswald was lying on his side of the bed, not sprawled out or anything. Then again, he never really took up much of the bed space, anyway. There was a bottle of Jim Beam Bourbon Whiskey, sitting on the end table; a small glass beside it; what was left of the ice had melted to the bottom, diluting the usual rich, caramel-colored alcohol to a pale brown.

A pang of guilt made Sylvia wince. Had their argument caused so much turmoil that Oswald had to switch to something stronger in order to dull the stronger emotions? Forget the fact that he'd sought out the cheaper stuff in the cabinets.

For all his strengths of charisma, influence, ambitions, and otherwise skill of manipulation, Sylvia would frequently forget that Oswald was an emotional man. It was not a secret that they both had tempers the size of Texas. While Sylvia was given more to impulse, Oswald was far more controlled by his emotions—particularly those that centered around his feelings towards her.

Mr. Bell had noted that Oswald's temper varied by a slight degree. Whether he was furious at his flunkies for messing up on a contract, or what-have-you, he could kill a man and then be peachy as pie a moment after. However, to Mr. Bell's credit, he had been right. When Oswald and Sylvia argued and if the conflict wasn't resolved at that particular moment, Oswald's temper could fester into an emotional roller coaster. Who knows how many people he snapped at, or calls he had rejected while their conversation bubbled up and repeated like a washing cycle over and over in his head.

The night had progressed normally for Sylvia as she had balanced her finances. Meanwhile, Oswald was going over the conversation several hundred times, no doubt wondering if he could take back what he'd said. It had compelled him to open the bottle of bourbon, a way to get to sleep so his mind and heart would cease fire.

Sylvia walked to his side of the bed, capped the bottle, and took the glass in the other hand. She momentarily left the room to put both in the kitchen before returning to the bedroom, closing the door silently. Just as cat-like quiet as she had been when she walked, she undressed, and then pulled a night slip over her head. During this time, she contemplated Jim's suggestion.

Make-up sex.

It was a good idea...but the question was: Once Oswald woke up, would he even be in the mood to 'do the do' as it were?

Come to think of it, Sylvia had never woken him up with sex before. A kiss, yes, but sex? That hadn't even entered her mind, surprisingly enough. And what if—by chance—when he did wake up, if he rejected her. If he'd fallen asleep angry, wouldn't logic dictate that he'd still be cross when he opened his eyes?

Well, that was a chance she had to take, huh?

Sylvia slid under the covers, smiling when she saw that he was wearing his all-black pajama shirt and pants. He slept on his back, hands on his chest.

"Sweet baby." She uttered lovingly.

She moved closer to him. Lying on her side, Sylvia tested his degree of consciousness, lightly tugging the hem of his shirt and slowly sliding her hand underneath. Her fingers grazed the bare skin of his stomach, then up to his chest. A small amount of excitement tickled her when she felt lean muscle definition beneath her fingertips.

Quelling the need to satisfy her sexual inhibitions too early on, Sylvia leaned into him, and ever so gently nuzzled Oswald's neck, kissing the skin just below his ear lobe and above his neckline. His sweet spot.

Oswald moved in his sleep. His furrowed brow relaxed, and his hands moved to his sides. Sylvia smiled in satisfaction. He wasn't in such a deep sleep that he couldn't respond to her, but odds are, whatever she was doing was somehow finding its way into his dreams.

"This will be a dream you won't forget." Sylvia whispered, grinning from ear-to-ear.

She hooked one leg around his, anchoring him to the bed on his back. No need for him to turn on his side, after all. Sylvia had him just where she needed him. She laid her head along the crook of his neck, sliding one arm under his pillow; the other remained under his shirt. Her fingers drew invisible designs over his chest and stomach, just lightly enough to be present.

"I know you were just looking after me," Sylvia mumbled remorsefully. "I know that, now. Even after all these years...I guess I'm still not used to that. You can understand better than anyone, can't you?"

Oswald let out a soft 'mmm'. Whether that was an acknowledgement to her words or otherwise, Sylvia's grin widened when he did.

"We have one argument, and you're halfway through a bottle of bourbon." Sylvia mused. Her hand drifted downwards to the waistband of his pajamas. "I'm not certain if I should feel guilty about that…or a little flattered…" (She fiddled with it.) "…that you care so much."

She kissed his ear.

"I love you, Ozzie."

In saying so, she dipped her hand beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, and smiled when there was no barrier between them and his cock. He went without boxers….

"Well, well, well…." Sylvia drawled lowly in his ear. "Someone was expecting something tonight, wasn't he?"

Maybe the idea of make-up sex wasn't just a suggestion on her brother's part. Oswald was probably thinking along the same lines. It wasn't often that he would skip on looking his best…even when he was sleeping. He was always so prim and proper. But not tonight, it seemed.

And when she never came home (at least not while he was awake), Oswald decided that a shot of bourbon would get him to sleep just as quickly, although not as contently. Sylvia wasn't one-hundred percent sure that this had been his thought process, but considering how well she knew him…She'd bet her employees' lives on that wager.

