Thanks again for the review Fuchsia Grasshopper :)
They had driven quickly with the heat blasting on Grady. Oswald leaned between the front seats to watch her carefully and gave her a shake when her eyes started to shut. It took far too long to open the door to the clock shop as Grady's keys were buried in one of the numerous pockets of the soaked jacket she had discarded.
"Get dry. I'll make tea," Oswald instructed.
Grady limped around the corner to her room. The right hand leg of her pants was soaked with blood. Oswald rifled through the cabinets, searching for tea in the jumble of pots and pans. Like the rest of the place, there was no system. A can of motor oil was nestled among the glasses. A loud thud sounded from the bedroom.
"Grady?" She must have fallen over.
"M'alright," he heard her say.
It occurred to him that she may need help but he couldn't ask. It would be the height of presumption. Feeling unsettled, he busied himself with the kettle.
She emerged wearing what looked like a dozen sweaters and a pair of flannel pants. After stumbling into the bathroom, she retrieved medical tape and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
"Here," Oswald guided her to the couch by the elbow. "Let's have a look."
Grady yanked up the end of her pants leg to reveal a small puncture and scrape above the ankle.
"It's not so bad. I've had worse," Oswald told her.
Grady grunted and tipped some peroxide over the wound where it bubbled and foamed a frothy white. Her clumsy fingers struggled with the tape, searching for the end. Wordlessly, Oswald took the tape and wrapped it around the gauze on her injury. Her ankle was small and white as bone and it was icy cold to the touch.
"Drink," he handed her the tea and she wrapped her hands around the steaming porcelain mug, the heat just barely reaching her numb fingertips.
"I was in the river once too," Oswald said. "It was much warmer then. But my leg was broken."
"Is that where Gordon left you?" she asked. Oswald nodded. She didn't look like the Grady he was used to, curled under quilts, white as a sheet, her eyes soft and sleepy. He knew little about hypothermia but he had no doubt she had it.
"You shouldn't have brought your driver here. It's a bad idea to be seen with me. He'll know we're working together." Her voice was quiet and her accent thicker than he'd ever heard it.
"Again with this? I pay him well, but if you're that concerned, I'll kill him," Oswald waited for her response but she remained quiet. He couldn't read her expression which was still soft and subdued. "I'd rather not though. He's good at what he does," he added.
Grady shook her head weakly. "Forget it. I should thank you. I'm not sure if I would have made it out on my own. I won't forget that."
"I shall take full advantage," Oswald said.
"I bet," Her mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile. "You got me out of there because you either have a plan for me or you're more decent than I thought you were. Which is it?"
"Why can't it be both?" Oswald's secretive smirk made an appearance.
"Fair enough," Grady mumbled. "I don't think I'll ever be warm again." She buried herself more deeply beneath the quilts.
"Try to remember that next time you're contemplating jumping in a freezing river," he laughed.
"I would kick you if my feet were working." A lump under the blankets flopped a few times but he remained safe. "I feel funny. Really weird. Freezing, burning, stiff, tired."
"I'll get you more tea," Oswald offered. When he handed her the drink his fingers brushed hers. "Still very cold," he said, tracing the back of her hand.
"No kidding," she mumbled.
He took a seat again. "Saving your life is worth a few questions I would imagine."
"Damn, I'd forgotten about that," she groaned. "But you're right."
He gestured at the dark curtain. "How did you get the clock shop?"
"It was my grandfather's business," she spoke to her tea.
"I'm sorry," Oswald said. The untouched nature of the shop led him to conclude he had died some years ago.
"Yeah...died because again, my Da was an idiot. Grandpa though, he wasn't like the others. All he did was this business, didn't want to get involved in anything else you know. But he wouldn't just watch his family get into trouble if there was something he could do about it. He was too good." A flicker of anger lit her eyes but it was dulled. "That's what happens when you're good. So don't get too decent."
"I don't think you need to concern yourself there," Oswald joked, but found he couldn't smile.
"I learned to work with machines on the clocks," she offered, her eyes meeting his now instead of the depths of her tea. "Sometimes I make one, fix one. Just because I like to."
There was indeed no such thing as silence in Grady's home. The air was filled with the soft ticking of the hour.
"Did someone kill your grandfather?" he asked quietly.
"Yes. No...it was an accident. It's a long story. Please don't make me tell it. I try not to think about it but it's hard enough when I've got his clocks sounding out the hour." She closed her eyes and rubbed at her temple.
She had told him what he needed to know. Her grandfather was the other key player in her makeup, but she was not out to avenge him. "You're more angry about the death of your father?"
She shook her head, holding it in her hands. "No. Not really." She set down her tea and pulled her hands beneath the blankets. She gave Oswald the strange unidentifiable look again. "I'm only telling you this because you saved my life. And I'm sick, I'm not thinking straight. And you insist on trying to pick me apart when you've probably figured out by now I'm half mad, and that's all you really need to know."
Her eyes grew dull again as the light left them and she drew deeply into her own mind. "My Da may not have killed my Grandpa with his own hands, but he's responsible all the same. My Grandpa was the only person who ever cared for me and was kind to me just because he liked being around me. Bothered to teach me things, listen to me. The way I was raised, the way we live around here...someone takes somebody like that from you, you take what's most important to them. For my Da that was his own worthless skin. It should have been me that took his life. But part of it was timing is everything like you said a few days ago. And part of it was, I didn't have the guts and he was my Da and all. Either way, it didn't matter. Falcone took that chance from me. Now I have to even the score but I'm not sure it's possible because it's all become a mess."
