Thank you Petronille, furry419, and MDawn for reviews!

I've mentioned wrapping up this story, and I'm about 90% sure the end will come in 3 more chapters.


She found him drunk, but alive. A side door provided more cover upon entering the building than the front would and she crept from behind the curtains. He appeared to be alone, the lights overhead twinkling over broken glass. When he saw her, he laughed like a madman.

"Grady! I'm so glad you're here, already my night spot is very popular." He was sober enough to stand and walk, but the champagne mixed with the shock made him giddy and loose lipped.

She gripped him by the arms, even though he was steady on his feet. "Where is she?" Her eyes darted around the shadows, ears tuned for any hint that they weren't alone.

"Such a night it's been," Oswald beamed. "I brought my mother. My good friend Jim Gordon dropped by. Fish stopped by for old time's sake, and even Victor Zsaz."

"Victor Zsaz?" The sound of the name alone gave her a chill. Her grip tightened. It explained why Oswald wasn't dead, but she didn't like to be anywhere near the man if she could help it. He gave her the creeps. "We need to get out of here," Grady muttered.

"I need to lock up," Oswald declared.

"You'll do no such thing. You're piss drunk, you little gobshite. We need to leave now," Grady pulled him toward the doors.

The cold air outside sobered Oswald a little. "I'm glad you're here, but why? You said you'd stay home."

She tugged him again, hoping to speed him up. "I had a bad feeling... so I kept my eye on surveillance in the club. I heard her come in, then I borrowed Mad Sweeney's car and came uptown fast as I could. I nearly had a heart attack! What part of 'don't get yourself killed' is escaping you?"

"You have surveillance in my club?" Oswald asked.

"Oh stuff it you gobshite," Grady repeated. "Of course I do."

"It wasn't my fault Grady! Don't be angry. How could I have predicted that Fish would worm her way out of Falcone's clutches," he sulked.

She unlocked a large, brown boat of a car, checking over her shoulder all the while. "I know you're three sheets to the wind, but try to shut up on the journey home. This is the first I've driven in two years, so we might die on the way. And then this will all have been for nothing."

Oswald laughed far too enthusiastically at the joke and Grady glared daggers at him. "I mean it. And do up your seat belt."


When he entered the apartment, Fionn rushed Oswald who greeted him with more fluffing of fur and pats on the head than he'd ever given him before. "My friend. To think I once thought you'd bite my hand off. But your smell is much worse than your bite."

Fionn was so thrilled with the attention, he nearly knocked him over.

"I do like you drunk. You're funny," Grady admitted as she forced a glass of water on him.

"Oh good, I thought you were angry with me." He spilled half the glass with his tipsy flop onto the couch.

"I am angry. You scared me half to death. Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" she glared.

"Is it luck or fate?" he grinned.

"Shut it and drink your water. I suppose you think that was a reward for being reckless."

"I wasn't reckless," he argued. "I wish I knew how Fish managed to escape," his face grew dark.

"I told you she was slippery," Grady reminded him.

"Don't pretend you expected that," he shot back.

Grady rubbed her eyes. "I don't want to argue," she said. "But when I heard her voice over the mics... I didn't see how I was going to make it in time. Much less what I would do once I got there. It was bloody awful."

He looked at Grady's pale face, the dark circles under her eyes. He truly had scared her to death. It was then he made a connection to her concern. When he was missing, then believed dead, his mother was the only person who had cared where he went. The fact was not something he had dwelled on or even considered. Now that he knew he could add Grady to that list, the thought filled an empty space with a sense of pride, a warmth, but it was foreign too and maybe a bit of a burden. Was burden the right word? Grady could certainly take care of herself if he was gone. He had no doubt of that. She had the Burrow, she had her inventions, she had her brain. Which could only mean that Grady feared losing his company.

"What are you smiling about?" she grunted.

"I think you would have come up with something to help me in time," he said. "It's touching to see your concern."

"Well it's a lot less touching where I'm sitting," she glared.

He tried not to laugh, knowing it would annoy her even more. But the alcohol was softening his judgement. Perhaps it was time. Yes...
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the watch she had given him when they first met.

"Held on to it, did you?" she nodded at the watch. "You never did tell me what you used it for."

"When we first began working together, I recorded a few of our conversations. A failsafe, you could call it. Conversations that would incriminate you against Fish, Maroni. If I had reasons to doubt your loyalty, I would use them. And I admit that at first, I thought you were too dangerous to live. You were a means to an end. And now of course, things are...different," he added quickly. "You can destroy it if you want."

