CHAPTER 2

Through hazy eyes, Oswald found himself teetering back and forth from dream to reality. At one point he felt his body being moved, his arms wrapped around the neck of his rescuer. His feet dragged on the floor as his body felt numb and his head was dizzy. He then felt himself being laid down again, this time on a dryer part of the ground. His head rested on what felt like the bundled softness of a heavy coat. A woman's voice spoke to him, but faded as he lost the battle and drifted off again into the darkness.

Moments later his eyes opened and were greeted by the faint illumination of the tunnel ceiling. A sound of movement drew his attention. Gingerly he turned his body over its direction and tried to ignore the pain and fatigue that coursed through him. He blinked his eyes several times to make out the source of the sound. What greeted him was the image of the woman he saved. She was quickly and roughly searching the dead body of one of her deceased tormentors.

With a loud grunt, she turned the body over, her face showing signs of pain. He could tell by the bruises on her arms and face that any movement was not the most pleasant a task as any. Turning the dead body of 'Roe' over, she crouched down and removed his suit jacket, and then, to his surprise, she began to undress the body. He watched as her hands shook as one by one she unbuttoned the man's shirt and then removed it.

Oswald watched in curiosity as the woman stood up slowly, the jacket and the black button down shirt in hand. She laid the jacket and shirt on the corner next to her, in the driest part of the floor. She then slowly took off her ripped-up white t-shirt, until she wore only her ivy green laced bra.

The bruises were dark, especially near her ribs. He saw traces of blood near the valley of her breasts where a knife had been placed. He watched unblinking as she cursed under her breath and slipped on the black button-down shirt to cover her body.

The shirt was all too big for her petite frame and fell well pass her knees. She must have been a head shorter than him, he thought. He watched as she then pulled on the dark brown jacket over her shivering body.

The woman fumbled hurriedly with the pockets in earnest searching. He saw the look of relief in her eyes as she found a wallet filled with cash, a lighter, remaining bullets for the 9 millimeter gun, and a set of keys to what could possibly be to the car of the two men.

"The gods must be watching me," he heard her say out loud, her hand tightened its hold on the keys.

And then as if sensing his awakened presence, her eyes looked up and met his. Oswald's gray eyes clashed with piercing green eyes filled with surprise.

Had she thought him dead?

Oswald tried to get up as she approached him, but was stopped gently by her hand on his chest, as she knelt next to him. She studied him closely, taking note of his condition, and the frown etched on his brow as he looked at her.

His eyes fixed on her lips as they moved in speech, yet his mind in its haze did not fully register her words. He was certain she had told him to remain steady. And when her supple lips stopped their movement, he looked up at her and then at the hand that rested against him. He said nothing to her, and she remained quiet, her brow etched in what appeared to be worry and relief.

Oswald tried to move once again and this time she does not stop him. He slowly adjusted himself until he was seated with his back leaning against the cold walls. The very motion felt like a long tenuous exercise, as every movement caused sharp pain to course through him, emanating from his wounds. He bit his tongue, trying his might not to scream in agony.

He wondered if she may have found pleasure in seeing him struggle to sit up in pain, having not listened to her word of advice and proceeding with his stubbornness. He brushed this thought aside, still feeling her gaze on him

Could it be, that she's calculating and planning how she would kill me at this very moment? Oswald knew how easily she could use the gun and shoot him, and go on her merry way – he certainly would have done so in her case. What is she waiting for? He thought.

There was pause between them as both of them were lost in thought. While Oswald was questioning her motive, the woman she was simply accessing his current state, wondering how she could aid in helping him escape the tunnels.

Determined, Oswald tried to move again, focus on standing on his him and getting up. Before he could do so, two hands on his shoulders stopped him. The woman was careful not to press with too much pressure, but she was certain not to allow him to hurt himself further. He looked up at her startled. He tried to move again, but stopped as he seemed to realized he lacked the energy to pushed against her.

"Not yet," she said to him, her voice cautious and soft but raspy from the strain from her earlier struggles.

His frown diminished to one of questioning. He opened his mouth to say something, but somehow he felt all too weary to attempt to disagree.

"Fine," he said, but his voice was so low that it came out as a mumble and he was certain she didn't hear it.

