Chapter 25

The return home was among the most awful that Ruby could remember.

Oswald refused to speak to her. Told her in an icy voice that they would discuss this 'issue' later. In the meantime, he didn't look at her. Just sat in the back of the limousine, his face a stern porcelain mask. Ruby drove, feeling cold despite her coat. She knew that keeping her eyes on the road was essential. But she kept glancing at the rearview mirror. At that stiff, furious face. And her heart would sink a little deeper.

Ruby fought back tears. The gravity of the situation settled in her bones.

He knew.

Someone outside of Arkham knew her secret.

And, coincedentally, it was the person that she cared about most.

Ruby closed her eyes for just a second. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

Oswald was right to be angry. He was scared, too. She could see flickers of it in his steely gaze, which he directed solely at the window. Either way, he was right. Ruby hadn't been honest with him, had kept things from him, while still claiming to be his friend. Yearning to be. He had trusted her, and she had betrayed that trust. Not only that, but she had shown the worst part of herself. Her salvation and damnation, rolled into one.

And what it had caused for the both of them.

Ruby shivered once again. This time, it wasn't entirely out of cold or hurt.

What she and Oswald had experienced...she had never imagined it possible. Ruby had known that, technically, she could do it. Professor Strange had added a few extra...ingredients to the traditional formula before he'd injected her with it. According to his theory, Ruby's body may have rejected the mixture as all the others had, no matter how much her body degenerated. If that happened, she could still have some way of staying alive, albeit in a symbiotic way. She would be able to turn her body into clay of the thinnest kind, the consistency of colored water, and force her way into the skin pores of a host. Her DNA would then mix with her host's, and so would her mind.

Ruby swallowed.

She had never imagined that she might be able to access this ability; not when she'd never used it. Indeed, she had not intended to use it. Ruby's only thought had been to protect Oswald, and her body had acted accordingly.

And this was the price that she had to pay.

A tear rolled down Ruby's cheek. Little did she know that, in that exact moment, Oswald had shed a tear as well.

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty.

Twenty-five.

The scenery changed. Tall, rotting buildings fell away like wet plaster. In their place, trees and shrubs reigned supreme. Gotham's throngs, mostly junkies and thieves at this late hour, vanished like nightmares at dawn. Free of the orange streetlamps, the stars began to wink into existence. Expensive mansions rolled by on either side. From the brief glimpses in the windows, Ruby saw that their inhabitants were either preparing to retire for the night or sitting in bed, reading.

Ruby wondered what those people's lives were like. Sure, they were rich. They could never have afforded to live in this area if they weren't. But were they happy? Unhappy? Did they seize the moment? Cherish the ones they loved? What were their lives like?

She already knew hers would never be the same.

Van Dahl Manor rose from the mist, blocking out the starlight. Its familiar shape comforted Ruby. But at the same time, it felt wrong to be here. To taint this lovely place with the pain and loss that were about to unfold. Then again, the mansion had stored away countless secrets over the decades. This one would just be another to add to the pile. And by the time she and Oswald had left this world, their secret would be forgotten. Until then, Ruby knew that it would never be cast aside. It would always be there from now on. Dried blood from a wound that she had caused.

The limousine glided through the yawning gates. As always, the motion-triggered lights hidden among the flora brightened like a baby's eyes. The gardens became a swarm of color and darkness. Ruby felt her heart twitch as she looked over the shrubs of wild roses lining the path. A couple of weeks ago, she and Oswald had been unable to agree as to what color the roses should be. Ruby had wanted white, but Oswald had wanted red. In the end, she had planted both. But not before luring Oswald outside and throwing a ball of mud at him. The two had trudged back in the house an hour later, dripping mud and laughing like children.

As the car slowed to a halt, Ruby wondered when they would laugh together again. If they would.

