Chapter 83

Mercury paced back and forth in the apartment, biting his nails and muttering to himself. Every few seconds he glanced at the clock. Then, he'd look at his cellphone. Stubbornly, it didn't ring. Finally, to conclude the cycle of anxiety, he'd cast a watchful eye on Beryl. Every now and then a string of bubbly drool would gather at her lip, but other than that she slept.

Mercury envied her. He'd barely seated himself in the last three hours, never mind catching z's.

Ruby hadn't come home yet. Normally, that wouldn't have been an issue. Considering she came running whenever Mayor Hair Gel snapped his fingers, it wasn't odd to consider the jobs that she had to undertake. But no matter what she did, Ruby never failed to update Mercury. Either she called, texted, or answered the phone. She'd done none of those things today. Mercury had called a total of twenty-five times, and sent over thirty messages, to no avail. What had started as a little worm of panic had become a fully-grown snake growing fat on his sanity.

He wanted to believe that everything was fine. That Ruby would be home soon, maybe with some Chinese take-out and a rented film to make up for her tardiness. But as much as he tried to muffle it, that little voice in Mercury's head kept yelling that something simply wasn't right. Ruby would never fail to call back. Never. Once, she'd answered while suspending a junkie upside-down and shaking him like a maraca, trying to obtain the money that he'd owed Oswald. His screams and the sound of objects falling from his pockets had had Mercury in stitches.

He licked his lips, which were bloody and bruised from his constant biting. Looking at the telephone, he contemplated. Ruby had told him who to call should something ever happen. Just to be safe. But he sure as hell didn't want to talk to that person. Besides, it wasn't even guarenteed that the dude would pick up. He was a refugee, after all.

Swallowing hard, Mercury picked up the phone and took it to the desk. There, he rummaged through the drawers until, at last, he found the number.

He pressed 'CALL'.

Somewhere miles away from Gotham, a cellphone rang. The sudden vibrations in a stolen pair of trousers' pocket puzzled the owner. Few had his number, and even fewer used it. Only a few feet away his partner, without whom he'd have been dragged back into custody, sat on an overturned garbage bin. A pile of crumpled dollar bills sat on her lap. She counted under her breath.

The man turned away, knowing how much his partner despised interruptions and distractions. He held up the phone, and froze.

He answered. He listened. And then, he hung up.

"My dear," he said, "I'm afraid we'll have to take a detour."

Pause. Then, in a low voice laced with venom, his partner inquired, "How much of a detour?"

"We must return to Gotham. Or a life will end. A life that I worked very hard to preserve."

Ruby sat, propped by the wall. Oswald leaned against the car's cracked windshield. The flame continued to lick at the block of ice, which was now a little more than half of its original size. The clock, one of the few original factory items that still worked, counted off the minutes. Second by agonizing second.

One hour, ten minutes.

That was all Ruby had left. Oswald had two more hours than that.

Ruby swallowed. "Look," she said, "when I die-"

"You're not going to die." Oswald insisted.

"But if I do," Ruby pressed on, "you don't have to look. I don't want you to look." She gave a feeble, humorless laugh. "I'd move out of sight, but, ah..." She gestured to the lower half of her body. Her hips had stopped responding to her commands about a minute ago.

Oswald was touched by the consideration, but he shook his head. "Ruby, listen to me. And this time, listen properly: you are not going to die."

Ruby sniggered, once again lacking humor. "Yeah, and the Lone Ranger didn't have a thing with Tonto." She gave a shaky breath, then hugged herself. For a few minutes she was silent, and Oswald let her be. He didn't want to upset her, or provoke her. Not in their final hours.

After which he'd be forced to watch her die. Knowing that she'd been in love with him for all this time, and he'd never noticed.

Oswald looked down at the crushed car that was currently serving both as his seat and his trap. He remembered all too well the order that he'd given, and the inevitable outcome. He'd done it in a pathetic, childish attempt to win back the affections of an emotionally unavailable man. He'd thought that eliminating what he'd perceived as a distraction would drive Edward into his waiting arms. Edward was right. That hadn't been love. It had been petty jealousy and infatuation.