He watched as she sat back and dug into the left pocket of her coat. Was this the time for his death? He closed his eyes awaiting the inevitable.

He felt her presence leave him, and faintly heard her shuffling around him, and then returning to his side. She spoke again, her voice hushed due to the strain.

"I need to re-bandage your wound before you can move," he heard her say to him, and somehow he found himself taken aback, his eyes opening and staring at her lips as they moved, before again his vision blurred and the dizziness in his head grew.

He closed his eyes again. Thoughts went through him, one of question at the ridiculous idea that this very woman was trying to aid him. Was he dreaming? Had he lost his mind and was hallucinating? - These thoughts were jumbled in his mind, as he slowly felt himself being drained from energy, until the darkness overtook him once again.

When he opened his eyes once more, Oswald found himself looking down at his injured leg which no longer had the tourniquet around it. He was certain the woman had removed it while he had passed out, and was grateful he was not awake to feel the excruciating pain. He also noted a sharp ache on his left bicep, that he did not notice before. He averted his gaze to the new unfamiliar pain and saw blood seeping through his torn sweater.

"I'll take care of it, if you sit tight," she tells him, catching his attention.

In his hazy state he had not registered her close proximity. She was mere inches from his side; the edges of her shirt brushing against his leg as she knelt next to him. She offered him a slight smile of reassurance as she prepared the straps of cloths she tore to use on him.

Somehow Oswald found it all too amusing, the predicament they both found themselves, especially her and the fact that here was this woman aiding him. If he had been her, he would have left already, forgetting about who saved her and simply dissapearing. And yet, here she was nursing him and for what reason?

Oswald took in a sharp breath as the woman moved his injured leg straight and quickly took the clothes and tied a fresh makeshift tourniquet around his wound tightly. She whispered an "I'm sorry" when the tightening caused him to give a slight yelp of pain. He simply grunted and nodded his head, his eyes closed shot-tight.

She then spoke again, and he opened his eyes.

"This will hurt a bit, but the bullet just grazed it." She said this as she began to bandage the wound on his left arm.

Oswald watched in silence as she bandaged his left arm, pursing his lips against the pain. When she finished dressing his wound, a shiver coursed through him and his body shook. The chill coursed through his bones, and the coldness he felt through his body could possibly be due to his blood loss, no doubt.

The woman seemed to notice this and she helped him stand up slowly and assisted in putting on him a thick black knee length jacket – one that he was certain was from one of her attackers. The jacket fit a little loose on him, and provided the warmth he needed.

He stood shakily, his right hand pushed against the tunnel wall to support himself and finally looked at his savior, this woman who stayed to take care of him. What was going through her head? He thought, as she stood there in front of him, her eyes as curious and filled with questions as him. Both of them wounded, hands rested against the tunnel wall, they stood in a brief silence, until her sweet voice decided to cut through it.

"Thank you...thank you so much for saving my life."

Ah, gratitude, he thought.

Oswald didn't reply and simply observed her briefly and then their surroundings. She watched in uncomfortable silence as his eyes roamed around them. He needed his walking stick. He shoved his hands in his pant pockets and came up with the wallet he had stolen earlier, his matches and something was missing. Where was his switchblade?

As if knowing right away, the woman stepped back from him.

"If you'd kindly give my weapon back, I would truly appreciate it," he tells her, trying his best to hide his irritation, and to sound as courteous as he could. Who did this woman think she was? Stealing his weapon when he simply saved her life using said weapon. Did he save a woman who was a thief and not worth saving? Did he make a mistake?

"I'll do so," she began, "but not until I get us out of here."

He seemed surprise by her words, not with the audacity in which she spoke it, but with the trust that such words meant. This woman was now willing to trust him with her life. Who was she to think that I would not simply slit her throat to hide any evidence of my existing in the Underworld? Then again, I cannot get the urge to kill her when she's helped me.

"That's kind of you," he began, doing his best to fix his posture, "but I will not be needing your assistance here."

She raised an eyebrow, her hand on her hips. "Too bad, I just can't let you stay here."

"Why is that, pray tell?"

"Look at you," she pointed at him, "You'll be dead here in an hour at the rate you're going. You can't manage to leave here by yourself!"