The second the car stopped, Oswald bolted out. Slammed the door behind him. Hard. Ruby winced at the sound. Killing the engine with a twist of her wrist, she extracted the keys and ran after him. "Oswald!" He ignored her, marching to the front door. With robotic precision he unearthed his own keys and opened the door. He dived into the house's dark belly. Ruby raced in after him, closing the door against the night's damp chill. She flipped a switch once inside. The entire ground floor escaped the shadows. Except for the one in Oswald's heart. He headed straight for the kitchen. Not once did he look back at her. He grabbed the first bottle of wine that entered his range. Discarding the fancy notion of a glass, he uncorked the bottle and brought it to his pale, shaking lips. Ruby watched with discomfort as he downed half the bottle in just a couple of desperate gulps. When he finished, Oswald slammed the bottle down on the counter. Ruby was genuinely shocked that the impact didn't break it.

The two stood there for a few minutes. Ruby didn't speak. Didn't dare to. Oswald had his back to her, panting. His pallid hands were planted on the counter. Head bowed. From behind, he looked so young. A scared, hurt little boy. Indeed, he was just that in this moment: hurt. More than anything, Ruby wanted to comfort him. Take the pain away, somehow. But she knew that he would never welcome her aid now. Maybe not ever again.

Finally, Oswald spoke. His tone was flat and...dead. "You are one of them."

Ruby didn't answer. Couldn't. Her mouth felt like small animals had made a nest of it.

"You are a previous generation, I assume." Oswald continued in that monotone voice. "But you are one of them all the same. That explains many things. How you were able to reach Arkham that night without my knowing, for instance. Or how you fought off Galavan." A humorless chuckle. "And here I thought I had simply imagined it. And my injuries..." A trembling hand reached out to touch his shoulder. Kneading the flesh like raw dough. "A cream, you said? Ha."

Ruby couldn't take it anymore. "I was going to tell you."

"When?!" Oswald spun around so quickly that Ruby stepped back. His eyes were shiny and pink. "When I was old and toothless? When we'd captured Strange, and he had recognized you? When, bloody hell? When?!" His voice grew louder with every word. He screamed the last word.

"I don't know!" Ruby screamed back. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Oswald blinked at her. Still angry, but willing to listen. Ruby wiped her cheeks, but it was useless. More just kept falling. "I...I have no excuse, Oz. I know that." She sniffed. "But I did want to tell you. I just didn't know when." Ruby hugged herself. "I actually wanted to tell you some time ago. But then, all this shit with Strange started. And..." She squeezed her eyes shut. "And these other experiments. You called them 'monsters', and..."

"And you believed that I would place you in that same category." Oswald shook his head. Simultaneously disgusted and understanding.

Ruby let out a shaky sigh. "In the beginning...I just saw it as a little secret, you know?" She wiped her eyes. "Then, it felt like...if I didn't hide it..." She inhaled. "...You wouldn't want to be my friend anymore."

Oswald's jaw tightened. "Do you have so little faith in me?"

Ruby opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off. "Well, it seems that you are not the person I thought you were. In all senses of the phrases."

That cracking sound in Ruby's ears? That was her heart splitting in two. "Oz, please-"

"You will call me Master Cobblepot from now on." Oswald's voice was like marble: hard and cold. It chilled Ruby to the bone. He stepped closer to her. His eyes were like chips of bluish ice. "From this day, until your last day, you are my weapon. Nothing more."

Ruby felt like the floor had been pulled out from under her. She reached out to grab Oswald's sleeve, but he was too quick for her. He stomped his way out of the kitchen, the wine bottle still at hand. His cane scraped at the floorboards. Ruby listened to the angry sounds fade, like thunder in the distance. The moment she could no longer hear them, she could hear herself. The screams going on in her head.

Ruby dropped to her knees. Covered her face with her hands. Broke into hysterical sobs.

