AN: Hey guys! So, apparently I love stretching timelines of episodes, as I will be doing for a while with this fic. This chapter, as well as the next few after it, takes place during "The Mask." Thank you for all the follows/favorites/reviews! And sorry I haven't updated in a while! Also my thoughts and prayers go out to all those and any of you guys in Texas and in states that have been experiencing severe weather lately.

Sam Fraser: Thank you for taking the time to read this fic and leave reviews! You pose some very interesting questions, some of which I've considered myself. While I have ran the AU scenario of Isabelle keeping Oswald from becoming the Penguin through my mind, I just don't know if that is the road I will go down with this fic. I can tell you that I have been considering it since the beginning of this fic. I read a good bit of other Oswald/OC fics and haven't come across any that have Oswald being prevented from becoming the Penguin so the fact that, as far as I can tell, no one else is writing one like it makes me very interested in making this AU. It would be incredibly interesting to write and see Oswald struggle with who he is, and like you said, his inner demons. To see him struggling with what he's done, what he wants to do, etc. with Isabelle being his Jiminy Cricket along the way is very intriguing. Although I think a bit of that is already surfacing with Isabelle's naivety when it comes to Gotham and violence, etc. and I find it interesting that Oswald would end up being drawn to someone like her, who is a good deal different from him in several aspects. Also I've wanted Oswald to do something selfless for Isabelle, I just haven't figured out what exactly. I would prefer for it to be something rather major, something that, like you say, could possibly change how Gordon sees Oswald as well as cementing their relationship and how Oswald really feels about her but we will just have to wait and see.

Disclaimer: Only the OC is mine.

Playlist:

Radiohead-15 Steps

Chapter 19

"What drives you?" Oswald asked Frankie Carbone, wielding the knife he would very soon use to kill the man. "What's your passion?" he grinned. "When you know what a man loves, you know what can kill him."

When Oswald had spoken those words he had no idea how true they would ring for him later.

~O.o~

"Perhaps I should open your gift," Fish Mooney said, although she could not care less. She opened the gift outwardly smiled at the brooch. "My goodness." She knew immediately that she would drive the pin through Oswald's hand as she pulled it out. "That is beautiful."

Oswald smiled, pleased.

"Now I feel awful," she lied. "I didn't get you anything."

Oswald closed his eyes and shook his head. "No."

Mooney leaned across the table and Oswald followed suit. "Thank you."

Oswald's smile was quickly wiped off his face as Mooney drove the pin into his left hand. He held his other hand up to signal to his men to stand back. He could handle her. He tried to mask his pain as best as he could as he watched the women he despised lick his blood off of the pin.

"Hmmm. Sweet."

"That was uncalled for."

"Let me rephrase that," Mooney said. "Sweet, just like I bet Isabelle's is."

Oswald's face darkened but he said nothing.

"Oh, my dear Penguin," she sneered. "I brought you into my family and I treated you like a son! And you betrayed me."

"For which I suffered."

"Not enough. Now, when I order some fool killed, I expect him to stay that way. But don't worry. I know all about you and Isabelle. How you sent her poor, naïve, little self straight into my arms to spy on me."

Oswald's eyes widened for a second. Mooney's words sent his heart racing and he realized he hated Isabelle's name coming out of Fish's mouth. He didn't dare to correct her on the facts; if Mooney thought Oswald directly sent Isabelle to spy on her for him then he would continue to let her think that.

He'd called Isabelle earlier that day to talk to her about their date to celebrate his reveal, which had been her idea, and she hadn't answered or called him back. Fish's words had him worried about Isabelle now.

"Isabelle quit working for you when I revealed myself," he stated, struggling a bit to keep from stammering in front of Fish.

"That she did. I must say I grew quite concerned when she didn't show up for work yesterday. Perhaps you should pay her a visit? Just to be sure she's alright. A girl as innocent as her, in Gotham, things…happen."

Oswald eyed her, his tongue pressed against the inside of his right cheek. He decided not to say anything further concerning Isabelle. Instead he glared at her and allowed some of the pain from his hand to show on his face. "Your boss, Don Falcone, expressly said…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, he wants peace." Mooney pointed her finger at him. "He's the only reason why your ass is still alive. And if I were you, I would pray for his good health."

Oswald laughed, pleased that he'd moved the conversation away from Isabelle so quickly. "Oh, I do. I do."

"Good. 'Cause remember…things change."

"Convey my respects to your don."

"Likewise. Peace…friend."