Sylvia flattened her hand, and grazed her palm over the flaccid member, stroking him. As she did, she watched his face for any type of hint that he was waking up: his lips parted ever so lightly, and Sylvia smirked. Whether he knew it or not, his body was reacting to her touch.

She sat up, careful not to cause any abrupt disturbance. Just as slowly, she pushed his legs apart and sat between them, then she leaned over his body, and kissed his neck. He stirred again.

"I'm going to be really interested in seeing what you do when you wake up and see me sucking your cock," Sylvia sighed, and she kissed him gently on the lips before crawling back to her spot between his legs.

Lying on her stomach, Sylvia tugged at the waistband of his pajama bottoms down to the low V of his hips, shimmying them below his thighs. With his cock in her hand, she licked the tip, underneath it, and then as she swirled her tongue, slowly took him inside her mouth.

"Mmmm…"

It was the softest of sounds, but she heard his moan, and it set her insides ablaze. Sylvia lifted her eyes, smirking when his back slightly arched, and the way his face expressed confusion and bliss.

His mind was trying to make sense of it within a dream, while his body was happy to engage.

Sylvia hummed lowly, setting vibrations over the head and shaft of his cock. When his hips started to thrust, she locked her arms around his waist, keeping him still. She would go at her own pace. Not his.

The bed creaked as she re-positioned, getting to her knees while her tongue massaged him. When his cock was lathered with her saliva, she stroked him with her hand as she crawled to his side.

Once there, her lips briefly touched his. To her surprise and content, Oswald slowly returned it.

Sylvia watched his eyes open, and he looked at her, briefly confused, before putting his warm feelings and her presence together, solving the mystery.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Sylvia teased, grinning from ear-to-ear. She squeezed his cock in acknowledgement.

His hands lifted, tangling into her hair and he guided her head up to meet his, shoving his mouth against hers so hard, their teeth clicked. He kissed her with both passion and desperation. In between kisses, he begged, "Please, don't stop."

She stroked him harder, faster…his kisses became sloppy, like he couldn't keep up with her while she played with him. He was rock hard in her grip, and Sylvia sensed his alcohol-filled urgency.

While one hand satisfied his deeper urge, she used the other to pull down her underwear, slyly climbing out of them and then onto him. While Sylvia straddled his lap, Oswald looked up at her as though she was a goddess in human form, knowing what relief she was about to grant him, but also knowing how quickly this beautiful thing of a gift could be taken away.

His cock stood at attention without her help, and she took it between her legs, rubbing the head between the lips of her pussy, teasing her clit. Oswald reached up to touch her braless breasts, covered by the night slip. He licked his lips, his breathing quick and shallow.

"You want this?" Sylvia asked sweetly, slowly teasing his cock with her wetness.

"Please…."

"Please what?"

Oswald sat up, and she allowed him to kiss her passionately. His soft moans vibrating inside her mouth, proving to her how eager he was. His hands groped her breasts, then her ass, doing what was necessary to persuade her.

"You want to be inside me, don't you, Oswald?" Sylvia asked, her soft lips against his.

She lifted her hips, rubbing his cock against her tight entrance, teasing. She felt his cockhead slip through, and suddenly every part of her was just as desperate for him to be inside. She didn't wait for an answer. She mounted him, sinking herself onto him, balls deep. They both let out a deep sigh of content before Sylvia started grinding on him, swirling her hips so she could feel every inch of his swollen dick inside of her.

When she wasn't going fast enough, drunk or not, Oswald let out a sharp sigh of frustration, and bucked his hips so hard that Sylvia lost her balance and fell on her back. She smirked when Oswald was instantly on top of her, separating her legs so he could move in between them.

"Oz, what—"

"Don't try to stop me."

Sylvia was undoubtedly stronger than him. If she wanted, she could throw him across the room. In spite of her physical prowess, Sylvia couldn't push him away. He was the only person that could ever make her feel so weak and so powerless—but it was a feeling she craved.

Seeing this was so, Oswald's dominating side came forth. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the mattress on either side of her head and as he kissed her, his cock thrust back inside.

"Fuck…."

The swear didn't come from her. It came from him. Hearing him swear made Sylvia's heart pick up a few beats, and her cunt tightened around him. She was so ready…she could come at any moment.

"Baby, I'm…fuck, I'm so close..." Sylvia whimpered.

Hearing her desperate plea, Oswald moved faster, harder. Her cunt tightened around him, her walls contracting, and she damn near screamed. He covered her mouth with his hand; when her wetness clenched around him for a tenth time, his own climax erupted. He bit down on her shoulder, and Sylvia keened.

Slowly, the erotic bliss ebbed away, leaving the two lovers in content. Slowly, Oswald pulled out of her, a smug little smile tugging at the corner of his lips when she let out a soft, reluctant moan. He lied beside her, breathless, but satisfied. In all honesty, he was still slightly drunk, but his approaching sobriety wouldn't leave him any less content than he was now.

Sylvia sat up, feeling her thighs shake even as she was still recovering. After enough time had lapsed where both could catch their breath, the silence was broken.

"I'm sorry for what I said." Oswald said quietly, looking at her from his back.

She looked at him, meeting his eyes.

"And I'm sorry I told you to get out of the club."

