Detective Gordon stood by the window, looking out into blackness. A hospital room. I tried to sit up, but shifting weight hurt. Gordon heard me move and turned around. His look was stern.

"How do you feel?" I could tell his sole concern was whether I could stand an interrogation.

"Okay." Speaking was straining, I would need to budget words.

He advanced. "I'm going to ask this only once. And you better have some damn good answers." He paused for effect. "What the hell have you been doing with the Penguin at seven freaking AM, in a diner, a stone's throw away from his apartment?"

"Dining?" I suggested.

Gordon did not share my sense of humour.

"Just crashed at his place, my heating had gone FUBAR."

"His place. Of all people. You expect me to believe there's nothing going on between you two?"

"There isn't."

"And I suppose it was just a coincidence that you joined the GCPD right after Cobblepot came into the picture? And that it was just a coincidence that he was absent during the raid?"

There he stroke a nerve.

"I had not warned him," I hissed.

He turned to head out. "You're suspended." The bulk of the precinct work for the mob and they suspend me?

"Wait! What about the... diner guy?"

He obviously contemplated whether I deserved the information.

"Mark Jones. Had a son, Scott, who worked for Cobblepot until a mysterious disappearance."

Revenge.

"There won't be any charges pressed?"

"No. Owner of the diner confirmed you did it in defence."

"And Cobblepot?"

Gordon simply walked away, leaving my question hanging in the air.

As the door shut behind him, I heard him tell the staff I was awake.

I expected a medic to come in and check on me. Instead Oswald appeared in the entrance. No charges pressed against him either, I concluded.

His tie was undone, the collar unbuttoned. He had to have been kept in the holding cells for the investigation.

"You saved my life," he proclaimed in a taunting manner, as though he had caught me in the act.

"Well, ditto, I guess."

"The icicle in the eye?" he was thrilled, "I wished I had thought of it! It was still in place when the police arrived, it was hysterical!"

The memories descended upon me. The feeling of the ice in my hand, piercing through the gelatinous eyeball, abruptly hitting something hard. I suddenly felt sick.

Oz' spirit dropped. "You regret it."

"No, God, no." It had been the right thing to do. "I'd do it again. Any time. It's just-" Involuntarily I looked at my hands. "...nauseating."

Oz gave me a weak smile. "I see." I wondered if my failure to relish violence disappointed him. "Anyhow," he clasped my hand, "I need to thank you." He bowed down to me, and for a split second I thought he would kiss me, but his lips came to a halt above my forehead. He hovered an instant, then gave me a kiss. Infinitely soft.

"What's this?" he asked once his lips had parted with me. I followed his line of view below the bandage on my torso.

"...a tat." I feared Oswald's response.

He let go of my hand and reached for the gown I was wearing.

"Do you have more?"

I shook my head.

He pushed back the seam to see the entirety of the image.

"A crosshair?" He chuckled "A crosshair on the heart. Well, if that isn't morbid."