Chapter 16

Butch Gilzean had always seen himself as a marble statue, like the ones his parents had photographed during their vacation to Italy years ago...without him. Towering over others. Imposing. Solid. Impenetrable. Capable of handling whatever the elements could throw at him. He'd grown up with that belief, when he'd beat up other kids for their lunch money or treats. He'd upheld that faith all the way through high school, when girls blanched at the sight of him and guys ran for cover. Butch had had a reputation by the time he'd dropped out at seventeen.

His fearsome reputation had only grown once he'd joined Fish Mooney's ranks. He'd started out as an expendable thug. Then, he'd moved on up to personal bodyguard and right-hand man. All of Gotham had feared him, both the innocent and the guilty. Well, except for the Maronis and Falcones. One would have had better luck scaring whatever god that they believed in than they'd have trying to make those families shake. But other than those high-and-mighty spaghetti-munchers, everyone feared Butch. Even the Penguin had, in the beginning. Right before he'd taken away the light in Butch's light that was Fish. Made Butch his slave and chopped off Butch's hand.

Then, Tabitha had come. Fierce and beautiful, like some multicolored snake ready to strike. She'd taken his breath away. Made him feel like no one else had in ages.

And right now, he was forced to watch her lying there. On the verge of death because her psycho brother had somehow come back from the grave. Not the sort of event you'd expect to unfold.

Butch stared at her gentle, sleeping face. She was so beautiful, yet she rarely used her looks for personal gain. Tabitha almost always relied solely on her combat skills. It was like she didn't even know how pretty she was. Kind of like Fish.

"I didn't think I'd feel like this again." He whispered to her, hoping she could somehow hear. There was no response. He leaned closer. Tempted to kiss her. His lips ached for hers. But he could - would - never do such a thing. Not when she was knocked out. It wouldn't have been real, or right. "I guess what I'm trying to say is..." Butch trailed off, unable to continue. But if he didn't continue, then it might be too late. He broke down into sobs over her sleeping body, desperately trying to keep himself contained.

"Well, don't stop now. I was just getting misty."

Butch spun around. Standing in the doorway was the last person he'd ever expected - or wanted - to see again. The Penguin. Last time he'd seen the crippled freak, the latter had been 'rehabilitated' in Arkham. He'd gone completely flaccid, losing whatever toughness and demand of respect that he'd once had. Tabitha, just for a laugh, had mimicked his dead mother right to his face. Nothing. Butch had voted to let the Penguin live, going against Tabitha's blood-lust for the first and only time.

God, how wrong he'd been.

"What're you doing here?" He snarled, hoping his tears weren't too visible.

The Penguin held up a bouquet of wilting roses that looked best suited in a garbage bag. "Paying my respects." He lurched forward, placing the flowers on the table before Tabitha's bed. Butch instinctively moved closer to the unconscious woman, intending to shield her with his body. The Penguin eyed Tabitha with indifference, as if seeing a lame pigeon in the park. What Butch didn't know was that on the inside, Oswald was brewing with joy. With satisfaction. "She's looked better, I must say." He commented with feigned sympathy.

"You will not hurt her." Butch growled, softly but firmly.

The Penguin gave him a look of disbelief. "Why would I do that? Oh!" He held up a finger as if just having an epiphany. "I know! Because she stabbed my mother IN THE BACK!" By the end he was screaming like the dangerous lunatic he was. Butch whipped out a gun. Aimed it at the Penguin's face.

There was a gasp somewhere behind the Penguin. Butch didn't care. "If you touch her," he rumbled, "I will kill you."

A hand shot out and seized the gun by the nuzzled. Both men stared in surprise. The gun was torn from Butch's hand. Two heads turned to see a young woman standing by the door, clinging to her I.V like her life depended on it. How she'd managed to grab that damn weapon, Butch wouldn't know for a while. But his first impression of that girl was not an exceptional one, and her hospital gown didn't help. She looked like the millions of other Plain Janes he'd seen walking down the streets. Average height and build. Curly hair cut in a pixie style. Round face. Chin as weak as office coffee. All around forgettable.