"I understand. Justice does not come easily," Oswald told her. "I know what it is to feel powerless against a force that can take everything from you. To rise, to grow stronger, to fight, to put your enemies in the same place they once put you, is only natural. And if you're half mad, if you're insane, then so am I."
"A fine team we make then. You're quite good as far as partners go." Her eyes drooped and her expression was truly soft now. In her face was the shadow of a girl who had once had a grandfather that she laughed with and who taught her to make clocks and while she knew more terrible things than she ought to at such a young age, she still believed her life could be simple and good.
"I need to sleep," she said, her eyes nearly shut.
"I'm afraid you'll become unconscious," Oswald protested.
"I won't," she mumbled.
"I think I ought to stay. To make sure." She was still pale as death and sleep looked too similar.
She managed a snort of a laugh. "What would you even do if I passed out?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. So please try to refrain."
She was already asleep. Her breath heavy and wheezing in an unhealthy rasp. No, it wasn't safe to leave her alone just yet. Fionn sat up straight like a sentinel, eyes on Oswald. He still didn't like the dog. Fionn was a giant that could easily tear his arm off no matter what Grady said. It made him nervous to have a look around the place when Fionn's eyes were on him but to do anything less would be a wasted opportunity.
The jumbled half formed bits of machinery made little sense to him. As for the completed devices, he had the feeling if there was something he wanted Grady would let him have it. A closer look at the stacks of books revealed that most of them were old science fiction novels, not books on engineering or mechanics although a few of them were mixed in here and there. Apart from the tiny bathroom there were two doors. The first held a room stuffed with screens and speakers but they were all dark and silent. They could only be activated by a master computer which was of course, password protected. The second, half opened door led to her bedroom, pitch black. He lingered there a moment, hand on the doorknob.
Oswald looked at Grady who was frowning and wheezing in her sleep. Fionn had his head laid across her feet while he stared pitifully at her. Try as he might, Oswald couldn't bring himself to search her room. He returned to the living room and slid open a desk drawer. In it, he found stacks of manuals, rumpled blueprints, old newspapers. He picked up an old watch manual and a stack of polaroid photos slid to the floor. She was very young in the first photo but there was no mistaking Grady's flyaway hair and the gap between her front teeth, exposed in a huge smile. Only her eyes were really different. Free from anger, crinkled at the corners to reveal true, innocent happiness unlike her usual manic, almost nervous smiles. The next photo showed a man with curly hair, a square jaw, and a scar under his left eye. He recognized her features him. This was her father, Tim O'Grady. In another picture, young Grady was prying a screwdriver into the innards of a clock. And in the next she crouched by a tall grandfather clock with a man who must have been her grandfather himself. A small white haired man with round glasses. He was pointing to something in the clock and in another photo he swung a laughing Grady through the air. The last of the stack showed Grady, a bit older now, but still with an innocent smile posing with a clock that she had likely made herself.
Oswald put the photos back in the watch book and shut the drawer. Probably due to the intensity of their mission, the scare of her nearly drowning or freezing, he felt guilty for seeing those photos which was something he felt very seldom.
With a sigh he dropped back down on the couch. This business was becoming more complicated. Grady was still breathing loudly, her breath sounded like it was passing through wet, sickly lungs. Oswald lay a hand on her forehead to check her temperature. It seemed normal. Warm, but not feverish. Her hair was soft and light like feathers.
She had a hand curled near her ear and he checked this too since it had been cold as a corpse earlier. Clammy, but improved now. When her fingers tightened around his he felt snared. Afraid to move and wake her. Caught doing what exactly? Simply checking to make sure she wasn't dead.
He stayed still until eventually all the ticking lulled him to sleep.
He woke before dawn. His bad leg was asleep. Probably because Fionn was laying on it. A stiff neck made moving and waking an ungraceful process. Oswald looked to Grady who was still fast asleep, breath rattling like it was before. He placed a hand on her forehead again. Then her cheek. Shoulder, arm. At least she was warm now. It was time to leave.
He returned again that afternoon because he had left behind his umbrella. How this had happened he wasn't sure. Because he didn't like to go without it. He had a strange attachment to it. Not only did the umbrella help him to walk, but it had weathered many storms with him both literally and figuratively.
Oswald wondered if Grady would open the door or if she was still asleep but the lock clicked and he found her inside. Working as usual and coughing heavily. Her nose was red and she looked rather grumpy.
"Forget something?" she said and swung the umbrella.
"Yes, thank you. I know it seems silly to come all this way for it but..." he gestured to his lame leg with the toe pointed out to the side.
"I'm glad you left it," Grady began. "I know it isn't much, but I wanted to do something. And I know you have this with you a lot. So I made a quick modification. Watch the end."
She held the umbrella aloft like a sword and with a soft click, a good sized razor blade emerged from the tip. "You know how you slide the button up to open it? Just push down for the knife. Very fast access if you're jumped. It's unexpected, and it gives you a good reach."
The blade disappeared back inside the dark recesses. She flipped the umbrella around and held it out to Oswald, offering him the handle as if it really were a sword. "What do you think?"
Oswald tested it himself and examined the fine blade.
"I've never modded an umbrella before but I've got loads of ideas now for other innovations. I know this one's a bit small and simple," she babbled almost nervously.
He could imagine the look of surprise that would appear when one moment there was a harmless umbrella pointed at his enemy and the next they had a knife in their belly.
"It's genius, Grady," he grinned.
Oswald Cobblepot would own a range of umbrellas throughout his life. Each of them hid something both surprising and sinister. So maniacally creative that they left many a poor shocked soul wondering with their last dying thoughts, how such a device was even possible. Yes, Oswald would own many interesting umbrellas. But this was the first.