"I trusted you." Oswald growled to himself. He slammed his bedroom door shut behind him. Locked it. "I opened up and let you in. I gave you an elevated position, and I brought you to the hospital that night during Galavan's attack. I gave you everything, and what do I get?! Betrayal!" He threw the wine bottle at the wall. It exploded against the plaster. Glass shards clinked as they crashed upon the floor. Wine spread like blood across the wood. An ugly smear was dark upon the wall's pale tone. Oswald threw himself on the bed, burying his face in the pillow. Screamed into it. "Why, Ruby?! Why?! Why did you have to be one of them?! Why did you..." He broke down. "Why did you lie to me?" His anger drained away, revealing what was truly underneath. Sorrow.

Oswald Cobblepot spent the rest of the night crying his heart out, even when his tear ducts shriveled up and no more water escaped his eyes. In his mind's eye he saw his mother, semi-transparent, sitting beside him and gently stroking his hair. Somehow, even that fantasy didn't make him feel any better.

Morning came after an endless night of tears and regret. It was dark and gloomy, with silvery clouds swollen with promised rain. Mist shrouded the land like a white shawl. Ruby watched it from the attic's window. She was sitting on the windowsill, wearing one of the Master's old robes. Today, her hair was oddly straight and spikey. It fell into her eyes as she looked down at the jewelry box in her hands, she felt...out of time. Like everything had stopped, and all that had occurred - or would occur - had ceased to exist. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

She had done her duties at the crack of dawn, as always. She had done the laundry. Swept the floors. Waxed the tables. And, finally, prepared breakfast for Oswald. Then, she'd retreated to the safety of her room. Hopefully, he would not ask more of her today.

Ruby sighed. Looked down at the box. In itself, it was nothing special. Just a shoe box that Madame Bitch, Grace, had ordered her to throw away years ago. One of its corners was soggy and the cardboard was worn. But the contents shone brilliantly in the dim light. With the exception of her red stone ring, which she was currently wearing, everything was in there. Her earrings. Black onyx. Peridot. Emerald. Her namesake. Her bracelets. Carnelian. Jasper. Amethyst. Her necklaces. Diamond. Holly blue agate. Sapphire. Her name's sake.

The only beauty left in her life. But without Oswald, the gems meant little to her. Just bolts of glass.

The front gate squealed. Ruby turned back to the window, pushing some blonde-brown-gray curls out of her eyes. Butch was treading along the path, looking tired but in a fine enough mood. He was munching on a chicken sandwich, too. Figures. Who eats chicken in the morning?

"That's one cute, clucking, formally living chicken sandwich." Ruby tried talking like a waitress. "Would you like a side of dead pig's meat with that?" Butch just kept walking, chowing away. Ruby scoffed. Retreated from the window. From the world.

Butch felt like this morning just kept getting better. When he'd woken up, there had been no new moths on his curtains. Then, he'd gotten ready in time to get a breakfast bun. The bus had even arrived on schedule for once! He'd finally reached the mansion in record time.

And now, he entered to find the maid bitch to be nowhere in sight. Wow. Had that old rabbit's foot sitting in his drawer finally begun to work? If so, Butch was tempted to start killing the hopping rodents so this luck never ended. He could just imagine what the maid bitch would say about that. Probably something about those poor runts not doing anything to deserve death. Boo-fucking-hoo.

With no one in sight, Butch chomped down the last of his sandwich and tossed the greasy paper in the bin. Then, as an afterthought, he grabbed a mug and filled it with fresh-brewed coffee. Not doubting for a second who'd made it. At the first sip, Butch sighed. "Okay." He licked his lips. "You're a massive bitch, but you can make a hell of a cup of joe." Still sipping, he eyed his surroundings. Boss had said eight o'clock on the button. That was within five minutes. He could do some looking. Butch admired the cherry-wood cupboards, the marble counters and the gleaming floors. He whistled at the amount of gear in the kitchen. A coffee-brewer, microwave, blender, and electric whisk all occupied the same space. A quick glance in the cupboards revealed enough food to feed an army for years. And the fridge was the biggest and most expensive one on the market, of course.

And it was home to a couple of photos. Smirking, Butch gave them a closer look.

