Edward hasn't left the house since the brunch, a few days previous. Oswald doesn't even need to ask to know it's because of Jerome, Oswald's not-so-platonic history with him, and the way that Martin had ended up exposed to all of the legion of horribles because of his frivolity. Oswald is honestly just thankful that someone like Barbara Kean or, God forbid, Tabitha and Butch , hadn't been present. They were the types who would purposefully set out to use the information against him.

Jerome's group consisted of Gotham's noteably insane and distorted, rather than the political criminals. It might be the only time Oswald was thankful of that. It was the power-hungry ones that liked to sit on information and make you stew in your own nervousness. At least he didn't need to fear the rest of Jerome's 'Legion of Horribles' until one of them actually needed something from him. One or two of them might even forget about it completely before that day came.

Oswald resolved to teach Martin some sort of self defence though, just in case... perhaps like how the Wayne boy had his butler teaching him in their free time. It had saved his life on more than one occasion, Oswald had heard, and his adventures were whispered about among the more austere Gothamites. Some shared stories in awe while others muttered with trepidation.

As little as he'd like to have Martin brought up public gossip (you never knew who was listening), Oswald might not mind so much if those whispers happened to come with a 'don't-fuck-with-this-guy' reputation to accompany them.

And apparently... Oswald isn't the only one who thinks that preparing Martin for the worst is a good idea.

Oswald walks into the sitting room one evening to find Edward showing Martin how to shoot a gun. There are empty soda cans lined up along an old, thin, and tall sofa table. Oswald will chide Zsasz for supplying Martin with soda so late in the evening again later. As Martin mimics the pose that Edward shows him, Zsasz is sitting on the edge of the couch, watching as he polishes his own little arsenal. He says something now and then, but mostly seems like an irked observer rather than a teacher.

The scene briefly reminds him of the time he'd taught Martin about the proper way to gut an enemy.

"Upward, Martin. That way you drive the blade under the ribs and through the heart."

He smiles as he remembers it. It had been almost uncanny how much promise Martin had shown early on. Oswald wonders what would have become of them both if he'd never spotted Martin about to set fire to those bullies' backpacks. Or if the little window he'd opened to shout through had been locked. If Sofia hadn't planned for him to become enamored with one of her orphans….

"What are you doing?" he asks casually as he enters the room.

Zsasz looks up from the couch and huffs, "Showing Martin the wrong way to hold a gun."

"There's no right way to hold it, Zsasz. Just because you prefer to keep your arm straight out doesn't mean he can't hold his at his side," Edward scoffs.

Oswald smirks as he looks between them. "And you've been showing him the correct stance right? Accounting for his size and weight?" Oswald asks, and both men look at him curiously. Oswald lifts a hand in exasperation. "Well you've got to account for the kickback, obviously . He'll have to lean forward into it."

Oswald turns to Zsasz accusingly. "How did you not think of that?"

"I don't really see kids or adults... they're just like... tiny humans." He shrugs, "Didn't really think about it."

"So when you see someone with dwarfism?"

Zsasz blinks, Oswald would almost think he was mocking Ed, but the look of surprise is too genuine. "Wait, dwarves are real?"

"Oh my God, you are so weird," Edward says, shaking his head with vexation.

Zsasz purposefully snaps the clip into his gun, as he stares him down. "You dress like a leprechaun and call yourself The Riddler . Pot, kettle dude. And you didn't think of it either."

" I'm not a gun expert."

"Which is why you should listen to me when I tell you he's holding it wrong."

Oswald struts a little further into the room, smiling at Martin as they watch the two men bicker. "Boys, you're both pretty. Let's move along."

Edward hums and Victor scoffs, mumbling down at his guns. "I'm definitely prettier."

Martin's wide smile shows off the few gaps between the teeth further back. It's a laughing smile, and Oswald would very much love to one day be able to hear to him laugh, but seeing it is still enough to warm his icy heart. He puts a hand over Martin's shoulder. "Try it again, but lean forward and see if you prefer your arms straight out instead of tucked in."

Martin holds his arms out straight, shuts one eye to focus on the target, leans a little forward, and-

He misses.

But he doesn't fly back with the kick, and the pot that smashes at the mercy of Martin's bullets was one of his stepmother's favorites, so Oswald counts it as a win all in all.

