Chapter Two: I Missed A Lot


Peppermint. Vanilla.

It was an odd combination of fragrances. But I recognized that it was some of my hand lotion. Why did I smell...

Oh right….

Putting two-and-two together, I figured I was in a hospital.

That explains the disinfectant smells.

I listened to the sounds around before opening my eyes: a woman on the intercom announcing codes varying from emergencies like a code blue to those of irrelevancy such as those instructing hospital staff and visitors to ignore incoming fire drills due to maintenance operations; the slow but hypnotic beeping of my heart rate monitor; the dialogue of a strange soap opera set on a low volume from the television in my room (or I could only guess). And I heard humming—wait….no, it was singing.

"The fire has gone out

Wet from snow above

But nothing will warm me more

Than my, my mother's love.

I light another candle

Dry the tears from my face

Nothing can protect me more than my mother's warm embrace

The path ahead is dark

So dark I cannot see

But I will not fear

'cause my mother looks over me."

I opened my eyes slowly, squinting when the fluorescent lights above dared to blind me. There were eucalyptus plants in the corners of my room—well, that explained that other smell. I felt something massaging my hand. As my vision cleared, I saw that it was Gertrud, Oswald's mother.

She wore an alabaster-white dress from what appeared to be the late 1950's but she certainly pulled it off in a fashion, and her silver curls were pulled back in a bun. She appeared preoccupied with the singing—my, she had a lovely set of pipes. She was rubbing the peppermint-vanilla scented lotion from my apartment on my hand.

Like a mother.

Sitting beside her in another arm chair (this hospital spared no expense to make my guests comfortable) was Oswald. He looked disheveled: wrinkled wine-colored vest over the white-collared long-sleeve shirt; the sleeves themselves were unbuttoned at the wrists and pulled back above his elbows, tie loosened. He looked like he might have spent a few days here.

As my eyes adjusted to the lighting, I was able to open them to completion, noticing just how bare the walls and ceiling were in a hospital.

"Ozzie…." I uttered hoarsely.

Oswald reacted. His eyes darted from the bed as he had been staring off into space to me, and moved with impressive feat to my side.

Gertrud who grinned at my awakening, only widened her smile: "She's awake! I knew it would work!"

"Mother, would you please let the medical staff know she is awake?" Oswald asked politely.

Gertrud nodded, patting his shoulder. She leaned into him and confided in his ear, "I knew my singing would help her. It always helped you…." She giggled and then left the room.

Oswald returned to my side. Abruptly, he lunged forward and wrapped me in his arms, nearly compressing me into him.

"I thought I'd lost you…." He whispered.

When he drew back, tears rolled down his cheeks. He sat back down in his seat, smiling in relief as he held my hand.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," I teased. I cleared my throat, looking at him. "God, why do I sound like I just ate a bowl full of rocks?"

I glanced around the room again.

"Where am I? What happened?"

"Gotham General Hospital. They intubated you," Oswald answered respectively. With an attempt at ironic humor, he added, "Doctors apparently do that anytime someone comes through the emergency room with a bullet hole through their neck."

"Huh," I said, rubbing my sore throat.

I looked him over. Apparently, my internal curiosity was showing since he glanced at his overall appearance—he had burn marks on his face like he had been electrocuted or hit a few times with a hair straightener.

"It's been a long day. If Mother asks, I—"

"Fell down the stairs?" I offered, smirking.

"Actually, that is what I told her," He admitted, grinning sheepishly.

"Sweet woman, your mother. What was she singing?"

Oswald said with a heart-warming smile, "It's a lullaby she used to sing to me every day when I was a child. It always made me feel better so…. her thinking was that if she sang it to you, you would recover."

"Well, she wasn't wrong. So, since she's out of the room for the time being. Why don't you tell me what really happened?"

"First things first…." Oswald declared, getting to his feet.

He walked around the room to the incredibly clean, porcelain sink, took a disposable drinking cup from the available stack and filled it with tap water. He sat in the arm chair Gertrud had previously occupied to sit closer, before handing the cup to me. I thanked him, taking a few sips and clearing my throat once more.

"How do I sound?"

"Better," Oswald noted.

At least I didn't sound like an emphysema victim. I motioned for him to continue.

"Do you remember what happened?" He asked.