What wasn't forgettable, however, was the look on the Penguin's face when he saw her. He quickly limped back towards her. "Ruby, what are you doing out of bed?" He demanded in a concerned tone. The Penguin glanced at her I.V, which was three-quarters empty. "You still have some blood to take in." Gently taking her by the shoulders, he tried to steer her around. "Go back to your room, please? I'll be there in a moment."

"Uh, actually..." Ruby twisted around, holding up the gun. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stand by." She glared daggers at Butch. He was almost intimidated. "My advice? Don't bother taking another weapon. I'll just grab that one, too."

"Who the fuck are you?" Butch snapped. Cracked a nasty smile. "You look like one of those junkie trannies my buddies hook up with on Saturdays." The shocked look on her face was so priceless that Butch burst out laughing. That laughter died when Oswald's palm collided with Butch's cheek. Butch stopped, dead in his tracks, and glared at Oswald. The Penguin glared with twice the hatred. "Watch your mouth," he hissed, "or I'll sew it shut with your own dried blood vessels." Butch grumbled but ceased looking at Ruby. The young woman seized the occasion to edge closer, staring at the woman in the bed. A dusky beauty. She had lovely high cheekbones and soft dark hair rippling down to her shoulders. Her lips were plump and pink, like fresh strawberries. Even beneath the covers, Ruby could tell that the woman harbored an enviously voluptuous figure.

She was a true femme fatale, this one.

"He has to pay, Butch." Oswald said to Butch, recapturing the big man's attention.

Butch frowned. "Who? Azrael?"

"No! Galavan!" Oswald replied. "I personally am not buying this whole uber-villain nonsense. I mean, if he wanted to wear leather, he should just wear leather. This is Gotham City! No one cares, right?" He cracked a laugh at the end. Butch remained as impassive as stone. Oswald's expression became firm. "We've all suffered by his hand. You, me, my mother..." His breath hitched. Ruby grasped his hand. Squeezed it. He returned the gesture before pointing at Ruby. "Her," he gestured at the lady in the bed, "and now, his own sister."

Butch's gaze trailed down towards the bed. He looked so miserable in that moment that Ruby couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him. When Butch met Oswald's eyes again, his own were fueled with determination. Oswald lit the fuse. "Galavan must die."

Butch seemed to contemplate this. Eyeing Oswald and Ruby like they were species that he hadn't yet identified. Wondering if they could be trusted. At last, he spoke up. "And when he does, he'll leave us alone?"

Oswald opened his mouth to answer, then paused. Contemplated. Grinned mischievously. "Possibly." Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Promise." Butch growled.

Oswald sighed. "Jeez. Alright, fine. Whatever. Where is he?!"

Half an hour later found Oswald sitting on the corner of Ruby's bed, his long pale fingers nervously drumming. He'd been doing that for a while now. Ever since Butch had left, a paper filled with instructions in his beefy hand, Oswald had been a twitching wreck of anticipation. More than once Ruby had tried striking up a conversation, to no avail. He was both excited and terrified at the task at hand. She could hardly blame him. Even if the blood transfusion would give her a late start, she was still shaking at the idea of facing Azrael again.

Oswald grabbed the water pitcher. The metal rim rattled against the plastic as he poured himself a drink. Slurped it down. Ruby found it hard to watch. Still bound to the I.V, she had limited movement. Her mind, however, was racing. She stared at Oswald's back. He'd shrugged off his coat, unknowingly allowing her to see the wounds he'd been carrying. His entire back was crusted with blood, and three deep cuts cut through fabric and flesh. She remembered now, where he'd gotten those. Azrael.

Ruby could have prevented those cuts from happening. But she hadn't. Why? To preserve her secret. That reason felt so shallow now. What secret was worth spilling blood over?