He'd done all that when he'd been the object of love for another. Oswald still didn't know how to feel about that; not completely. He of course meant what he'd told her. Ruby was a wonderful person, and he was certain that any man would've been lucky to have her affections. Oswald cared deeply for her, and wanted to see her happy. He thought that, if they'd ever decided to get married, she would have made a fine companion in both financial and personal fields. He could have given her the option of abandoning the name of a family who had abandoned her. Make her a Cobblepot, and be done with it. In addition, he could have been a proper father to Beryl. Their relationship would solidify, no doubt, and they would have spent many joyous years together. But even then, he knew, he would not love Ruby. Not in that way.

But beyond that...wow. Ruby, his best friend, loved him. A part of him still had trouble digesting that fact. Ruby, the one who'd seen him in his pajamas hundreds of times; the one who'd cooked for him, and always knew what to extract from the liquor cabinet when he was upset; Ruby, who'd consoled and comforted him countless times; the one with whom he'd shared his deepest secrets, and had returned the favor...was in love with him. All this time, she'd seen everything positive and negative about Oswald, spotted every imperfection and even suffered for them...and she loved him all the same. It felt like he'd been looking at something for so long, he had stopped taking in the details and become blind to what should have been obvious all along.

He felt honored, but at the same time ashamed. Ashamed that he couldn't, as much as he wanted to, love her back.

In the end, though, Oswald decided that it didn't matter. They were best friends. And they would get out of this situation. Together. Even if he had to drag her numb body all the way back home. Bum knee be damned.

Ruby's soft crying drove Oswald's thoughts away. He turned to find her holding her head in her hands, weeping gently. He tried to reach her, but of course the chains protested.

"Beryl." Ruby whispered. More tears ran down her cheeks. As they landed on her shirt, they darkened the dried bloodstains. "I...I adopted her because...because I wanted her to have something I never had: a loving parent. Someone who will love and cherish you, no matter what. And now..." She sucked in a breath. "I'm going to die here, chained up, and leave her all alone again. What if..." She whimpered. "What if Opal finds out? What if she tries to get her back?"

"Ruby," Oswald licked his lips. "I promise you, you will see Beryl again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." Ruby advised through her sobs.

"Even if you do not," Oswald continued, "I swear to you, Beryl will always have a future as long as I draw breath."

Ruby sniffled, but didn't sob. She looked at him with her huge eyes. Speechless.

Oswald continued. "If you...die..." A lump formed in his throat as the prospect, "I will adopt Beryl. I will make sure she has the happiest childhood I can give her. I will ensure that she's healthy, and has the chance to go to the finest schools." He offered Ruby the best smile he could. "She will be taken care of, I swear it."

"Oh, Oz..." Ruby cried some more, but Oswald could tell that these tears were of a different breed than their predecessors. "I...words can't thank you enough."

"You don't have to." Oswald replied. "All I would ask in return is..." He sniggered. "That crab cake recipe of yours."

Ruby blinked, then chortled. It was the first true laughter he'd heard her emit in a while. "The last time you tried to make them, you set the kitchen on fire!"

Oswald cackled at the memory. "Indeed. Repairing it cost me over five thousand dollars."

Ruby shook her head. "And we had to buy a fresh set of pots and pans." She smiled at him, truly and fully. Gratitude and love shone through her face like sunbeams. Oswald, despite his guilt, was grateful that he could finally see it.

Suddenly, Ruby groaned and hunched over. Clutching her middle.

"Ruby!" Oswald tried to reach her. And failed. He could only watch as she hugged her middle, gasping and moaning. Tears prickled at the edges of her eyes. "It hurts!" She yelled. "It hurts!" For a brief second, Oswald felt it through their connection. That second was enough. It felt like his entire midsection suddenly turned to lead. Heavy. Useless. Painful. He felt his intestines turn to metal coil, as limp and lifeless as a pile of worms. His stomach, just an acidic little sack. The liver, the kidneys...they throbbed once, hard, and faded into darkness.

Ruby at last fell silent, lying on her side and breathing hard. For a few minutes her eyes rolled back, showing only whites. That, and her ragged breathing, would stay in Oswald's nightmares for a long time. At last, unable to stand it, he spoke. "Ruby. Ruby, please. How do you feel?"