I thought for a moment.

"I told Michael Travinsky he couldn't come back to work because you fired him," I recalled calmly. "He was upset, took me hostage, and when shit hit the fan, he shot me in the neck. Honestly, I'm surprised I lived through it."

"You're a survivor," Oswald said proudly, holding his hands out to me, indicatively. "I'm surprised, but very relieved. The doctors were telling Mother that only twenty-seven percent of gunshot victims actually survive, not to mention those shot in the neck have a smaller percentage."

I quirked an eyebrow, curious to my survival.

"Dr. Bryant," Oswald explained without prompting (as apparently my face shown my own shock), "said that the bullet's trajectory passed through, but it did not damage any vital structures. You did lose a fair amount of blood, though."

"Oh…. well, that's good, and bad. Broke even, I guess?" I said, grinning. "Can't have done much damage—I'm able to talk. And I've only been here for, what, a day or two?"

Oswald's smile faded.

Well, that's never good.

"What?"

I was dreading the worst.

He said nothing.

"Oswald. How long have I been out?" I asked, sitting up.

He quickly lifted his hands to my shoulders, and encouraged me to lie back down. I looked at him pointedly. Oswald pulled his chair closer so we could speak more privately. Aside from the fact that we were the only two people in the room, the hospital door had to be kept open in any case I started going downhill. He held my hand as he spoke.

"You've been in a coma, Sylvia."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"You've been out for a few weeks," He said gingerly.

Holy fucking shit.

"Tell me what happened," I managed, forcing myself to stay calm.

"After Travinsky shot you," Oswald said, his eyes casting down to the aforementioned area indicatively. "You were rushed to the hospital to undergo emergency surgery; you have been in Intensive Care since then. They only just moved you to this 'stable' wing a few days ago."

Wow….

"Huh….Three weeks…."

Oswald smiled in understanding. He didn't expect me to say much, evidently, but was quick to console me: "I've been here mostly every night. So has my mother. And the medical staff have been going above and beyond, looking out for your best interests. So has everyone else."

He gestured to the rest of the room.

Lining the walls of the room were gift baskets, balloons, and get-well cards from god-only-knows how many people—police officers in the GCPD who saw me as a sister because I was Jim's blood relative, and countless others. To lift my spirits, Oswald bent forward, his upper half disappearing from my viewpoint temporarily before he reappeared with a gift basket of his own, filled with flowers, candies, and in that basket was a smaller gift bag.

"You didn't have to. I'm just happy to have woken up with you by my side."

"I know I didn't have to. But you should know me better by now." He said, placing the gift bag closer to me.

Like a child anticipating his friend to open his gift, he waited eagerly.

I sat up a little more, and pulled out the violet tissue paper. I laughed when I saw what was inside. Taking it out, I placed in front of me. It was a cotton-stuffed penguin plush doll.

"I get it…." I giggled, looking at him. "Because you're the Penguin."

"I thought you'd find it humorous," Oswald said, grinning widely. "Here, read the card."

I placed the plush doll to my left and opened it.

'Pigeon,'it read. 'You are my heart. You always have been, always will be. And much like my heart, I cannot live without you. I love you.

Eternally Yours,

Oswald.'

"That's very sweet," I complimented. "Thank you."

I leaned forward and he met me halfway in a tender kiss.

"So, when did you start calling me a 'pigeon'?" I asked, smiling mischievously. "You called me that in the ambulance, if I remember correctly."

Oswald blushed a bright shade of pink.

"Truthfully," He said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Never. Not aloud, clearly. Just…in my head, for the past year. And, if I am being honest, some time before that."

Holy shit, it has been a year. We've been dating a year….

Bypass that conversation, Sylvia.

"Really? Only in your head?" I said curiously. "Can I ask why? You mean 'pigeon' as in the bird?"

"Not exactly."

Oswald reclined, hands caressing the arms of the chair.

"In the '50s," He explained, smiling shyly as though he was a little embarrassed, "a man would call a woman a 'pigeon', or 'Pidge' for short."

I snickered, "Why would he call her that?"

"She was unattainable," said Oswald quietly, more to himself than anyone in particular. As he did, his gaze drifted past me as if he was lost in thought.

He interlaced his fingers together, meeting my eyes as he said pointedly, "Very much like how you are now."