She inhaled deeply. While she couldn't undo what had happened, she could make up for it. And she knew how.

Ruby's hand connected with Oswald's shoulder. He twisted around in a flash. His eyes were wild and bright, like a cornered animal. Without thinking Ruby's hand crawled up from his shoulder to his jaw. Calming. It seemed to work, at least a bit. Some of the agitation seemed to leak from his eyes, replaced by tired recognition.

"You sure you want to do this?" Ruby gestured to his back. "You look like a bleeding zebra back there."

Oswald's eyes widened. "Oh!" He quickly grabbed his coat, trying to cover it back up, but Ruby spoke up. "I can help. If you want."

The look in those icy-blue eyes was a fusion of disbelief, curiousity, and good-natured mockery. "Yes. Of course you can."

"Why didn't you get those looked at earlier?" Ruby blurted out. "They could get infected."

Oswald paused. In all honesty, he hadn't bothered to call a doctor for his own condition because his primary focus had been Ruby. He hadn't cared that he'd ruined one of his favorite silken shirt. He hadn't cared that his hairline had felt like a zillion angry red ants had tap-danced on it. Hell, he hadn't even cared about the pain twisted in his back like a giant snake. He'd just wanted Ruby to be cared for, and couldn't think of himself until she had.

Now, it just seemed inconsequential. He said so...the last bit, that is.

Ruby gave him a look. "Getting an infected back is so not inconsequential." Dragging the I.V along, she crawled out of the covers and came up behind Oswald. He turned to look back first from his right shoulder, then his left. "Wait, what-?"

Ruby grabbed the shirt by the tears and gave a yank. The silk tore beneath her fingers like ash. Oswald shrieked and crossed his arms, holding the soiled cloth against his chest. His cheeks, usually like freckled milk, were quickly adopting the hue of beetroot. "Ruby!" He snapped. "If we weren't friends, I'd have your hands chopped off for this!"

Why bother? She thought. They'd just grow back.

Ruby winced, eyeing the man's back. For one thing, she could see the shoulderblades and vertebrae all too clearly. But more importantly, there were three long vertical gashes going from Oswald's hipbones to his shoulders. They didn't look terribly deep, but each one was nestled in a bed of dried, crusty blood. "Okay." Ruby pretended to fumble through her jacket's pockets. Earlier, she'd had Oswald lay it on the bed for her so that she could distract him via crossword puzzles. No dice. Now, her only article of clothing surviving tonight would get some better use. "Here. I have this cream I brought with me from home, just in case."

"Oh?" Oswald tried to twist around to look at it. Ruby quickly pushed his face forward again. Hiding her empty hands. "Yeah." She confirmed, praying she sounded more confident that she felt. "It's, uh, special. Only use it for special occasions."

"It sounds like a foolish use for such a miraculous cream." Oswald mused. "But it is yours. Do with it as you wish."

Ruby bowed her head slightly even though her friend couldn't see it. "Thanks, buddy." She stared down at her hands, willing them to focus. She watched, her heart pounding a million miles per hour, as the skin and bone alike softened like damp earth. Dribbling. Almost dripping onto the bedsheets. Swallowing hard, Ruby spoke. "Here it comes."

Oswald sighed. "No need for such a dramatic-aiiiiiiiih!" He screamed as what felt like hot, sticky clay spread across his stinging back like molten lava. Quickly slapping his hands over his mouth, Oswald struggled to contain himself. A squelching noise, not unlike the sound one makes when stepping through mud, echoed in his ears. All of the dormant pain came alive, hell-bent on a rematch. Tears beaded in his eyes. He blinked them back.

Ruby was panting slightly, trying to stay focused, as she watched her melting hands flow over the cuts like a peach waterfall. Each drop of the gooey substance plopped over the cuts, sealing them shut. As she watched, the red, irritated skin returned to normal. Oswald's restrained yells died down to whimpers. Which meant this tofu turkey could be removed from the oven. Ruby quickly retracted her hands. They solidified, reclaiming their natural shape. At the same time the clay, disconnected from its owner, dried in a heartbeat. Cracked. Fell away to reveal three vertical pink scars on otherwise perfect pale skin.

