Chapter 62

Jervis Tetch stood in the doorway, looking half like a madman and half like a corpse. His shoulder-length hair, once shiny and chocolate-hued, was oily and uncombed. His once handsome face was emanciated, his eyes like dark tunnels. Yet his attire was impeccable: a large top hat, a green jacket, an orange tie, and checkered pants. Each article of clothing was well-pressed, ironed, and clean. This man cared more about his wild illusions rather than reality, and this extended to his own body.

"Greetings!" He spread his arms out in a theatrical manner. "I hope you've all had a lovely evening thus far. Otherwise, the drinks that I've had brought would go to waste!" He snapped his fingers. Two great, hulking figures emerged from behind the curtains. Hideous, they were: towering, muscled curmudgeons dressed in ridiculous costumes and paint smeared on their faces. To further mock them, it seemed, Tetch had had them carry trays loaded with drinks. Yet Oswald immediately sensed that there was something wrong with the drinks. They were an intense red color, like frozen blood, and smoke was gathering at the glass's rims.

Several of the party members jumped to their feet. Rushed to the door and tried in vain to open it. They were stilled with smoke and hot lead. The guests who had remained seated began to yell and hide under the table. Another shot, this time aimed at the ceiling, quieted the ruckus. "I believe that's enough!" Tetch cackled. "In this sealed room, there is only one law, and that is mine!"

"We're the elite class of Gotham!" A man, overcoming fear with anger, jumped to his feet. "Do you realize who we are? There are easier ways to kill yourself!"

"Yes," Tetch agreed, "like provoking the man carrying a firearm." He lowered said gun - a 1928 Tommygun. Not bad. Grinning madly, he leaned forward. "No need to fret, my little ducklings! All I wanted, anyhow, was to propose a toast?"

"And if we don't?" A woman shot back.

Tetch shrugged. Tilted his head towards the bleeding corpses piled before the door. Like sanguine sacrifices left on an altar. "All I ask is for a toast, and then I will go on my merry way." He took one such glass, holding it up with mirth even as crimson foam spilled over the edge.

"Do you really think we'll let you go, after what you've done?" Another woman called out. "After you've spilled noble blood?"

Tetch shrugged again as his large lackeys began to serve the beverage to the surviving guests. "Those who are sons of nobles, those who are sons of fisherman...all our blood is the same color."

Oswald and Ruby's hands intertwined. They closed their eyes.

A flash of light turned night into day. All heads turned towards its source, including Jervis Tetch. What he saw nearly caused him to drop the precious liquid. A person, neither male nor female, stood behind the table. It was a tall figure, with pale peach skin and curly black hair. From the waist up, its figure was gangly and masculine; yet it carried the hips and thighs of a healthy woman. Pearls were woven within the ebony strands, shining like stars. A long, beaky nose stuck out of its round face. Its clothes were a peculiar mix of man and woman's attire: a coal-colored jacket, missing the rest of the suit, over a pearl-hued dress. There was a deep blue tie hanging from its neck, with rainbow quartz gems sewn into the silk. When it opened its eyes - one icy-blue, one cobalt - it smirked at him.

"The next blood to be spilled," Cobblair growled, "will be yours!"

Without another word they leapt over the table, their hands reaching. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum slammed in front of their boss, forming a fleshy shield. Cobblair smirked again, then became engulfed in light. Ruby and Oswald emerged from the luminescence, each landing on a different twin. Ruby curled her rubbery body around Tweedle Dum, squeezing him until his skin purpled. Oswald, on the other hand, sunk his teeth deep into the man's neck. With a vicious grunt he yanked his head backwards. Tweedle Dee's throat shone redly between his teeth, gushing lifeblood. Spitting it out, Oswald planted his well-polished shoes into the man's chest and propelled himself backwards. Grinning, he watched the man shudder as he collapsed, his eyes rolling back.

A screech made him turn. Tweedle Dum had Ruby's hair in his fist, ripping her off him as one would a leech. Yelling in pain, Ruby clutched his hand in an attempt to lessen his hold. When that only made him pull harder, she held her hands up. Her nails grew as long and sharp as icicles. She jabbed them fully into the big man's eyes. Wailing in agony, Tweedle Dum tossed Ruby away. Her nails slid out of the gelatinous ruins that were his eye sockets. She hit the carpeted floor with a grunt, clutching her bleeding scalp.