~O.o~

That evening Oswald headed to Jim Gordon's apartment to pick Isabelle up for their date. He had the driver stop halfway there at a florist where he purchased a dozen roses in her favorite color, dark purple. He'd called her again when he left Fish's and there was still no answer. He tamped down any worry though, chalking her lack of response up to phone problems. He was sure that if Fish had really harmed Isabelle she would shove it in his face.

Jim had just finished calming down a very scared and paranoid Barbara and explained the situation with Isabelle to her. He did not want to deal with Oswald right now, as much as he wanted to kill the young man who was currently standing outside his door with a dozen roses for the very girl he nearly got killed.

"Oswald," Jim said, acknowledging him.

"Hello Mr. Gordon," Oswald smiled. "I'm here to pick up Isabelle. We have a date."

"You don't know?" Jim asked, already knowing the answer.

"Sir?"

Jim let out a heavy sigh. "Isabelle…she left." It wasn't a complete lie. But he wanted Oswald to think she had left the city entirely.

Jim watched as a quick range of emotions flickered across Oswald's face: surprise, confusion, disbelief, hurt. "Wh-what? What do you mean she left?"

"She's gone Oswald," Jim said, eyes starting to burn with tears. He certainly didn't have to fake any emotions or tears. He'd wanted nothing more than to have Isabelle under his roof again and now he'd left her at the Wayne mansion because he had been unable to keep her safe and the bastard standing across from her had caused it. But Jim blamed himself as well; the guilt at what Mooney had done to Isabelle was eating at him. "I think you should leave Oswald," he said through gritted teeth.

"Wh-where is she?" Oswald asked, his voice panicky.

"Like I would tell you," Jim grunted. "You should just forget her Oswald. She's not coming back." Jim actually didn't know when or even if Isabelle would be back to live with him. A large part of him wanted her to get out as far away from Gotham as she could but the selfish part of him shot down that idea.

"Did…did she s-say anything?" Oswald asked, suddenly feeling feverish.

"No, not for you anyway," Jim said before abruptly slamming the door in Oswald's face.

It had taken everything for Jim not to just shoot Oswald right there but he'd already messed up by not killing him before and killing Maroni's inside man right now would not be in his best interest.

Oswald stood frozen in the hallway, the bouquet slipping from his sweaty palm. He slowly turned, his polished shoe crushing the flowers underfoot as he did. Droplets of sweat had formed on his forehead and his pulse was pounding. Isabelle had left, just like that. She hadn't given him the slightest hint that she was leaving and Jim didn't say why either.

As Oswald walked out of the building he convinced himself he didn't need an explanation, he knew why she left: because Oswald Cobblepot was not good enough for Isabelle Gordon. He knew it had all been too good to be true. A girl could never look at him the way Isabelle had. He was reminded of the other night; the electricity that had coursed through him when they kissed and embraced on her bed was nothing but his mind playing tricks on him. She hadn't meant a word she'd said. He'd been an emotional fool. He'd spent years undergoing unrequited crushes in school and being ignored by girls except for when they made fun of him. After Oswald was sure no one would ever want him, in sauntered Isabelle Gordon with her shiny, long, dark chocolate tresses, her brown eyes, and her soft smile that she'd given him many, many times. She had distracted him. She had played him and he would be damned if he let another woman play him again. As far as Oswald Cobblepot was concerned, Isabelle Gordon had been nothing but an illusion.

As he sat in the bathtub, filled to the brim with hot, soapy water, he knew he was being ridiculous. Isabelle left for a reason, he knew it. The date had been her idea, so why would she leave? He could feel in his gut he was right but his freshly wounded heart told him his former reasoning was true. At least, it's what he wanted to believe. It was better to have fallen for an illusion, a siren singing out on her rock, than to think she actually cared for him. He was reminded of the ending to her favorite poem that she had printed out and laminated on her bedroom wall. After he took notice of that he bought a book containing all of T.S. Eliot's work and read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" until he had the entire poem memorized. The last lines ran through his mind now, "I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By seagirls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown." Well Oswald felt as if he'd just woken up.

Of course he was a genius at working things out, seeing the outcome of situations, and he'd been right so far, except for Isabelle. He hadn't counted on Isabelle coming into his life, but he had been glad she did. Now, though, he didn't know what he was feeling. He was angry, doubtful, confused, and, even though he didn't want to admit it, he was hurt. He'd given in to his siren's calls, drawing him in and, like all sirens did to their victims, she wounded him and left him to drown.