"And that's your business, precisely why?"

She doesn't answer him, and simply shook her head in exasperation. Oswald could tell she was questioning how else to proceed.

"Believe me, I doubt our path with remain together in a moment," he tells her, uncertain himself how he wanted all of this to play out.

He watch her closely as she fished through her coat and took out his switchblade. She looked at it, but does not hand it to him.

"What do you mean?" She asks him.

"My goal is to disappear, and that does not involve remaining with you. We'll be on our separate ways; just hand me my blade."

She almost looked disappointed and taken aback by his revelation. And with a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow she stepped closer to him. She returned the switchblade back in her pocket. It was as if she had realized that between them, she had the upper hand compared to his wounded state.

"'Mister', do you know how to manage these tunnels?"

"I'm not certain, but I'm sure I'll be able to." He doesn't lie to her.

"I doubt it, especially if you want to get out of Gotham."

"And what is it that you know?"

"I know the way out of here," she tells him. She steps towards him, the hazel of her eyes shining through, and he saw the crease of her brows in determination. In the low light from the flashlights that illuminated their area, he now could see fully her face. Her skin showed tan and smooth, beneath the bruises under her eye, and the scratch on her face from her tormentor. She must have been close to his age, perhaps a few years younger than him, he believed. Her light brown hair hung in the same ponytail above her head, wavy and slightly wet with the grime from the tunnel floor when she had fallen. Her small light plum colored lips were pursed as she too was studying him in their brief moment of silence as she waited for his response.

Oswald thought for a moment that in his current state he would probably find himself loss in the tunnels for several more hours. He was again injured and was certain he needed this woman's help to assist him in his stride. He also knew that the woman was a remarkable shot—having not missed the skull of Tony when she fired three shots to him—nor did it seem that she was any damsel at all as he had first thought she was. Right at that moment, he still did not know her, and this did bother Oswald for he was often a man who was accomplished with reading people. This woman in front of him was a conundrum. She was certainly no street walker, and the idea of her being a hostage was not likely as well. Yet he knew that at that moment—in his moment of weakness—he had no choice but to place his trust on her as well.

Perhaps she'll take me out of this tunnel and we'll go our separate ways as planned.

"You suggest we stay together..." he pointed at his leg and his arm as he spoke, an eyebrow raised, "I can't do much to protect you as you can see if anything arises; nor can I help speed the way."

"It's...got nothing to do with that. You...saved...me, and I'm not going to leave you down here to die.""

Her concern was refreshing to him, especially after a day of people wanting him to die. Her eyes were truthful in her concern, he can tell, and he fault himself from being wry and sarcastic. She seemed to be a good woman, so it seems. It was clear now that being alone was the last thing she wanted to go through, and she did see him as her savior, and she his.

"I appreciate the concern, although my purpose in saving you is not as heroic as you may think."

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around her as a shiver went through. "So you murdered them for their resources, I suppose, I wouldn't be surprise if you're some broken man of a crime lord of Gotham."

He was almost taken aback.

"That doesn't bother you?" He asked her.

"It's clear that in this town you have to do what you must to survive, and believe me you were muttering in your sleep your plan to take their keys and wallet as fast as I was going ahead and doing just that."

He stared at her for a moment. He wondered what else he was muttering in his hazed state after he saved her from their altercation with the thugs.

"So taking me, assisting me out of this...Underworld, is your way of saying 'thank you'?" His voice was matter of fact, but almost in disbelief that someone in Gotham—a complete stranger—would even do what she'd done. He would certainly not have done so if he was her. Who was this woman and what else was she not telling him?

She certainly peaked his interest. She appeared to have had it all planned out for herself.

"Yes," she said, very simply. "And if we both don't get out of here now, we'll be better off dead, and those men's cronies may just start snooping."

She did have a point... Oswald pushed himself off the wall and started to step towards her. The movement caused him to hiss in pain, and as soon as the noise came from his lips, he felt the woman's arms around him assisting him up. Her grip around his waist was firm, as she help him keep upright. He was certain she was struggling with his weight, her being of petite and light built, and him a head taller than she.