Ruby's eyes returned to normal. She lay there, contemplating, before answering:

"Half-dead."

Breaking into the apartment was child's play. The lock was cheap, to say the slightest, and the wood was showing signs of decomposition.

Plus, it helped to have a knife.

Edward slipped through the gap, his eyes searching behind those thickly-rimmed specs. The last time he'd been here, he'd felt that the place was homey. Now, he saw a battlefield where everyone alive was an enemy.

And that means everyone.

He looked around, seeing signs of life. A plate, crusty with drying melted cheese, sitting near the sink. A broom leaning against the closet's door, its bristles hosting plenty of dust-bunnies. An empty baby's bottle on the coffee table amongst open geology books.

Suddenly, he heard a baby's gurgle coming from the bedroom. Smiling, he checked his pants' leg. There, strapped to his shin, his sheathed knife was warm with blood-lust. Quiet as a shadow he approached the bedroom. As he passed the bathroom door, he heard a toilet flushing. Good. Hopefully, the babysitter would be too busy in there to hear anything. Not that there would be anything to hear.

The bedroom was small but expertly decorated, from a poster of Owl City on the back of the door to the pile of books on the nightstand. The windows' lava-hued curtains were drawn. A carpet patterned with intertwining vines and flowers muffled his footsteps. There, at the base of the double bed (where the surface was rumpled and a few open comic books lay), was the crib. And in it...

Edward smiled down at the baby. "Remeber me?"

Beryl made a little gurgling noise again, with tiny bubbles forming between her pouty lips. Lying admist soft pink blankets, with her fiery hair, she looked like a child of flame. Her eyes were huge and green as they looked up at him, questioning but not suspicious. She was dressed in a one-piece pajama: black, with yellow around the hands and feet.

Good. Black hides all stains.

He picked up the child with one hand. Held her against his chest. "Don't worry," he bent over and found his knife, "you won't feel a thing." He held the tip of the blade to Beryl's soft throat.

"But you sure as hell will!"

A second later, a small explosion went off atop Edward's head. He stumbled as black spots appeared in his vision. His grip on the baby loosened, but not enough to drop her. He whirled around, breathing through gritted teeth. Panting Mercury stood there, holding an encyclopedia over his head like an ogre with a rock. His eyes were wild with both shock and fury. "What the hell are YOU doing here, string-bean?!" He demanded.

Edward scoffed. "You're Ruby's lapdog, aren't you?"

"Drop the kid!" Mercury yelled, raising the book higher, "Or else!"

"Or else, what?" Edward laughed. "You're going to make me hit the books?"

Mercury threw the book. He'd aimed for the face, and hit the target. As the flying weight slammed into his nose full-force, he stumbled backwards. The knife slipped from his grip. So did Beryl. She began to cry. Mercury quickly gathered the child, thinking nothing of the blade until it was too late.

A shine of silver raced towards them.

Screaming, Mercury ran out the bedroom with Beryl at hand. He slammed the door and twisted the lock. Not a second later, the door shook. Mercury backed away, panting and trying to hush the weeping child. But even as he saw the door struggle, and heard those curses, he had to ask.

"Why?" He cried. "Why would you go after an innocent baby?"

"She's Ruby's kin!" Edward roared. "And that harlot loves her! That's more than enough reason to spill her blood! Besides, that baby is a product of incest. I would be doing her a favor!"

"At least she's not as fucked up as a potential baby killer!" Mercury snapped. Shaking his head, he added, "And to think Ruby used to care about a psycho like you! Maybe it's better than things turned out this way! You never deserved her friendship anyway!"

A voice materialized before him. "Mr. Mercury, I presume?"

For a moment, Mercury froze. Then, still holding Beryl close, he turned around.

Two people stood before him. The open window brought in a breeze that ruffled their hair. One was an African-American woman in leather, her short hair dyed crimson and one of her eyes a bright blue. The other was an Asian man with a shaved head, a pair of square glasses, and a lab coat over normal clothing.

Dr. Strange stepped forward and shook Mercury's shock-limp hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, where is my creation?"