Chapter 76

Night descended onto Gotham. Its cold, damp fist closed around the city's throat. It was almost as tight as the grip with which Tabitha Galavan's wounded hand clutched a knife. Or tried to.

A bracelet of puckered flesh and stitch marks circled her wrists. Above it, her fingers would not obey her. No matter how much strength she tried to pump into them, they would not close completely around the blade. With a frustrated snarl she tossed it aside. "I can't even hold a knife!" She complained to Butch and Barbara. Fury burning her, she added, "I swear, when I see Nygma..."

Butch's large hand rested on her cast. Firm. Comforting. "We'll kill him together. Real slow."

"How sweet." Barbara commented. She would have said more had it not been for the Sirens' doors opening. Heads turned to see the source of fierce hatred and hopefulness. Tabitha, her lips becoming a thin line, took her martini glass and slammed it against the table's edge. Butch jumped to his feet, gun at the read. "Sunnuva bitch!"

Barbara leapt to her feet. Stood between the hunted and the hunter. "Hear him out!" When both her coworkers looked at her as though they suspected insanity, she added, "Please." Momentarily quelled they lowered their arms. Barbara turned to Edward, blue eyes wide.

The tall man had stepped deeper into the main hall - into the lion's den, some would have said. Once he was at a safe but audible distance, he spoke. "I don't want to kill him." He lowered his head, seemingly lost. Barbara stared, disappointment a cold crest in her heart. But when Edward raised his gaze again, it contained the heat of a thousand bonfires. "I want to destroy him." A smile slowly spread across the blonde woman's face. He continued, widening the grin. "I want to take away everything that he loves. I want to make him...despised."

Butch frowned. "What're you talking about?"

"Penguin." Barbara smirked.

Edward stood there. Saying everything with his silence.

A delighted Barbara faced her coworkers. "He killed the librarian."

"What?" Tabitha lurched forward. Barbara stopped her, but barely. "And you cut off my hand?" The dark-haired woman's voice was thick with anger.

Edward tilted his head. "I assume you want something?"

Barbara had to restrain a giggle. "With Penguin gone, the underworld will need a new leader. I think it's time Gotham had a woman's touch."

"The crime families will never follow you." Edward told her.

"Well, that's where you come in." Barbara explained. "You know the families, in and out. Not to mention you're a wiz at strategy." Edward closed his eyes for a second, smiling faintly. Barbara congradulated herself. Perfect. Every egotistic maniac wanted to be flattered. By feeding his already sky-high self-esteem, Barbara was baiting him. Soon, she could reel him in. "Think about it, Ed. Your brains, their brawn, my...me." She smiled. "We could make quite a team." Edward watched her carefully, but warmly, like a pie hot out of the oven. He was as of yet unsure if he wanted a slice. Only one way to find out. "We destroy Penguin first."

We, not you or I.

"Of course." Barbara promised him. "But there is one thing you need to do." Sidestepping, she gestured to the concerned couple. Gave Ed a coy look. Understanding, he nodded. "Okay." Tabitha and Butch stood, on guard, as their enemy cleared his throat. After a second, he finally said, "I'm sorry about your hand."

Tabitha lunged forth again, hardly restrained by Butch. "Apology not accepted!"

"Yes, we'll get back to that. Drinks!" Barbara cheerily interrupted. Edward at last smiled. A true, wide smile.

Oswald stared down, his emotions all a-tumble. Sitting in the center of his palm was a pill no larger than a blueberry. Yet according to the files he'd confiscated from the drug gang, it had the power to erase ugly experiences. How had they described it? Like rubbing a sore foot until it stopped hurting. The chemicals in the pill searched for the most recent difficult experiences and simply wiped them away. A stressful week in preparation for an exam, for instance. Or a close relative's funeral. The pill found that memory and simply erased it, like chalk drawings in the rain.

To test it, Oswald had picked out a servant he'd known had recently suffered from a break-up and given him another pill. After taking it, the man had gone to sleep and woken up convinced that he was still engaged to be married.

Hopefully, this pill would target not Isabella's death, but Oswald and Ruby's 'betrayals'. Gods knows that must have hurt.