Oswald brushed a hand through his hair and sat up, leaning his back against the headboard. His pajamas were ruffled from their love-making, and Sylvia's night slip was wrinkled. Seeing one another as such, they cracked a smile.

"You know, all I want is for you to be safe." Oswald said softly. Doubt suddenly plagued him and he looked at her uncertainly. "You know that…Don't you?"

"Of course, I do. That's not what made me angry."

"You have to admit, you do put your life in danger any time you're with your brother."

"You've never said anything before."

"If I had, would it have changed anything?"

"Probably not…."

Oswald moved closer to her and Sylvia smiled when he held her hand.

"But, you know…I don't have to tell you the type of men I've been with before you. You've seen what they were like. They were controlling, possessive—You can't just tell me stuff like that. I know what you said came from a good place…Now that I'm calm, I understand."

"But you like being told what to do…."

"I like being your employee. But there's a fine line there. You are more than welcome to tell me who I have to kill, rob, or what-have-you. You and I see eye-to-eye on most things anyway, so there's nothing you can tell me that I will disagree with…ever. But I'm not just your employee, either. I'm your wife—and we can argue about which wine is better with steak, and whose turn it is to tell Mr. Bell that he has to clean the kitchen again….by the way, it's your turn…."

Oswald let out a breathy laugh, happy that the tension was broken. Sylvia smiled at his response.

She added: "Jim means a lot to me. No one will keep me away from him if I have any say in it. But I appreciate you looking after me."

Oswald nodded, taking in this information as he considered her words.

"I assume I have some say in this?" He asked, almost comically.

She gestured to him to continue.

"Regardless of how others may revere you…You are single-handedly the most important person to me, Pigeon. That said, everything you do…anything you say….it resonates deeply with me."

"Is that why you went through half a bottle of bourbon?"

"Partly."

"'Partly'?" Sylvia repeated.

"Well…"

She smiled.

"Ozzie."

"Hmm?"

She sat on her knees, and took his hands in hers.

"I'm sorry that I upset you," She said gently. "I know you care for my safety. And I know—since the event with Maroni's men in the past—you've become overprotective, and that's what I love most about you."

"Why do I sense a 'but' coming on?"

"Because there is a 'but'. My brother is a magnet for chaos. He always has been, always will be. There will never come a time that when he asks for my help that I'll turn him away. It puts my life in danger, sure, but that's kind of my baseline at this point." Sylvia said, shrugging a shoulder. "And I'd readily do the same thing for you. Just know that I will always come back."

"And what happens when the day comes that you don't?"

"This is Gotham. People don't stay dead. I'll always come back to you, Oz. I'll always be here when you need me, and you can always count on me when you do. But for what it's worth…while Hugo Strange's monsters are out and about, I will do my best to keep some distance between Jim and me so that it will give you some peace of mind."

Oswald's eyebrows raised in surprise. Sylvia noticed, and she laughed quietly.

"Why the sudden change of mind?" He asked as she lied on her back.

"I don't say it often, but…I was wrong. And you were right."

"About?"

"Sometimes, someone needs to tell me what to do." Sylvia confessed. "I do my best to protect you and Jim—I've trained with Mr. Bell for months. But for all my physical acquisitions I've gained from him, and all the shooting ranges and contracts I've gone to with Victor Zsasz, there's still one person that could disarm me.."

"Who are they?" Oswald asked suspiciously.

"More like 'she'."

"Pardon?"

"Me. I can protect you and Jim from everyone and their brother. But for whatever fucking reason, I can't protect me from myself. It's an existential dilemma, really." She mused, looking up at Oswald as she smiled. "Someone has to tell me when to back off. Whether it be you, or Jim."

"I suppose you're right."

"There's something else."

"'Else'?"

"Mm-hmm."

"What else?"

"Jim said something to me," Sylvia relinquished interestedly.

"When?"

"Earlier."

"Today?"

"Well, technically speaking, it would be 'last night', since it's morning."

"The time of day is irrelevant, Pet."

Sylvia crossed her arms: "Jim and I spoke last night. At my club."

"And what did he have to say?"

"Nothing much. But he mentioned something that I think you'd find most fascinating."

"Which is?"

Sylvia sat up and said with a languid smile, "He says that you're the only person that could stop me from destroying Gotham."

"Did he, now."

"Mm-hmm."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I think he's right." Sylvia uttered, kissing Oswald's cheek. "If I was holding a detonator that was connected to a bomb that could destroy Gotham, no one could stop me from pressing the button. At least, no one but you. You would be the only person who could get through to me."

"Why is that, I wonder."

"It's simple, really." Sylvia uttered softly. "Everything you do...anything you say….it resonates with me."

"Using my words."

"Because it's true. How do you feel about that?"

"I feel honored." Oswald responded. He caressed her cheek in the palm of his hand, pressing his lips against hers so softly, she'd wondered if he really kissed her at all. "Actually, if I'm being honest, it's a little empowering."

"How so?"

"The strongest, fiercest woman in the world is weakened by me. If that's not an ego boost…"

"Shut up," Sylvia laughed, pushing him a little.

Oswald smiled at her happily.