"Was," I corrected, holding up a finger. "You have me, Ozzie. No one else."

He grinned at my affirmation.

I leaned forward, smirking. "So, you've been going around all this time calling me a pigeon in your head?"

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds derogatory," He said cynically.

"No, no—I think it's nice." I held up the penguin doll. "Maybe I should find a pigeon plush for Penguin plush. It's only fitting."

"How so?" Oswald asked, tilting his head to the side.

"You have me. I have you. Why should the dolls be any different, hm?"

He grinned, the smile reaching his eyes. And there it was. The look of pure love.

I leaned to the side, placing the gift bag on the floor while placing the penguin doll directly beside my hip. I touched my neck, and I felt the gauze and tape covering it.

"Fucking Michael," I swore, shaking my head. I looked at Oswald. "So, please. Tell me he was gunned down?"

Oswald smiled devilishly, eyes brightening to their malicious tint.

"Of course, he was," He snickered. "Not just by the police."

"Maroni too?"

"Maroni too. That reminds me. Don Maroni told me something interesting the other day when he came to visit…."

"He came to visit?" I exclaimed.

Oswald rolled his eyes. As if to provide testimony to his claim, he stood and stepped over to the wall lined with the several gifts, looking for one in particular. He found it, and placed it in front of me. It was a gift bag, much like the rest of the get-well presents. Taking out gold tissue paper, I pulled out a slim, rectangular box. I looked at Oswald inquisitively.

"What was the interesting tidbit he said to you?"

"You may not like it."

I opened the box and it was a charm bracelet with what appeared to be ebony, sapphire, and ruby Koi fish.

"What the…"

"He said you are his Fish Mooney," Oswald said coolly.

Glancing at him, I saw that this statement alone riled him up something awful. The very words came out like they'd been forced out of him. I wasn't too happy about it either since Fish Mooney was the reason Jim had been ordered to kill Oswald and dump his body at the pier, and was also the reason my boyfriend limped from place to place…. the fucking bitch.

"Well," I placed the top back over the box. "It's a nice gesture."

"You won't wear it?"

"I won't wear something another man gives me—excluding family members." I told him curtly. "Especially if it's supposed to state that I am anything like Mercedes Mooney. Absolutely not. But the gesture is nice."

I placed the charm bracelet back in the box and in the bag, handing it to Oswald, who appeared satisfied with my answer. He placed it at his feet.

"I'm glad Mike died; he deserved it for what he did."

"I couldn't agree more," He concurred.

"So, what happened to you?" I asked, looking him over. "You look like you've been mugged by a heating appliance."

Oswald gave me a look, before glancing over his shoulder. Sensing his paranoia, I wasn't surprised when he stood and hobbled to the door, closing it, before he returned to my side. Instead of sitting in the chair like he'd been doing, he sat on the edge of my bed, while I took another drink of water.

"I've been electrocuted twice," Oswald said offhandedly.

"I didn't realize you were into that sort of thing. Having fun without me?"

He gave me a look.

I gestured to him to continue, saying, "Why were you electrocuted?"

"Arkham patient had it out for Maroni and tried electrocuting the GCPD after he escaped—I just happened to be there," Oswald said cynically. Knowing me, he held up his hand saying quickly, "Jim Gordon is all right."

I relaxed.

"As 'all right' as one could be anyway."

I raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"He was demoted," He said cautiously. "He's been working at Arkham as a correctional officer."

I stared at him.

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED WHILE I WAS OUT!" I shouted furiously.

Oswald startled at my projection, holding his hands out to me when I started to get up; he caught my shoulders and gently (but firmly) forced me to lie back against the upright position of my bed.

"What was the reason? Doing his job? Like a fucking cop should?"

"As the rumor goes," said Oswald skeptically, "He was the overzealous police officer that interrogated Lovecraft so strenuously that the man disarmed Detective Gordon of his firearm, and shot himself with the gun, completing suicide."

"As according to whom?" I challenged.

"The Mayor." He answered—still exercising caution.

"What a horse's ass," I hissed, crossing my arms in a huff. "Where is Jim right now, do you know?"

"As of this moment, I do not. But before you decide to start shouting again, you should know that he was promoted again to Detective by our very own Commissioner Loeb."

