I was on the top-floor of the C Building, looking down on Gotham through the scope of my Savage 10 FLP. I saw wanna-be mobsters and petty thieves, corrupt police men and politicians. I saw Mooney and Maroni. And I took every one of them down. I heard the cops climbing up the stair. Breaking open the door. Heavy boots approached my vantage point. But I was not there. I was in my own flat. And someone had entered it.
I sat up in bed. My Savage was gone. Locked away in the property room back at GCPD.
It was Oz who tentatively peeked into my bedroom. Throwing the duvet over my head, I lay back down.
"You don't write, you don't call," he complained, as he walked across the room and flung open the curtains. Warm orange light filled my cave. "Whatever happened to 'see you around'?"
It had to have been days since I had said this to him.
"Been busy," I said.
"Oh yes, I saw the valley of Chinese take out."
I felt the movement on the bed as Oz sat down behind my back.
"Did you pick the lock?" I asked.
"Bribed the apartment manager," Oz said. "Much faster."
He shifted again. I felt the weight of his body sink into the mattress closer to me. Over the duvet he laid an arm around me. I drew a deep breath. Took in the sensation of being cradled.
"I don't know what to do," I admitted then. "I came here... I wanted to be one of the good guys. Good guys don't kill."
"The press calls you a hero."
"Press, funded by Wayne."
Oz sighed and let go of me, standing up. "I brought you a little something," he said, "perhaps that will cheer you up."
Something heavy was set upon the bed.
I felt compelled to sit up. What I found then was a huge weapons case. Oz motioned for me to open it up and so I did. An Arctic Warfare Suppressed. 28" silencer, laser sight, no serial number. This was not meant for sports. And, in all likelihood, acquired with blood money. Yet I hesitated to reject the gift. I reached out to feel the cold metal and smooth plastic.
"Thank you," I said, and the tinge of apprehension on Oz' face melted into a smile.

The night had fallen upon the coast by the time we made our way through the rows of shipping containers. The last traces of snow had disappeared and the air felt warm. Warmer than it should have at this time of the year, but after the harsh cold of the past weeks even the slightest rise in temperature did not go by unnoticed.
Taking Oz to the police shooting range was out of question and I did not feel like running into colleagues anyway. I followed Oswald to the eastern railing, where we lay down with the AWS and a pair of binoculars. The AWS had a lower range than my Savage, but I liked the sensation of its heavier weight and the feeling of covertness. I shot the lights of the buoys to be able to test the night sight, then let Oz give it a try. He didn't exactly hit the bull's eye, but seemed to enjoy himself nevertheless. I watched him lying next to me, propped on the elbows, mere inches away. His hair was swept to the side for a clear view. After a particularly good hit his lips parted into a joyful smile. I lost my patience.
"Oz," I said quietly.
He faced me.
I leaned in - slowly, giving him time and space. For a split second his gaze fell to my lips, then panic washed over his face. He pulled back, speechless for once.
It had not been because of Harvey the other day. He simply wasn't interested in me. Not this way, at least.
"So you have a job for me?" I asked.
"A job?"
"That's what the rifle is for, ain't it? You want me to work for you."
He vehemently shook his head. "N-no," he said, eyes wide. "I- it was just a gift. All I..." frantically he searched for words. Before he found them, the cone of a torch swept over our heads, reflecting off the placid, dark navy water.
"So much for this port being unguarded," I complained, as we hurried to our feet.
The cone returned, this time hitting the two of us spot on. From a shorter distance than I had hoped, a hoarse voice called out to us. Weapons case in my hand, I lead the way away from the guard. Naturally, Oz had trouble keeping up, and I feared he might simply turn and use the AWS.
Farther inland I passed an unlocked container. More unused ones sat in the vicinity. I took the chance. As soon as he had caught up, I pulled Oz inside and shut the container door behind him.
Oz stood back, trying to catch his breath, while I hearkened to the sounds outside. Slowly steps on concrete closed in on us. And passed. Hope rose that we might get away unnoticed, that the guard would not catch an employee of Gotham's Finest in the act of illegal sharp shooting with one of Gotham's most renowned criminals.
"It really was only meant as a gift," Oz said, suddenly close to my ear.
"Shhh," I reprimanded into the utter darkness.
"You've been wanting an upgrade, remember?" he went on unfalteringly. "What better time to get one?"
"A black market one?" I whispered.
"What about the beverages at the club? You did not seem to have a problem with those," Oz snapped. "Where did you think the money for those came from, hm? What about the rides in my car? What about anything that is mine? Where do you draw the line, at which point does it become unacceptable?"
"Oz, please, be quiet!" I told him.
Instead, angrily, he pushed past me and with a screech stepped outside. The steps were back within seconds.
Pointing the torch and a handgun at Oz, the man hidden behind the cone of light commanded him to drop the rifle. With my hands up, I cautiously stepped into the light as well. "Don't do this," I whispered to Oz, who still held on to the Arctic Warfare.
"My friend," Oz called out, "I am afraid you are unaware of who you are facing."
"I said: Drop the rifle!" the security guard only shouted.
"Surely you must have heard of me," Oswald continued. "The Penguin? Ring any bells?"
Silence.
"Penguin?" the man incredulously repeated at last. The torch shifted from Oz to me, blinding me momentarily, and back.
The guard approached us, tucking his gun away. "Sorry, man. Didn't recognise you."
Oz waved a hand at him. "Not a problem at all. Nobody's got hurt, that's all that counts." He handed the AWS over to me.
"What's your name, friend?" He asked, offering a handshake.
"Hill. Dan Hill."
"Mr. Hill," Oswald said, as his knife bit into the guard's kidney, "how unfortunate for you," he turned the knife, "to have tun into us tonight." Hill dropped the torch and reached across his hips, struggled to free the handgun from his holster. In a blink I was by his side and the pistol was in my hand. As he sunk to his knees Oz pulled the knife out and finally let the guard's hand drop. I stood motionless, watched the puddle of blood grow in size.
Careful not to soil his shoes, Oz leaned over and cleaned the blade on Hill's jacket.
"Now what?" he asked me. "Get me arrested?"
I looked down at the gun in my hand. What a lame way to go this would be.
"No," I said and handed him the pistol.
He paused for a moment. Then, walking through the puddle of blood, suddenly not caring about his shoes any more, he did not reach for the pistol but walked right past it and into my outstretched arm. With determination he placed his palm on my cheek.
He looked me in the eye, stared almost, seemed to be waiting. I shut my eyes.
Slowly Oz' hand slid downwards, until his thumb reached my upper lip. Nervously and barely touching, his thumb traced the curve of my lip. As I exhaled, it broke the stream of my breath. I jumped at the sound of metal hitting concrete, only to realise that the pistol had slipped out of my hand. Daringly, I laid the empty hand on Oswald's back instead. He held still, waited until I shut my eyes again. He reached the point where both lips met and proceeded to run his thumb along the lower one. Barely beyond midway, he halted. I sensed Oz taking a step forward, sensed his breath softly flow over my face. His lips touched my cheek. A kiss he seemed to hold for minutes.
"W-why are you crying?" he asked in panic when he finally broke away.
"Wish I knew," I said, just as confused. It felt like a crack tearing through a wall.