She looked at him, before they began to move a look of concern in her eyes. Oswald averted his gaze, hating the thought that he found himself so helpless. He tried as his might to ease the weight he had on her and to force himself to pick up his legs instead of allowing them to saunter and drag, but to no avail. And for a moment, they were silent again as they trekked on, both their minds caught in the haze of what had transpired, both filled with a plethora of questions, but neither uncertain to how to begin.

The silence was broken when they paused again, to take a break. They had trekked on for what felt like fifteen minutes to a direction uncertain to Oswald, but he deduced was the way towards the cars of the two men they had just killed.

Both their backs rested against the cold wall of the tunnel, Ruby held the flashlight showing at their feet, her arms lightly brushing against the man next to her. To Ruby it was odd not to know his name, and she wondered if it mattered as she was certain they would part ways the moment they got to the car and she had him fixed up and drove out of Gotham. But the thought of this stranger's presence being so temporary didn't prevent her from opening her lips to speak, especially when she turned to look at him and caught him staring at her through half-closed eyes, rimmed with gray from the bruises and the cold.

"I'm Ruby," she said to him, and noticed a slight smirk—she was uncertain why it somehow made her slightly uneasy—coming from his lips.

"Nice to meet you," he tells her, extended a hand towards her in a mock gesture, his hands still blooded and cold in her grasp. And when their hands fell from each other, Ruby waited for his introduction, but it seemed he had no intention to do so.

"Should I just keep calling you, "Mister"?" She countered at his lack of reciprocation, with a raised an eyebrow, and then she shook her head. "Never mind, what does it matter..." she shrugged at his silence, and pushed herself off from the wall and turned to him to aid him again. Did she really think this man would even bother for such trivial? Her curiosity always had the best of her, and here she was trying to make a type of introduction to a man she had no idea was fully capable of, and then again perhaps he could be someone that she could utilize in the future or could aid her. She sighed and brushed off his lack of introduction and before she aided him in placing his arm over her shoulder, she felt his breathe against her ear.

"I'm Oswald."

His breathy and quiet reply sent a shiver down her body, and made her all too aware of how close they were to each other.

Ruby turned his direction and smiled ruefully. "At least now I feel better dragging around a stranger."

Most of his weight rested on her for aid—although she could feel him doing his best to restrain himself from her. Her arm wrapped around his waist, and his arm rested against his shoulder. As they walked she felt the light touches of his long hair brush against her cheek, and his steady hardened cold breath near her ear and neck, as his head would rest on her shoulder. She tried her best to keep him lifted, as he was almost a head taller than her, and his feet were almost dragging along with him.

Ruby aided him with her light frame, as didn't hold her tongue from periodically letting out a string of curse words out loud as she struggled to carry them through the tunnels. On occasions she would feel Oswald lose consciousness, or mutter through the haze of his suffering. She was happy that most of their trek he didn't seem fully conscious as so not to notice the hardship she faced lugging about a man so tall, and whose svelte frame appeared to be all muscle.

Aside from all this, she was determined that she was to leave the tunnels having saved the man who saved her. This goal was more selfish, in retrospect, as she found that this very goal of saving this man's life aided her in keeping her sanity, and her resolve to remain strong, especially after the trauma of being abused, almost raped, and murdered.

There was a part of her that simply wanted to let everything go and cry in sadness and in anger and to curse at the world for the predicament was found herself. A part of her simply wanted to stop moving on and to wallow in self pity for a life she never wanted to have. And yet, Ruby found herself continuing on, the life of a stranger in her hands, who saved her from her death. This was enough for Ruby to find in herself the strength to remain determined to once and for all leave Gotham behind.

So caught up in her taught was Ruby that she jolted when she felt the hand consciously wrap around her waist for support. He was conscious again, and he had felt her surprise..

Surprisingly she heard him left out a light chuckle at her reaction, until he cough and cringe in pain. Oswald wondered why on earth Ruby continued to drag his dead weight with her, and found himself amused at the image of what they probably appeared like. A small woman dragging a man through the tunnels of the Underworld—utterly hopeless and miserable. To a passerby, he could imagine their words as they would point at their scene. Someone would say about them, "See those two there? They're better off dead."