Grady took the watch, twirled it in her fingers. Then she gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Is it supposed to be my turn to be touched now?" she asked. "Of course you recorded me. I would have thought you were an idiot if you didn't. You had no reason to trust me."

She passed the watch back and Oswald took it, feeling deflated. He wasn't sure how he expected Grady to react, but this was a little mild.

"Well hang on to the thing, you never know when it might come in handy," she said. "You must be drunker than I thought, I don't think you ever would have told me otherwise."

"I - I yes, I would. Dammit Grady, I was trying to prove that I wouldn't hurt you intentionally. When I've helped you in the past, you thought it was only to benefit myself and that's not entirely true. I like helping you. I did a favor this evening for Jim Gordon because we're friends and for you I'd -,"

Grady stopped his lips with her own. This was very different from before. He had kissed her when he was half out of his mind, fresh from a kill both times. Now he was warm and drunk and light headed but still very aware of what was going on around him. He had no idea what to do with his hands let alone his mouth.

"There, is that what you were after?" Her light laugh tickled over his mouth and nose.

He cleared his throat and tried a few words that didn't make it out.

"Nah, I understand." Her voice was quiet. "And I do appreciate it. I'm going to sleep and so should you, you're still drunk."

He shed layers of jackets and a vest on the couch then followed her into the dark room, heart pumping in a strange beat. She was rustling around in the shadows and he sat on the bed, fingers making clumsy work of the buttons on his shirt.

"What are you doing?" She sat beside him as he shrugged out of the shirt.

He felt a flush that had nothing to do with the drunkenness. He was always conscious of his skinny stature, teased for it in the past. It was strange to expose his bones to her.

"I um, I - thought you meant..." He reached to get the shirt back.

Her hand went to his shoulder. It tingled as though his skin, unused to touch, was growing and shifting to allow this possibility.

"Well I'm not going to take advantage of you in your drunken state," she laughed.

He relaxed somewhat or at least tried. Grady could feel his muscles twitch beneath the skin. Like a flinch. Waiting to be hurt. Was he used to being hurt if he was touched? In a gentle rhythm, she swept her hand from shoulder to elbow. She hated the sympathy she felt. Caring too much meant making mistakes, meant working for someone other than herself. But when his blue eyes rested on her and she found trust there, she knew it was already too late. Her loneliness had been an itch for years and as they grew to understand each other, she began to scratch that itch and now he was under skin. She not only wanted him safe, she wanted him happy. It was a wish that felt too clean in the swamp of her usual motivations. She avoided his eyes, looked at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, tried to think of something else.

"I hate the thought of Fish out there," she said. "If she managed to escape, why didn't she just leave when she had the chance?"

"Leaving Gotham is difficult," Oswald said quietly. "Painful even. Maybe you don't understand because you weren't born here."

Grady turned back with a frown. "What do you mean? I was born here."

His eyebrows jumped. "Oh. I had assumed..."

"You thought I was from Ireland because of the accent? Nah, I just talk like the people I grew up around. Da, Grandpa, half the Burrow."

"I see. An easy mistake to make between your voice and the freckles..." His fingers brushed her cheek.

She was fixed with the damned eyes again. Her hand moved to his chest, so thin but she could feel a toughness there. "You're very loyal to a city that would like nothing more than to eat you alive."

"That's what makes it so beautiful." She saw his stomach bounce with his short laugh and moved her hand lower, pulled herself closer.

His own hands were braver now, sliding over her hip.

"Grady I...well. I've never..."

"Oh. It's alright." Her mind filled in the blanks, she brushed a hand through his hair. "I thought not. It'll be awkward the first time, but it's alright." She kissed his jaw and then his mouth because for lack of experience, his kissing wasn't so bad. He had passion in all other things he did, why not this.

"You're probably used to some Burrow Boy built like a boulder," he murmured around her mouth.

She could have been angry, but she knew what was behind his words. It was less jealousy and more nervousness. He was obviously very different from any Burrow boy.

"It's never been anyone important. I was barely out of school and just messing about. You haven't seen any of them around here, have you? Who have I got with me now? You. I don't want any of them. Don't worry about any of it. It'll be good and besides...practice makes perfect."

It was all the incentive he needed to find her lips again. He was adopting the frantic way he had about things, but the scrape of teeth on her neck gave her stomach a nice squirm.

Hands guided hips and if they were clumsy, at least they were being honest for once. It was satisfying and strange to lay curled in the dark with fewer secrets between them. And in the handful of hours before sunrise, they were as close to peaceful as either was capable of being.