"This is way too much information," I mumbled, rubbing my temples. I looked at Oswald pointedly. "Is that it?"

"Of course not. I've not even told you the best part."

I waited for him to speak.

"Fish Mooney and Butch Gilzean are en route to be tortured by one barbarous fellow named Bob, on Falcone's orders." said Oswald mischievously.

"Wh-How—what…." I stammered, trying my best to gather my thoughts. "How-what-now?"

Oswald smiled at my dumbstruck response.

"Do you recall a young woman by the name of Liza?"

"Innocent-looking, pretty; she let me borrow her tide pen," I recollected dully.

Hold on a minute….

I felt a little spark in my brain that had nothing to do with the morphine dripping from the IV bag on my right side. I leaned forward and Oswald shared the same mischievous twinkle.

"What happened to her?"

"Don Falcone killed her." Oswald answered gleefully. "Strangled her in front of Mooney."

"Did you tell him she was spying for her?"

"I did. And he didn't believe me at first but the moment he looked at her….it was perfect."

I cradled his face in my hands, grinning until my jaw hurt.

"You're fucking brilliant, Oz," I gushed. "A fucking criminal mastermind."

Oswald's smile became sheepish, beaming with the praise. I stood on my knees and crawled to the edge. He momentarily began to protest until I hushed him with a kiss. I parted my lips and he eagerly took the invitation. His arms wrapped around my back. Being unconscious, I hadn't realized just how long it'd been since I felt his touch. The opening in my hospital gown hid nothing from behind and his fingers graced my spine—skin-on-skin. I wanted him right there, to shove all equivocations out the window and just have him in my bed.

Our kissing became fierce, and passionate. My compliments of his intelligence and cunning made him more confident, and god—how I fucking wanted him. I could feel the urgency in my body becoming more than a dull ache; it was screaming for him to take me. My intentions were made clear when I bit his bottom lip and tugged at his belt, pulling him closer to me.

He suddenly withdrew and I looked at him reproachfully.

"We're in a hospital," Oswald said breathlessly, smiling. "You need to heal first."

"You see me dead on the floor?" I inquired sarcastically. "I'm fully healed."

"Not until the doctors release you."

"Baby, I'm not asking for much. Just for you to fuck me in my hospital bed."

"While that is physically possible and a legitimate request," Oswald managed logically (although he appeared to struggle against his own desire to grant my wish) "We must exercise caution."

I sat in my bed, arms crossed, pouting. Oswald tried suppressing a grin at my response as he sat in the arm chair to my left.

"You'll recover in no time, Pigeon." He assured softly.

Pigeon.

God, why did that sound so great coming from him?

I couldn't help but soften at the term of endearment. He winked at me, knowing that he found the perfect pet name for me. I drank the rest of my water and placed the empty plastic cup upside down on the penguin plush head, smirking.

"Look," I giggled, holding it out to Oswald. "Now, it is king. Like you."

"Will be," He corrected.

"My King of Gotham," I purred, crossing my ankles and placing the penguin plush on my knees.

"The title just rolls off your tongue."

"Well, get used to it, Love. You'll be that soon enough, I imagine?"

"With enough patience, time, and effort."

"All three things of which you have," I said smoothly, grinning wickedly. "And you have me."

Oswald tilted his head, smirking.

"You know," He said, leaning forward. "I recently had a run-in with Victor Zsasz."

I stopped playing with my doll and looked at him, suddenly worried.

"He had a business proposition for you," Oswald stated (that calm, collected, business-like tone only made me want to make a second attempt to fuck him). "When you have fully recovered, that is."

"A business proposition from Falcone's number one hitman himself," I mused aloud. "What can that be about, I wonder."

"Don't be coy."

"What?" I said innocently. "Everyone in Gotham City knows what Victor does for a living. So, being a Gothamite myself, I can only surmise from your data that he wants to talk about homicide." I shrugged modestly, adding, "It's not like I hadn't thought of doing it. Even you can't deny that I enjoy it. A great deal, really."

Oswald nodded in agreement.

"What was the proposal exactly?"

"You would become a contracted hit-woman. You would, in a sense, share contracts. Whatever contracts Victor was given that he did not like, he would give you the opportunity to take them before anyone else."

"And what does he get out of it?"

"That, I am not so sure," He replied suspiciously.