Oswald mentally shook his dark sense of humor and blamed it on the lack of blood, and the pain. He had to keep awake and to remain cognitive; he also wanted to make sure that this woman who was so determined to save him knew full well that he as still alive and not a dead body she was sadly taking along with her.

"Are we close?" He asked, his free hand pulling out the flashlight he had placed in his pocket and turning it on to guide their way.

He could feel her relief wash over her at his voice, which seemed more conscious and stronger than prior.

"Close," she says.

They continued to walk on, and a few steps later they came face to face with the steel ladders at the end of the tunnel—no doubt heading to the location of the car. They stood bellow the ladders and peered up. It was not a very long trek upward; but both were certain it would be an arduous one.

Ruby turned to Oswald, "Is your other arm okay?" She eyed the bandaged arm which Oswald had free beside him, and in its hands he held a flashlight.

He nodded, "And so is my leg," he assured her.

He watch as she looked him over and her eyes now focused on his leg. Her eyes widened and then her brow creased in worry. The bandages she had just changed on his wounded leg was now soaked through again in blood, and it was then as she met Oswald's gaze again—her flashlight shining towards him and his to her—how sickly pale he looked. She was certain that he was loosing a lot more blood and they had to get out of there immediately.

His piercing gray eyes studied her, and he spoke, this time his voice a lot softer and heavier due to a fatigue that overwhelmed his body again. Oswald felt like he was close to drifting until he felt Ruby's hands gently shake his shoulder as if to make sure he still held on and remain awake.

"If I let you rest anymore, I don't think you'll make it..." He heard concern in that voice.

"Does it matter?" Oswald heard himself say, hearing his voice slurring and muffled. He batted his eyes several times to clear his vision, until he saw her face so close to his. Curious... a woman worried about a complete stranger's well being. And yet god-sent especially after his hellish predicament. And yet, Oswald started to feel that it was probably worthless—her saving him—if she could be on her way instead of dragging him.

Taking her right hand from his shoulder, she used it to tilt his chin to look towards her. It was a gentle movement, and he realized how intimate and inappropriate it seemed.

"It matters," she said, "it matters that I at least get you out of here."

She looked up at the ladders and back at him. "Do you think...you can force yourself to? It's not too far up."

Oswald looked up at the ladders as well. To die and to succumb to the darkness would be the easiest thing for him to do. To accept the reality that he was exactly as Fish Mooney and Gordon dreamed him to be – dirt, unwanted, a failure, and better off dead. But somehow, Oswald found an awakening in his gut that commanded he live, and commanded that he had to make his own destiny and to do so meant to live. He took a deep breathe and straightened himself as best he could; the pressure on his leg causing him pain but he bit it and blinked his eyes some more to focus.

"You climb first, and I'll follow," he tells her. In that way if he was to fall unconscious and to his death, he would not take her with him.

She seemed to understand his reasoning and with a nod, Ruby climbed the ladder with Oswald painfully following suit in a slow fashion, but forcing himself not to rest in fear that doing so would ruin his resolve and cause him to succumb to the pain and the darkness and tiredness overcoming him.

Finally after what felt like an unending tormented painful moment in his life, he looked up from the ladder and saw in front of him Ruby's hands extended to assist him to pull him up from the tunnel entrance. Her hands were firm as she help pull him up and assisted him to stand.

They found themselves in a secluded alleyway in a part of town that had once thrived from the shipping jobs not too long ago. It was close to a ghost town now, with no many cars passing through nor people. It was the part of town which constituted a large church and convent upon which the nuns of St. Katherine of Drexel would do their work in the community, feeding the hungry, and held around that time a food pantry in which Ruby was certain was where a majority of the vagrants had fled to.

In the end of the very same alley, parked Ruby's tormentor's black Cadillac—a color all too common in the Gotham areas—and one that she was so grateful for being the fact.

She opened the passenger door and helped an almost delirious Oswald in the passenger seat. At this point he was extremely cold, and his eyes closed, and his face extremely pale.

Was he going to make it?

She rushed to the drivers side and fished for the keys and then started the car. She had to get him taken care off before it was too late, and she headed to the only place she knew to go.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please review to let me know what you think of this chapter. Thanks!