"Good job." He smiles, "We can have Victor help you practice with your aim."

Martin smiles up proudly at him, leaning into Oswald's little ruffle of his hair before redirecting his cheery simper towards Zsasz and Edward. Edward nods at him approvingly. Zsasz holds two thumbs up beside his wide, toothy grin.

They practice a little more before Oswald decides it's time for Martin to get himself ready for bed. He protests for a minute or two, but yawns right in the middle of explaining how very not tired he his. But before Oswald can usher him up to his room, Zsasz hands Martin a small box, wrapped in a shimmering purple paper with a silky black bow to top it off. It's very pretty, and Oswald raises a curious brow at him to mirror Martin's.

Oswald doesn't get a chance to ask any questions before Martin is pressing the button on his pad, an inquisitive, " Did you wrap this?" coming through the speakers.

Oswald hadn't even thought about that, but he stares at the tight paper now, realizing the time it must have taken to get it to look so perfect. He imagines Zsasz, carefully trying to get the edges straight and almost wants to chuckle.

Zsasz doesn't say anything, but he ducks his head and rubs the back on his neck with a hand.

Edward snuffs behind them, coming up to the little exchange and encouraging Martin to unwrap it.

The boy tears into the paper excitedly, slipping off the ribbon and revealing a lidded box. He pulls open the top, and there's a collective parting of lips around the room.

"You got him a gun?" Oswald asks as Martin drawns the tiny handgun out of its box.

Zsasz puffs out his chest proudly at Martin's excited look. "Beretta Pico .380," he says, "It's the smallest pistol on the market. It's got an adjustable sight too, just in case. There's a holster in there as well. I got one for your lower leg though, so you won't be able to hide this if you're wearing shorts."

Oswald grins, "I've been meaning to convert him to sensible slacks anyway." He nudges Martin, "It's a very nice gift, say thank you, Martin."

The boy doesn't pull up his pad. Instead he passes the box to Oswald and rushes forward to hug Zsasz around the middle. The assassin freezes for a moment, blinks, then hesitantly returns the gesture with a grin. Uncle Zsasz is just as taken in as the rest of them.

"Thank you, Victor," Oswald smiles gratefully, "This may come in handy soon. Gotham isn't too safe these days."

Zsasz nods almost dutifully at Oswald, pulling back and grinning down at Martin as the boy thanks him in sign language.

"Alright, Martin," he starts fondly, and nudges him again before handing back his present, "it's time for bed. Say goodnight to everyone."

Oswald is picked up the next night for what Jerome calls a "field trip". Oswald calls it a hassle. Apart from being dragged along in a van with the rest of Jerome's scooby gang, there's the unpleasant business of kidnapping political officials and shoving them into the back of a meat truck. They're chained up on hooks like slabs of meat, waiting for slaughter.

When the interim mayor starts to bribe them, Oswald isn't surprised to hear the grumbled, off-handed rejections of his fellow legion members. He is, however, a little unnerved to see them all pause and turn to Oswald curiously when the man finally gets around to extending his offer to Oswald.

Jerome lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at him and there's really nothing else Oswald can say besides, "I'm with Jerome completely."

Jerome cackles, wraps an arm around Oswald and plants a sloppy kiss on his temple, "See, Ozzie here knows how to have a good time!"

The gas is tested on the poor girl with no real title; who didn't make for a good enough hostage. The sickly discoloration and distorted curvature of her smile unnerves Oswald far more than the cackling laughter does. Jerome has got tankards of this stuff stored away for something big, and Oswald can't imagine anything other than destruction as he contemplates just what it might be. Douse the corrupt? The public officials? The entire city?

When he thinks about Martin, turned pale, bleeding from the eyes and mouth stretch into an eerie smile, he wants to vomit. It's not entirely unlike when he felt like hurling in Arkham after seeing the carnage in the rapist's wake. Jerome's scrutinizing eyes keeping a consistent hawk-like lock on him are probably the only things that keep him from it, realizing he's under a watchful gaze. Deadly.

Oswald smiles at him, but it's a tight and forced thing. He suddenly feels very unnerved standing this close to a man that could very well kill him if he even for a second doubted Oswald's loyalty. The months worth of trust that had been built up inside of Arkham seem distant and underdeveloped in comparison to this new fear. Oswald's stomach does flips and his heart pounds violently in his chest, a far cry different from the way it had pleasantly thrummed before when Jerome paid him any attention. He's riddled with anxiety and helplessness.