Oswald was by her side at once. His hands on her shoulders, calming their trembling. "Are you alright?" He asked urgently.

Ruby winced. "I've been better." Shaking her head, she looked up at her friend. Smiled mischievously. "Ready for the finishing blow?"

Oswald grinned back at her. "I was born ready."

Tweedle Dum, still wailing to the heavens, did not notice Cobblair's return until it was too late. They lifted him up in the air as if he weighed nothing. Then, knowing better than to prolong his misery, aimed for the window. With a cry they threw. Glass shattered. Screams faded in the distance. The flailing man was consumed by the lights below, until one could no longer see him. Cobblair stood there, panting and wiping their brow.

Kathryn watched the spectacle with intrigued eyes.

Cobblair turned to Jervis, who was cowering in a corner. Growling, they marched towards him. "Sorry, we were wrong. Your lackeys did all the bleeding." Grabbing a handful of Tetch's shirt, they lifted him into the air. "We hope you picked the hat for your funeral!" One hand raised, transforming into a sword made of filed-down bone. Before it could meet its mark, Jervis Tetch whipped out his wristwatch. Then, as it swung from side to side, he began to chant.

His words were tentacles encircling the minds of all who heard them. Including Cobblair. Everyone stilled, the light fading from their eyes. Cobblair began to glow again, their form beginning to divide. As the guests stilled, like frogs staring into a hungry snake's eyes, his words thickened until they coated whatever sense of reality. In its place was a world of red. Red, red, like the drinks steadily making their way to the guests' lips.

Then, the doors burst open, breaking the spell. Policemen swarmed into the room like ants on a picnic, raising their guns and yelling. The awakened guests screamed as they dropped to their knees, still unable to understand their surroundings. Dozens of glowing crimson dots appeared on Tetch's body, ready to end his life upon provocation. The glowing being in front of him, split down the middle like a torn paper man, suddenly opened its eyes. Icy blue. Dark blue. Then, its body stitched itself back together. The glowing ceased, leaving only a weakened but unharmed Cobblair.

Harvey whistled as he appeared, gun in hand. As he approached, he eyed the creature. He had heared rumors circulating about such a being, but he hadn't believed it. Yet now, as he looked at its face, the similarities were too distinguished to be ignored.

He gave the person a polite nod. "Hello, er, Mr. Cobblepot. Sinclair."

Cobblair grinned. "We are neither of these people. And we're both of them."

Tensions flickered like tongues of flame within the saloon's walls. Isabella, in a fine black dress, sat in a chair. She had not given any indication of her thoughts since her arrival; not by word nor by face. Edward, on the other hand, had not stopped pacing or talking since their reunion. His heart beat as quickly as a thousand horse hooves, and it was only picking up the pace. As the ugly truth arose.

"And so, while I did..." he stopped, struggled, before spitting out, "kill my girlfriend...who does look rather similar to you..." he hurried on, "it was not out of malice or intent. It was an accident, that I deeply regret!" His words became more desperate by the minute. "I was not going to tell you this, but-"

"Edward," Isabella interjected gently. "I know what you did."

Edward froze. All of a sudden, he felt naked. No, worse than naked. He felt as though his skin and muscles had been peeled back to show his heart to all. To show Isabella the horror and shame that he had to live with. He felt overexposed to the point that he wanted nothing more than to bury himself. Yet his undying curiousity rooted him to the spot. "You do?" He asked.

"I spent the article reading every article about you." Isabella further elaborated. Her voice never changed in tone. It stayed soft and gentle, as if speaking to a child.

Edward stood there, unable to fully process what was unfolding. "You know what I did," he said, "and...yet you still came on this date anyway?"

Isabella gave a small, dreamy smile.

"That's not logical."

"Love isn't logical."

Edward stopped, observing this strange, wonderful creature rise and look into his eyes. "I've my whole life in the pages of books. All the other men I dated...they didn't compare to the lovers I spent my life with. Anthony and Cleopatra. Romeo and Juliet. Othello and Desdemona." Her voice was soft and gentle, nostalgic, as if recounting the names and faces of true friends rather than characters in print.

Edward smiled in spite of his nervousness. "All of them died."

"Edward," Isabella said, "you're the first to measure up. You're the one I've waited for."

Isabella gave a breathy, tremulous laugh. "Of course I am." She whispered, taking his hand. She placed it on her chest, which was rising and falling with shaky pants. "Can you feel how fast my heart is beating?"

