CHAPTER 4

Oswald opened his eyes with a jolt.

Where was he?

What happened?

He found himself rested on the soft mattress of a twin bed, a thick comforter and sheet covered him up until half of his stomach. He was shirtless, and could feel the bandages that covered a wound on his chest and his arm. He also knew that the tightness on his leg was due to the tight bandaging of his wounded leg. Someone had taken care of him and he was certainly grateful. For a moment he wondered, if he was dreaming this—being awake and aided. The eggshell colored ceiling greeted his gaze, and he blinked several times until his eyes focused. He took a deep breath, praying that he was indeed awake from the vivid dreams that haunted him.

A movement alerted his attention and he immediately took note of a presence in the room. He was not alone after all.

He turned to face his left, from where the motion came, then winced in pain out loud as the rolling over caused him to rest on his injured shoulder. "Damn!" He hissed loudly, as he immediately rolled over on his back again. He stared at a speck on the ceiling as he settled and waited for the blinding pain to subside.

A deep breath steadied him as he used peripheral vision to see who it was that accompanied him. With a minute adjustment of his head, he was able to get a good glimpse of the woman named 'Ruby' nestled in the bed across from him. Oddly enough, Oswald felt a feeling of elation; a part of him was pleased to know that this woman had survived, and that she had in fact taken him to safety as she promised.

A part of him remained amazed at his tenacity for 'good luck' in the worst of cases, and his mother's words echoed in his head: "Luck plays with the Cobblepotts, it hides, but appears in our worst of times. It's a hope, and this luck is in the blood."

No more a time than that very moment did Oswald felt his luck. An unlikely woman saved him, and now here he was patched up and rested. A small smirk appeared on his lips at his 'luck'.

He watched in silence as Ruby stirred and began to roll out of the bed, and stood facing towards him, oblivious to his attention. She was wearing a large long sleeve gray t-shirt and black shorts underneath. It looked as if she had washed and cleaned herself, her tanned skin smooth, her brown hair fell in thick waves a little past her shoulder. If it were not for the cut on her lip, and bruises on her face and arms, she would have looked like any other woman getting out of bed to begin a new day devoid of any horrors of Gotham. This woman was not that at all.

When she finally sensed his presence, her eyes fell on his, surprise at first, but then observant.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"I'm still in pain, but I feel well rested." He hadn't realized how raspy his voice was until he spoke, and how his throat hurt.

"That's good," she told him as she raised her hands above her to stretch her aching muscles. The large gray shirt she wore climbed hire as she stretched her arms, exposing briefly the skin on her waist. Oswald noted the bruises she had on the flat of her stomach, as well as on her arms, and then her neck. He was then met by her questioning gaze, as he noted the black eye she had and the bruises on her cheek. He had no doubt he shared similar bruises as she—he wasn't too excited about looking at his reflection in the mirror any time soon.

Ruby doesn't say anything else, and immediately – as if realizing what she was wearing – she put her hands to her side and took a seat on the bed.

He had been asleep for a few days, and she was surprised that he had awoken at all as she had expected his fever to last longer than a mere three days. She actually, in truth, didn't expect him to survive at all, but found it in herself to remain with him to aid Sr. Lucy in his care.

She sat on the bed across from him, her hands rested on her side, her long legs stretch in front of her. His observant gaze did not faze her. Ruby didn't try to hide either that at that very moment she was looking at him, studying his bare chest which were bandaged, as well as the muscles on his arms, and the long strands of hair that fell slightly over his temple. She was glad to see a faint of color on his face instead of the deathly pale she had observed during his state of unconsciousness. A part of her was glad that this stranger who saved her life somehow made it all right and was now able to converse with her.

She gave him a faint smile, "You're certainly looking a lot better." The words were filler for the heavy silence that fell in the room between them. There were so many questions and words unsaid, too many that no doubt was running through each other's head, and yet both Ruby and Oswald worked their might to remain as quiet about the incident that led to their current predicament. Ruby was grateful that he had brought the questions first to break the silence...

.

.