Sighing, he dropped the pill into the teacup. With a hiss and a fizzle, the light brown surface frothed over like an angry sea. When at last it faded, the hot beverage looked no different than it had before. And the drug dealers had assured him that this had come from their best batch. Flavorless, scentless. Oswald had graciously thanked them...before casually stating that he'd doubled his take on their profits, given the effectiveness of their stocks. When one had protested, Oswald had had his hands severed and his tongue ripped out. Nobody else had protested.

Oswald added a teaspoon of sugar, just to be safe. Stirring it thoroughly, he placed the cup and saucer onto a tray and brought it to Edward's room. His knuckles rapped against the polished wood. "Ed? I brought some tea."

"Come in." The voice awaiting inside was gruff. Distant. A lump formed in Oswald's throat. Clearing it he entered. Edward sat with his back to him, fingers drumming on the desk. He didn't turn or greet his friend. Oswald shivered, remembering the sinister words that Ed had whispered in his ear. "You're my best friend as well, Oswald. Remember that." Had that been a threat? There was no way of knowing. Just a few hours ago, Oswald never would have considered it. But after Ruby's tale of babies being dangled from windows, it seemed all too likely. The prospect broke his heart. The only thing barring him from tears was the knowledge that tonight, it would be over.

He smiled as, finally, Edward twisted in his seat. "Hello. I thought, given this evening's chill, you might enjoy a cuppa. So," he awkwardly placed the cup near Edward's immobile hand, "Here. It's your favorite."

Edward stared at the steaming mug as though it were something that he had to dissect. Then, without ever changing facial expression, he nodded. "Thank you. I'll drink it in a bit."

Oswald hesitated, unsure of what to do. Should he remain, and ensure that Edward drank the tea? It would only make him look suspicious. Deciding on a compromise between paranoia and cloaking, he said, "Would you mind taking a sip first? I want to know if I put too much sugar, or not enough."

Edward looked up at him. Just like that he had the mayor pinned. Never breaking eye contact he took the mug and brought it to his lips. He took a sip, then nodded. "It's fine. Thank you."

Feeling a bit better, Oswald nodded and tried to smile. "Right. Well, goodnight, Ed."

"Night."

When Oswald returned to the corridor, he felt capable of breathing again. As though he'd left a stuffy old house and been welcomed by fresh, crisp air. But thinking about the cause of such closed-in air weighed on his heart. Swallowing, he retired upstairs. He shed clothing as he fumbled up the steps, all too ready to surrender to his velvet robe. The fireplace, alive with heat and color, was better than any painting in the world. Sighing, he unceremoniously dropped the clothes into the laundry basket. As he slipped into his robe, feeling the clean, soft cloth on his skin, the phone suddenly burst with life. Oswald stopped, watching the shrieking phone. No one ever called at this hour. All of his underlings knew better than to bother him. Edward had just seen him, and had clearly wished to be alone.

Which only left one person, excluding Jehovah's Witnesses and cellphone service salesmen.

Licking his lips, Oswald answered. "Hello?"

"Oz." That single word, barely more than a breath, brought back so much. So many emotions. So many feelings.

Oswald swallowed. "Ruby."

A faint, nervous chuckle. Oswald could see her now, leaning against the window. The telephone cord wrapped around her finger. "Sorry, maybe you were sleeping, but-"

"I wasn't." Oswald hoped he didn't sound too eager. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just put Beryl to bed." Ruby's smile was aubile. "Went out like a light. It's really sweet."

Oswald sniggered. Sat on the bed. "I can hardly wait to meet her."

"I can hardly wait to introduce you two." Ruby answered. "I've brought her to the doctor. She doesn't seem to have the condition I had, but if symptoms show up, I have Professor Strange on speed dial."

"Strange?" Oswald frowned. "The man who treated you like a guinea pig for his experiments? The one who had me brainwashed?"

"He's also the one who cured me when no one else could." Ruby answered. "So, yeah. To keep Beryl safe, and healthy, I'd call on Hitler if he could be of help."

"Why're you doing this?" Oswald asked. "She may share your blood, but that hardly convinced your parents to treat you well. So why?"

There was a second's pause. Then: "Because I didn't want her to go through what I did. And even if she turned out to be healthy, well...Oz, Opal was already starving her. Who knows what else she'd have done, to have a pretty daughter? I couldn't stand by and watch. I just couldn't."