An electric charge rushed between them, capable of lighting the darkest pits of the ocean. Magnetic. Irresistible. The two looked into each other's eyes, longing etched into their features. Slowly, deliberately, they leaned into each other and shared a tender kiss. They probably would have kept kissing until dawn had stumbled footsteps not reached them.

"Well, Ed, you would not believe that-" Cobblair froze into place, their jaw dropped.

Edward and Isabella quickly pulled away from each other, red spots in their cheeks. Edward smiled amicably at the fusion, taking it as a sign that the evening had gone well. Isabella, on the other hand, stared at the figure with a mixture of confusion and fascination.

Cobblair kept staring, eyes wide and jaw dropped, when a flash overcame them. There were two grunts, and two thumps. Oswald and Ruby were slammed against opposite pillars, groaning and rubbing the backs of their heads. Ruby blushed and quickly bowed, embarressed for both pairs. Oswald, on the other hand, struggled to stop hyperventilating.

"Oswald! Ruby! Good evening." Edward greeted them.

"Hi, Ed." Ruby greeted the bespeckled man.

Oswald didn't say anything. He just stood there, twitching like a flayed fish.

"This is Isabella." Edward turned to look at his beauty, who exhaled sheepishly.

Oswald finally found his tongue. Forcing on a faux smile, he squeaked out, "We have met." He gave a nervous bow as Isabella cleared her throat. "Would you excuse me? I am...very tired." Trying to keep his eyes dry, he limped out of the room. Ruby followed, shooting Ed a quick thumbs-up.

Edward and Isabella turned back to each other, and the rest of the world melted away.

Oswald lay on his back, half-dressed and his belly filled with brandy. Ruby lay beside him, changed into a nightgown. She lay beside him, staring at the canopy as she knew him to be doing. But he wasn't seeing the gold and purple pattern above their heads. No, he was seeing something far less pleasing. Ruby had only finished merging with him, yet she could still sense it. His horror. His disgust. His pain. His lust.

That last part scared her a bit, especially since he'd been drinking from the bottle since the moment he'd entered his room. But against her better judgement, Ruby had come to keep him company. Why? Because love is the death of common sense.

"What does he see in her?" Oswald's voice was a scratchy croak. "What does she have that I lack? What can she give him that I cannot?"

Ruby could guess valuable answers to any of those quandries. But rather than rub salt into the wounds, she took his hand. The one that wasn't clutching brandy. "We don't...we don't choose who we love, Oz." She closed her eyes to keep the tears at bay. "If we did, there would be so much less pain in the world."

Oswald broke into fresh tears. Again. Ruby didn't move, just continued to hold his hand. She knew better than to disrupt the waterworks. The more he cried now, the less his heart would hurt in the aftermath. Holding it all in would only worsen matters.

After a long while, when Oswald's tears had flown down the sides of his face and dried there, he took a ragged breath. Took a swing at the brandy and winced. Liquid fire scurried down his throat. Coughing, he set the bottle down. At last. Oswald sighed. "I...you know what's foolish?"

"What?" Ruby asked.

"I...from the first time he told me of...of my weakness...I thought that, perhaps, he liked me. If only a bit."

Ruby squeezed his hand. "Of course he did." Who wouldn't?

"But he runs to that woman at her beck and call, as would a dog. That pig." Oswald scoffed miserably.

Ruby frowned. "Well? Is he a dog or a pig?"

"Worse." Oswald scowled. "He's a man."

Ruby, in spite of herself, let out a laugh. Upon hearing it, Oswald chuckled. The two friends shared a hearty chortle unlike any heard by the jolly. It was the kind of laughter shared by people facing emotional breakdowns, horrors, and pain...and chose to laugh about it. Feeling weights lift off their shoulders, Oswald and Ruby rolled on their sides. They were now facing each other. And still holding hands. Oswald looked absurdly handsome tonight, even after crying and hitting the booze for two hours. Even as every breath he blew in her direction was heavy and rank with alcohol. His eyes glittered like blue diamonds. His cheeks were ruddy. His features, so sorrowful in their beauty, caused a deep ache in Ruby's chest. She hoped that her expression was as neutral as it felt. Stiffened by resistence.

Oswald stared at her for a long time. So much so that Ruby closed her own eyes in the hopes of drowning the twister of feelings in her gut. She sighed, trying to give the impression that she was falling asleep.