"How long have I been out?" He asked her, his body turned to her direction. He remained laying down on his side, afraid that any other movement to get up would only make his injuries worst.

"You were sick for a few days," she began, "you were in and out of consciousness during those days. I...didn't even expect you to be awake right now."

"I don't remember much of those days," Oswald tried to rake his mind with any remembrance of the times he was lucid, but only bits and pieces would appear in his mind, most of which he was certain were mere dreams, "Those days seem fleeting...things don't seem so clear..."

"I'm sure...," she said, her brow furrowed. "You had a fever—we were worried about infection, but you were all right thanks to Sr. Lucy."

"Sr. Lucy..." Oswald remembered hearing the name, and a vision of an elderly woman in her 70s tending to his wounds, he averted his gaze to a spot in the wall, above the headboard of Ruby's bed. Atop was a crucifix, and he saw that Ruby's gaze fell on this fixture as well.

He didn't have to ask his questions out loud, and no doubt his eyes said it.

"We're in a secret infirmary run by the Sisters of Drexel, in the outskirts of Alphabet District. We're safe here," she tells him, "Sr. Lucy is the nun whose helped you, she took us in that night."

Oswald had a flashes of scenes from that night, remembering the elderly woman and Ruby lifting him on the observation table. He remembered hearing prayers said by the elderly woman, Sr. Lucy, as she cut open his shirt. The memories flashed in his mind, but were like incoherent bouts that made him wonder if some of them were dreams he had in his fevered state.

One such memory was a vivid one of a woman with worried green eyes, whispering to him, touching his face and whispering consoling words. He remembered following that voice in his state of limbo, and he remembered being touch by the sincere worry there. He was still unsure what to take of the whole incident he found himself in, and wondered still the prerogative of the woman before him.

With a heavy breath he began to adjust himself to a sitting position, and immediately saw Ruby jump in position to help him. Her brows furrowed in worry as she extended her hand to help him, but instead felt him decline under clenched teeth. He didn't need her help, Oswald thought, he needed to make sure she knew that sooner or later he would be gone from her, or so he kept telling himself.

Once in a seated position, he met her gaze again. Ah, he thought, there are those green eyes. Somehow he was captivated by the veracity and sincerity in those eyes that he wondered what could she have done to have befallen Maronni's man Kingsley.

.

.

As she stood above him searching his bandages to make sure everything was still in tact, Oswald wondered if there was more to this 'Ruby' than met the eye. At first glance she seemed completely caring, and soft, and not toughened by the streets.

He had to shake himself of this thought, finding in himself that perhaps what he was witnessing could easily be a great facade as the one that he was showing her. This suspicion could be attributed to his many experience of men, having befallen the wrath of women who were fully capable of tricking them with their facades.

/

"Not every woman is as up front about their darkness as I, Oswald," he remembered Fish explaining to him, as he stood behind fish as she saw a woman in her thirties being dragged out from her bakery my Fishes' men. The woman flayed and screamed, begging for anyone to help her, but everyone who saw simply ignored her and rushed to stay away from the incident. "That there, my dear, is a perfect example..."

"Madam Fish, what do you mean?" He remembered wondering what such a woman would have to do to befallen his boss's wrath. "What has she done?"

Fish pointed one long finger at the woman's direction, and urged the woman to be led towards her. Without turning to Oswald, she held out her hand. He passed her gun. The woman begged and cried in front of them, and Oswald looked on in stark shock, until in one smooth motion Fish fired her gun at the woman's head and her body fell in a lifeless heap in front of them.

"That woman was capable of killing five of our men," she told Oswald as she handed back her gun, "Poisoned them until they bled through their eyes, and right there," she pointed at the large barrels, "is where she kept them."

Oswald remember asking no other questions...

"Women, my dear, are capable of anything in wrath, fear, and revenge," Fish told him, "Most you'll find, are just oh so brilliant in the way they hide it behind their masks...out of their own choosing."

With a tilt of her head she ushered one of her men to dispose of the woman's body, and they stood there and watched as the dead body as dragged away.