Oswald nodded, understanding her words. He had felt something quite similar towards Ed, back when the genius had been locked away in Arkham. Swallowing, he said. "Tell me about her."

Ruby was quiet, again, for a moment. She recognized the request for what it was: a desire to step into her life again. A peep into the last few months, that had been entirely hidden from his view. A chance to mend what had been broken. She smiled, and did as he asked.

For the next hour Ruby regaled her friend with tales of life with a baby. She told him how she kept the crib near her bed so that, at the first whimper, the child would be cared for. She told of Beryl being small enough to warrant baths in the sink, and the way the child giggled at all the bubbles. She told of Mercury playing with the baby when Ruby wasn't around, and how he'd taught her additional tricks to cease crying. She told him that Beryl already seemed to prefer certain fairy tales to others, and how she looked great in black and yellow. She also added, laughingly, of how she'd been forced to lock up her geology collection lest the baby try to swallow a stone.

Afterwards, she asked the same thing of Oswald. He was more than happy to do so. For the following hour and a half he told her of life as mayor. Of all of the charities he had visited, from campaigns against cruelty to animals to those meant to feed the poor. He'd been to more soup kitchens than he could count, and had warranted good public favor by 'convincing' multiple restaurant owners to send their weekly leftoevers to the nearest homeless feeding spot. What the public did not know was that, rather than words, he'd used knives and guns. He told her that he'd visited his mother's grave more often, and he'd left glass flowers that would never wilt. Oswald spoke of all the little business transactions that occured, either at home or in his office, and how lonely it had been without her.

He did not say this to manipulate her into returning, nor to make her feel guilty. He said this as a simple fact.

Ruby swallowed. "I miss you too, Oz."

Oswald said nothing, but smiled feebly.

"It wasn't an easy decision for me. At all. That mansion is the only home I've ever known. My Master's remains are there, probably little more than a skeleton now." She suddenly gasped. "His grave...they're keeping it clean, aren't they?"

"Of course." Oswald assured her. "Each morning the crypt is swept, and the leaves are cleared out. It's cleaner than most bedrooms, I believe."

"That's good." Ruby sighed. Then, after a moment, she said, "You really are your father's son, you know that?"

Oswald felt tears prickle his eyes. "Truly?" His voice felt thick and hoarse, as though he'd been yelling while gulping down maple syrup.

"Truly." Ruby's smile was once again audible. "Master was emotional, too. He married a woman he really didn't know that well, all to save her and her kids from a nasty situation. Whenever he'd read about some poor sucker who'd lost everything, Master would send him an anonymous cheque. He always listened to his heart, until more often than not his brain knew better and never spoke up." A second's pause. "I loved him more than I ever did my parents. Ever."

Oswald had been struggling not to cry at Ruby's kind words and the memory that they summoned. But at the last phrase, he felt the need to joke. If only to save himself from openly weeping over the phone. "I hope you don't see me as your father, Ruby. I'm only five years older than you, after all."

"Four years and eight months." Ruby corrected with a snigger. "And...no. I don't think of you like a family member. More like..." She caught herself. "A best friend, of course."

"Same here." Oswald confirmed. "You and Ed are the best friends I have ever had. It would kill me to lose either of you."

"Yeah." Ruby's voice became wobbly for a moment. "I know." Sucking in breath from clenched teeth, she asked, "Did you give him the pill?"

"Disguised as his favorite tea." Oswald answered. "By this time tomorrow he shall have forgotten this entire ordeal...and, I hope, you shall be home."

"I hope so too, Oz." Ruby sighed. "It'll be nice to be back in my old room. To be able to look down at the vegetable patches, and the flower gardens. There aren't any flowers here. Just the severed kinds in shops, and most of them look depressing."

"Much like the men and women selling them." Oswald replied. Suddenly, a yawn tore his jaws apart. Ruby snickered. "It's late, you should sleep."

"So should you." Oswald retorted with a smile.

Ruby laughed lightly. "Okay, Dad." At first, Oswald thought she would wish him a good night and hang up. Instead, she added. "I missed this. Just talking with you."

"It shall be even better in person." Oswald grinned. "I can hardly wait."

Little did he know of the happenings downstairs. Of Ed sneaking into the crypt, a shovel and a hammer in his hands and a bag slung over his shoulders. Of the phone calls he had made. And the tea, poured onto the misty grass.