But then, a warm hand traced her face. Pushed back curls from her face. Tucking a few behind her ear. Ruby froze, rigid as a scared rabbit. Wishing for him to stop. "Thank you for staying with me." Oswald whispered. The aching in Ruby intensified. "No problem." She pushed the words out through gritted teeth. Oswald's hand rested on the seashells of her ear, tracing down her jaw. Ruby was trembling now. Keeping still. Was this a dream? How many times had she dreamed of something like this? How many times had she fantasized this, safe in the darkness of her room at night?

She had always imagined this differently. Oswald wouldn't have cried or drunk himself silly, for example. He wouldn't have wailed about Edward. He would have focused on her, finally seeing her the way that she saw him. Under the blankets, Ruby hadn't even cared that these dreams were nothing but that. They had been her treasures, built from pressure like her gemstones, meant to be hidden but cherished.

Now, it was actually happening. But for the wrong reasons.

So why did she just want to enjoy it? If only for a little while?

"Ruby," Oswald sighed, "you have always been such a cherished friend. Loyal, kind, empathic..." His hand rested on her cheek. His palm was as hot as an oven, burning Ruby's skin. He stared at her, long and hard. For just a brief second, a thought leaked through his mind and entered hers. She heard it as clearly as though he'd said it out loud:

Sometimes, I wish that I loved you instead.

Ruby was now on the verge of tears. She began to pull away. "It's getting late, you should sleep."

Oswald shook his head. Then, without another word, he leaned towards her. Before Ruby could back away, his lips found hers and ensnared them. Ruby stopped, as though someone had severed the connection between her brain and her body. She knew that she should have pushed him off and run to her room. Probably locked the door and barricaded herself inside for good measure.

But she didn't. She had wanted this for so long, so greatly, that Ruby found herself kissing him back. Oswald's lips were incredibly soft and supple, like summer fruit just waiting to be plucked. The scent of alcohol was now overwhelming, threatening to affect her as well. Ruby closed her eyes, gently cupping Oswald's cheeks. Their kiss remained gentle, almost chaste, but steadily intensified. Oswald slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Ruby leaned in further, pressing a hand on the base of Oswald's skull. Their lips separated for only the shortest seconds as they breathed, only to reunite with a vengeance. Oswald's free hand cupped her cheek, her throat, her shoulder. His fingers traced the collar of her nightgown. Ruby, in turn, wrapped her arms around Oswald's neck, deepening the kiss-

What are you doing?!

Ruby's eyes flew open. In an instant she turned to sand. Oswald lay there, panting wildly, as he stared at the imprint in the blankets left by Ruby's body. Then, his eyes traced upwards. Where her particles flew overheard, then flew towards the door. They reformed into a tearful, hyperventilating Ruby. She shook her head at him. Tears flew from her eyes as she did. "No." She said. Her voice grew louder. "No, no, no, no!"

"Ruby!" Oswald slid off the bed. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I-" He reached out to her. Ruby backed away, holding her hands up. "Don't touch me." Her voice was quiet. Feeble. She laughed at her own misery. "I'll die if you touch me." She wrenched the door open, slid through it, and slammed the door shut. Ruby wanted to run up to her room, stick to her original plan. But she lacked the strength. She felt as though she'd been lying in a tub of leeches for days, weeks, and emerged as a weak, anemic husk. Ruby crashed to the floor. She was crying before then. She hugged herself as she wept, the tears not coming quickly enough for her pain.

This time, she had no excuse. She had had the chance to stop it. To push him off and run out. To find him in the morning, recovered and apologetic. They would have laughed about the whole thing by lunch. But no. Her feelings, accumulating since, well, the day that she met him, had burst forth. It was as if they had gotten fed up with being ignored and pushed aside, and had finally taken control of her actions. It had only been...what, a minute? Two? No more than that. Yet it had still robbed her of the wall that she'd built around her heart. Of her self-image. Of her self-respect. Was this the kind of woman she was? Someone who took advantage of someone else's pain to get what she wants?

As she cried, Ruby thought of the things that she'd fantasized about. Not just about celebrating the first sparks with Oswald, but about what would come afterwards. Of her and him finally proclaiming their love for each other. Getting married. Adopting a youngling, perhaps even two or three. A perfect life that, while she had known would never realize, had still warmed her at night when the draft blew in.

But now the dream was over, leaving an unhappy reality in its wake.