There were only three, the type taken with a Polaroid. Probably the bitch's. If the Boss ever got into photography, Butch knew he'd get the priciest one on the market. The first showed the Boss fast asleep on the couch, with an open H.P Lovecraft novel sitting on his lap. The second showed Boss trying a black velvet suit that had probably cost as much as Butch's car, back when he'd still had one. Boss looked..different, and not just because of the outfit. His expression was open and happy. He didn't just look different; he looked like a different version of himself. Like an Oswald Cobblepot from a diverse universe. The third included the bitch. The two of them were just smirking at the camera, like they knew something that the viewer did not. Butch saw that Boss had a hand on the bitch's shoulder. The act was so simple, yet so intimate, that Butch would never have believed it if it hadn't been photographed.

Someone cleared his throat. Butch spun around and fought back a yelp. Boss was dressed in black velvet today, down to the scarf and gloves. Strangely enough, he was wearing jewelry, too: a black diamond brooch shaped like petunia, nestled on his breast. But one look at his face erased any mockery that could have formed. Boss was staring at him with a coldness that would even make Eskimos shiver. His pale face was gaunt, and dark circles around his eyes spoke of a sleepless night. But his eyes were like cut diamonds. Butch swallowed. "If you are done," Boss hissed, "I have business to attend to. And you will serve as my driver today."

"Me?" Butch asked indignantly. "What about your frizzy-haired bitch?"

"Miss Sinclair will not be joining us. I imagine this will go on for a while." Boss narrowed his eyes stepped closer. Examined Butch as though he were a unique vase he was considering to buy. "But someday soon, I expect you and Miss Sinclair to work together." He chuckled darkly. "So close, in fact, you very well may become a single being."

Butch stared at his employer as though he'd just ordered him to eat his own feet. But he simply nodded. Deciding that whatever would be, would be. So long as he got paid and respected, he didn't much care.

"Good." Oswald nodded. "Now, I wish to go to Arkham Asylum-aaaagh!" Oswald staggered backwards, clutching his head with both hands. "Boss!" Butch grabbed his employer, but the latter jerked himself free. Wailing, he held onto his head like he feared it would fly off his shoulders. "Boss, what's the matter?!" Butch screamed, panic rising like a bird in his throat. Oswald didn't hear him. Didn't see him. He was no longer of this world.

He was tied to a wheelchair. His ankles and wrists were bound to the cold metal, freezing his skin. He fought and struggled like a wildcat to get free, to no avail. All around him people were talking, prodding, poking at him, as he was pushed forward. Inside. Within darkness and danger. Away from light and beauty. A world that did not belong to him...her.

Looking down, Oswald saw that it was not his body he was seeing. It was hideously deformed. The skin was coarse and bloated, like a rotting fruit's. Sores wept pus everywhere, staining the clean hospital gown a sickly yellow. Patches of purple and green and yellow, like bruises, were sewn into the fish-belly-white flesh, like a tapestry of horrors. Stringy hair, a mixture of brown and blonde and gray, tickled down to the elbows. Orderlies surrounded her, their faces filled with blatant disgust.

"Stop struggling, dear."

Oswald...whomever it was...looked up. Professor Strange stepped forward. He was almost a decade younger and a trifle plumper. But it was still him. The wickedness still danced in his eyes. He smiled down at whomever it was. "You mustn't wear yourself down, Miss Sinclair. Your muscles aren't used to so much work, and may rip if you force them. But don't worry," he reached out and cupped the person's chin, "from this day forward, you're going to feel much better." His smile widened, as though he knew something that he didn't intend sharing. "Welcome to Arkham Asylum, Miss Sinclair."

Oswald gasped for breath. The dream...no, the memory...dissolved before his eyes. The real world returned, embracing him warmly. Butch was holding him by the triceps, keeping his legs from giving way. Oswald kept panting, realizing that he was sweating bullets. "Boss?" Butch stared at him with genuine concern. "You okay? You totally spaced out."

Oswald kept panting. "She..." He managed to say. "She was so scared." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake off the phantom emotions. "Take me there." He croaked, struggling to gain control. "Please."