Chapter Fifteen: Change

Standing in front of the body-length mirror was Sylvia, who peered at her reflection with something of a 'meh' expression. She'd gone through three different outfits, trying to match it with her mood, but none seemed to strike her fancy. Frustrated, she pulled the straps and neckline of her dress over her head and threw it on the bed, frowning as she turned to the side, glancing at her mid-section in the mirror.

She cupped her hands over her belly button.

"Fucking bloated…" She murmured.

Then she poked her breasts through the padding.

She and Oswald were elated to know that they'd be having a baby—be it a son or daughter—and yet, with this, came some unbridled resentment that she hadn't anticipated when the inevitable began.

Her body was changing.

Her breasts were sometimes sore; her mid-section felt like it was a balloon almost always ready to pop. Thank god the famous (or rather, infamous) morning sickness hadn't started; and she hoped it never would.

Sylvia had bought all the baby books she could find, organizing them from month-to-month and the trimester with which it was correlated just to keep up with this anarchy happening within. And yet, it did nothing, really.

She woke up with a headache all the time, and it would take almost an hour before she felt like doing anything. Fatigue was a symptom, the books informed her. Fatigue, indeed.

Knock, knock.

The sound made her jump.

"What!" She called.

"It's me."

Sylvia smiled faintly when she heard Oswald's voice; its owner entered, slowly opening the door to see that she was neither dressed nor ready to go. Not even at the time they'd agreed upon. Seeing this was so, Oswald looked at her, slightly annoyed.

"You've been in here for three hours. What have you been doing?"

"Drowning in a sea of self-loathing," She answered sarcastically. "What have you been doing?"

He started to make a smart comeback, but he recognized that tone anywhere. Seeing how she was staring at herself in the mirror, her hands on her belly as she measured her lack of baby bump, and yet…that dissatisfied look was more informative than if Sylvia had said anything, but for whatever reason the suppressed smile tugged on the corner on the corner of his mouth.

"My Pigeon is displeased. What's wrong?"

"The same thing that was wrong three days ago, the other day, yesterday, this morning, and still is." She responded unsteadily. "Look at me! Do I look fat to you?"

Oswald stared at her as though he couldn't believe what he'd heard. After the shock had passed (only a second later), he cleared his throat uncomfortably. He put his cane on the bed, and from the comforter, he chose a dress that Sylvia had discarded the moment she had pulled it out of the closet.

Cocktail dress, a deep shade of violet, strapless.

"Well?" She prompted, looking at his reflection through the mirror. "Don't I?"

"You don't look fat, Pigeon."

"That was a lot of hesitation for a simple 'yes' or 'no' answer."

"I simply needed the time to contemplate the absurdity of your question. Personally, I think you look beautiful. Always have, always will."

"So you're saying that I'm beautiful, but I also look fat?"

"Are these the 'mood swings' the authors were writing about?" He questioned as he handed the dress to her.

"My mood has nothing to do with the question."

"On a contrary, Pet. I think your question is starting to reflect your mood quite a bit."

"Do you really want to argue right now?"

"Trust me. The last thing I want to do is argue with you."

Sylvia looked at him pointedly, and he smiled at her encouragingly.

"Put this on." He indicated the dress.

"This color?" Sylvia's eyebrows raised inquisitively, glancing at the violet dress.

"I like you in this color."

"You like me in anything."

Oswald smiled tenderly, knowing she was correct: "Also, we still have to go by The Sirens."

"Yeah, so Barbara and Tabitha can mock me behind my back? How wonderful. Looking forward to it."

"I'm sensing a hostile edge to your tone."

"The hostility isn't meant for you." Sylvia muttered as she grumpily pulled the dress over her head and wiggled her hips as the material glided over them with mild resistance. "I'm just not feeling my best…"

Oswald smiled as he watched her straighten out the dress. It conformed to her figure all too perfectly. So perfect…he felt his body pining for her. For the moment, however, there was a call for a little self-control.

"I'm not even sure if I want to go," Sylvia mumbled.

"Don't you want to see how Barbara Kean spent your money?" He asked knowingly.

She glanced at him, almost guiltily.

With a subtle chuckle, Oswald wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into him. The chaste tug made her the bareness of her back rub against his suit, sending a small pleasurable tingle down her spine.

"She was released from Arkham and had little to nothing to her name…suddenly, almost miraculously, dare I say, she has the acquisition to purchase land, and build a brand-new place from the ground up. And you didn't think I would find out the name of her generous benefactor?" Oswald said slyly.

Sylvia wriggled in his arms, but she grinned in spite of herself when he bestowed a soft kiss along her jaw line, to her ear.

"And here I was certain you thought so much more of me." He teased.

"Oh, but I do—"

"I think you're losing your touch."

She turned in his arms, and hers snaked around his neck.

"I have a lot more cards hiding up my sleeves than you could possibly know, Penguin," Sylvia reassured with a cool tone. "Eventually, it works to my favor. Much like your little schemes seem to work for you."

"Most of my 'schemes' are harmless."

"Oh, yeah, like causing a war between Maroni and Falcone. So harmless."

"If you recall, it worked in my favor."

"Mm-hmm, so you're worried that Barbara won't help me in the future?"

"Your generosity is unmatched, compared to the Waynes, Pigeon. Most people would see it as a charitable feat, even gracious." He said softly. "With people like Barbara…I'd be wary if I were you."

Sylvia kissed his nose, and said playfully, "Wary, I'll be, then. Just for you."

"Well, I'm glad we have that out of the way."

"Mm-hmm."

Oswald said with a smile, "Are you ready to go?"

"Let me get my shoes."

"I'll meet you downstairs."

"Fine, then." Sylvia said and she broke the link in her arms from his neck and moved to the closet to find her flats.

Oswald watched her aimlessly, a thoughtful look on his face, a small sly little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as she bent down at the waist, and pulled the shoes from inside the wardrobe. She nearly stumbled as she clumsily put one foot inside a ballerina flat.

She felt eyes on her. Sylvia looked at him curiously.

"What?"

He said innocently, "Nothing."

Sylvia grinned and it was her turn to blush.