Ruby grinned. Blew on her hands like a cowboy with his guns. "Yep." She announced. "You're good as new."

"Truthfully?" Quickly grabbing the upper blanket to cover himself with, Oswald took the cane and got to his feet. He hobbled towards the small mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Grabbed it. Held it at such an angle that he could see his shoulder. When he saw scar tissue where divided flesh had once been, he couldn't hide his surprise. "I..." He turned to Ruby. She had lowered her gaze, just in case the blanket had fallen off. A blossom of appreciation twirled in Oswald's chest. Warmth. He gently set the mirror back. Limped to Ruby. Still holding the blanket around him like a shield, he sat down. "Ruby?"

She glimpsed up to find a cool hand on her cheek. Her heart slammed against her ribs hard enough for it to hurt. Indigo eyes looked upward to icy-blue ones. Shock meets gratitude. "Thank you." Oswald whispered. "I...I don't know how you did it, but..." He swallowed. "I can almost believe that I can face Galavan now."

Ruby's breath hitched. "Please tell me you told Butch to get some super-duper weapon or something."

Oswald brightened. "Indeed, I requested exactly that. Please turn around." Ruby did as she was told. The blanket was tossed beside her. Oswald's dress jacket was snatched. Slik slid against skin. "From what I can gather, resurrection both strengthens the body and fractures the mind. That would explain both Galavan's odd behavior and seeming immunity to basic physical blows. After all, when you crushed him - by the way, I still can't figure out how you accomplished that," Ruby gulped, "it caused some damage, but not the amount that it should have. Why, any normal person would have been pleading for mercy at that point."

Ruby smirked. "I can be pretty badass. But then again, so can you."

Oswald chuckled as he turned to face her. The jacket covered a surprising amount of pallid flesh. All that was visible was an upside-down triangle of skin just below the collarbone. "I've been called many things in life," he admitted, "but never 'badass'."

Ruby shrugged. Smiling back at him.

In that moment came a knock. The two barely had time to look when Butch emerged in the room, carrying...

"A bazooka?!" Ruby cackled. "Wow, and I used to think Wile E. Coyote went overboard!"

"In this case, one can never be too careful." Oswald nodded curtly at Butch. "I'll be there in a moment."

"Hurry up!" Butch snapped. "I just want that guy dead."

"As do I." Oswald replied coldly. "But if you don't let me say goodbye to Ruby, then you will be joining Galavan in Hell tonight."

Butch opened his mouth. Shut it.

Oswald turned to Ruby, suddenly seeming years younger. His face was bleached. His eyes were wide with uncertainty. But there was a glow to him that'd been absent before. He inhaled. "I..."

Ruby trapped him in a hug before he could say more. He responded automatically. Holding her close. Butch looked away, trying to keep his feelings in their place. Oswald closed his eyes, breathed in deep, and whispered, "Thank you again, Ruby. I'd know not what to do without you."

Ruby squeezed him in her arms. Snuggled in his coat. Felt the warmth of his skin through it. "Right back at you."

Oswald pulled away and looked her right in the eye. His expression was gentle but firm. "Do not join us until the doctors allow you to leave. I want your hemoglobin level back to normal. That's an order."

Ruby saluted him. Oswald patted her cheek before departing. He didn't look back, hobbling down the corridor. Butch trailed behind, the bazooka perched on his thick shoulder. The doctors had taken one look at that thing and cowered under their desks. He'd taken it as a sign to walk right in. It was good to be in charge. Butch smirked. "Who's soft and sentimental this time?" He fired that question at Oswald's hunched back. The only response he got was a glare that would have sent Hannibal of Carthage running for the hills.