/

Perhaps she wanted him to think her weak, a harmless victim, so that he'd feel sorry for her and leave her be. Yet, in his mind Oswald knew full well that Kingsley's men would not raise such wrath upon any woman unless it was for due cause as per their mafia standard. Such cause often was due to betrayal of loyalty, snitching, or perhaps witnessing something she shouldn't have to begin with. Somehow this 'Ruby' had angered one of Maronni's appointed men 'Kingsley' and somehow Oswald was curious to find out exactly why.

What was so special about Ruby that led for Kingsley to want to have her captured and murdered? Could he somehow leverage her? Perhaps find a way to buy his way into the good graces of Maronni? -No, he thought, that's not an option; he was not thinking right. What he needed to do was get out of Gotham for a while, and get back on his feet, and plan a way that he could prove to Fish how wrong she had been all along. A part of him was certain he would be better off biding his good byes to this woman and they part separate ways, coming to terms that she was certainly no one worth thinking over.

"I'll be going, I'm going to let Sr. Lucy know you're awake."

Her words shook him out of is reverie and he watched as she straightened herself and began to turn to leave. He stopped her with a raise of a hand outstretch to her, which caught her eyes.

"Wait," he tells her.

"What is it?" She asks, "We can talk when you're settled; I'll bring food to you and have Sister check your wounds." He saw her swallow hard, and brush a strand of hair behind her ear. He could tell she was nervous around him.

Oswald couldn't help but relish the fact that he made her uncomfortable, which was in fact his intent. Somehow he wanted her to feel uncomfortable, to get her to rid of this facade she was showing him. He had a feeling she was not as weak as she displayed herself to be, he needed to know.

"In those couple of days I had my fever, I remember a woman who stayed with me and spoke to me, a woman who nursed me," he feigned ignorance, hoping she'd catch that he was insinuating there was a third woman. He noticed her shift uncomfortably, "Where is she?"

"I think you were dreaming," she said to him, "Sr. Lucy was the one that stayed with you throughout those days taking care of you."

A lie.

Oswald fought a smirk in his lips, and continued to feign dumbfounded, "No, no," he insisted, "I remember very well another woman; green eyes like yours... aiding me, begging me to stay alive."

Ruby swallowed, "Fever dreams," she said as she turned around to leave, but he stopped her.

"Perhaps they were," he said, and their gaze met, "And perhaps they were true, and that it was you who was by my side..." He smiled at her, "Begging me to live..."

"I'll be back..." She turned to leave.

"Please," he watched as she passed, her back turned to him. "You see, I find it interesting that you'd work so hard to save my life, and to even beg...pray...I'd live."

"What's wrong with wanting someone to live?" She turned to him fully this time, her back to the door, her face unreadable now.

"You could have simply left me there, and yet here I am!" He raised an eyebrow, "Alive and well, all thanks to you and that nun who no doubt turns a blind eye to our predicament and how this come to be. Why is that?"

"Like I had told you...You saved my life, and I returned the favor."

"How noble," He shifts in his bed, straightening his back more against the wooden headboard. He hated feeling helpless, and wanted so much to get out of bed, but decided not to so since he did not want her to watch him struggle or fall due to his weak and wounded leg. "But I think there's more to it than that," he tells her and watch as her brow furrowed... He was right. "You think I can help you somehow, that I'll have the right ties to help you from Kingsley"

For a moment she simply stared at him, and then surprised him with a slight laugh. This took Oswald aback, and he found himself almost shocked at the light sound of her laughter, as it reverberated in the room. It was a short and bitter laugh, as if his very words were a joke, a craziness that she found so humorous. It was a laugh of hopelessness.

For a moment she seemed to appear like a lost and hopeless woman, as she stopped her short laugh and walked towards him until she was standing directly at his bedside, looking down at him. She was certainly no longer nervous, her body language unreadable to him now.

"I wish what you said were true, but I've already deduced that you're in no way a help in my situation." She shook her head and sighed, "We're the same... a noose already around our heads..."

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