"I'm not working for Zsasz."

"That was my thought as well, but I doubt it was a hiring proposal."

"I'm not working for anyone," I emphasized as I crossed my legs, Indian-style. "I'm already employed. Remember? I work for you."

"You're a shift-leader at my restaurant."

"You're not just my boss there," I said, gesturing outside to the restaurant namely. "That's just a job I do because…. well, I say 'why not'. But when you become the King of Gotham, I will more than readily kill anyone you ask. And" (I giggled) "You don't even have to pay me for it. Honestly, you can ask it of me now. Now, if that's not a job proposition, I don't know what is."

"That's not a job, Pigeon. That's a partnership."

I shrugged saying, "Well, call it what you what, Pengy," (His eyebrows quirked at the nickname) "but I'm just saying: you have me as a full-time go-to girl."

"It has crossed my mind."

"What has?"

"A partnership."

"I'm not very good at managing stuff, Oz. You know that. I don't have the calculating mind to do it. Not like you, anyway. I tend to just live day-to-day. Comes down to it: You're the builder, the problem-solver. It's like a car, you know? Someone gives you a car, you'd find a way to get it taken apart, fixed, upgraded, and probably find a way for it to be sold in a world-class auction fit for billionaire Bruce Wayne. If you gave me the car, I can certainly find a way to break it apart. Now, putting it back together, well…. Let's just say: 'Sorry, Charlie, but that's just the way the cookie crumbles'. You know?"

In the middle of my rant, Oswald watched me with his chin balanced in the palm of his hand, eyes mesmerized. Hearing nothing from him, I felt a little mortified. I looked at him.

"Well?" I said, gesturing to him. "Say something? I'm feeling a little exposed here."

"You're correct. You do have an affinity for destruction and not even I can deny that your blood lust has certainly outweighed my own on—ahem—a few occasions but…. I would think that is what a partnership would need," Oswald said, getting to his feet. He placed my hands between his. "Someone who can rebuild what the other person can destroy. One half to complement the other."

I stared at him.

"Are we talking about the car or something else?" I asked.

"Something else."

His voice was soft, smooth like butter. But there was a part of him that seemed distracted.

"Then you'll have to include me in your thought bubble, because I am not tracking what you—"

"Marry me."

"W-what did you just say?"

Oswald looked just as shocked as I did. He just blurted it out! He moved the chair a few feet from the bed and then awkwardly (if not painfully) got down on one knee, taking my hand in his.

"I'm asking you to marry me," Oswald said, now with more confidence, but I could see that maybe he might faint.

I looked at him, incredulous.

We'd talked about it before, once or twice. But I honestly never thought it would happen in a hospital. Seeing him like this made my heart want to jump out of my chest.

"A 'yes' or 'no' would be very much appreciated right now," Oswald muttered, "I'm feeling a little exposed."

I chuckled, "Do you really need an answer from me? Yes, Oz. I will marry you."

He stood and looked overjoyed. Any happier and his heart might jump out of his chest. I grinned too, wrapping my arms around him tightly. The door swung open and several medical professionals ran inside, leading the pack was Gertrud. They all looked worried and some even looked outraged until I looked at them with the same surprise.

"The door was shut!" Gertrud said, pointing at the medical professionals. "They thought something was wrong!"

"It's fine," I said, looking at the medics. "It's fine—I'm fine."

"Leave the door open, ma'am." The doctor said briskly before leaving.

I mimicked him: "'Leave the door open', eehhh."

Gertrud gave me a look of reprimand, then smiled at Oswald.

"You look so happy! What happened?" Gertrud asked.

"Mother…." Oswald said, restraining his joy back a bit so as to not completely spoil the surprise. "I just asked her to marry me."

Gertrud looked at me in surprise then at Oswald.

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "Good! Good! Uh, what she say?"

I laughed, "I said 'yes'!"

And suddenly Gertrud was all screaming and happy. Thinking something bad was happening, the medical professionals that had just walked out came sprinting back in, only to see Gertrud bear-hugging me while Oswald managed to get out of the way so as to not be caught in the python hug himself. The professionals gave us a look of 'seriously, guys?' and then walked out, shaking their heads.

Oswald said sarcastically, "At least we left the door open."

"I know, right?" I muttered, rolling my eyes.