Oswald hates it.

Martin envelops him in a full body hug when he finally returns. Oswald absolutely despises the way worry looks on Martin's infant face. It's supposed to be his job to worry, not his boy's. He shouldn't look ready to burst into tears over Oswald like this...

Oswald won't stand for it. He made a promise to himself the night he'd gotten Martin back. He came first, above everything and any one else.

Oswald's first move is to contact Jim Gordon. It's a difficult thing to bring himself to do, knowing how much Jim loathes him overall, but it's the best he can really do. Lord knows the rest of the G.C.P.D. was filled with simple cops who were never above a bribe. Jim was one of the few good ones. Oswald could trust him, even if he didn't trust Oswald.

He reaches him through text.

We need to talk. Come out back. Alone.

It's simple, but it does the trick.

Oswald realizes as he sends it off that he's looking over his shoulder while he writes. It's simultaneously the worst realization in the world and the best wake-up call ever. It's the last kick in the ass to move him forward, out of whatever he felt before and into the future he's been working so hard to build.

Jim finds him quickly. He looks pissed, irritated at best, but he stays silent while Oswald tells him what he knows.

Which, truthfully, isn't all that much.

"We all have a separate task at hand," he says, and Jim uncrosses his arms for only a moment to lift them in a gesture of 'and?'

"Like?" he asks to accompany the move.

"He... hasn't given me my task yet," Oswald admits, maybe somewhat sheepish.

Jim growls, gruff and frustrated, "Why did you come here if you have nothing to give me?"

Oswald hesitates, "He..." he shakes his head in his decisiveness, annoyed with himself for how wish-washy he's being over this, he is afraid, that's the fact of it, no matter how his relationship with Jerome used to be. "He scares the living hell out of me," he finally says, tinged with hastey bitterness.

Not long ago, he'd thought of Jerome as a protector. Now he found himself struggling with coming to accept him as the real threat that he was. Oswald curses himself, his overbearing heart, how he lets himself be willed by his emotions. If he has any hope of doing the right thing here, he needs to just push past what his heart tells him and listen to what his head is saying instead.

It hurts, but he can do it.

He's gone through losing people plenty of times before. What's just one more?

Oswald lifts his chin, stares Jim dead in the eyes.

"Where is he," Jim continues, "where's the toxin?"

"I don't know where the toxin is. He only tells you what he needs to when he needs you."

Jim scoffs, "Well it sounds like he certainly doesn't need you, Oswald."

Oswald scowls, "He-" he stops himself, wondering just what he was planning to say there. Jerome didn't need him, it was true. He never really did, and here it seemed... maybe Jerome was just pulling him along because he could. "You're right," he agrees, helplessly, "He doesn't need me."

Jim cocks a brow at him, crossing his arms again and looking awkward, "You're being oddly agreeable."

"I'm operating with the wellbeing of my boy in the forefront of my mind," he says in reply, eyes narrowing.

Jim's brow loses its tone of accusation in an instant, replaced with an almost soft look of consideration, "The orphan that Sofia said you killed. Martin, right?"

"He's officially Martin Cobblepot now. I signed the paperwork and everything."

"Congratulations," Jim says.

Oswald huffs, feeling suddenly very tired. "Thank you."

Bullock's thundering voice startles the two of them out of the cool silence that follows, and Oswald turns to duck out the back door while Jim stalls his partner.

Oswald doesn't want to disappear again, but he's not stupid enough to ignore Jerome's requests when he's called. He at least gets the chance to let Martin know he'll be stepping out this time. He gives his boy a kiss on the forehead and promises he'll be home safe and sound soon. It might be enough to fool Martin, but he can tell Zsasz and Edward aren't buying it, even if they graciously say nothing.

Oswald is thankful that they don't call him out on his bluff in front of Martin.

Edward tries to stop him from going all together, even threatening to tie Oswald to a chair to keep him there, but Oswald reminds him just how dangerous Jerome Valeska is. When Edward tries to go with him instead, he argues even more because that is certainly even less of an option.

"No, Ed. Please, stay with Martin," he implores, "I don't know what his plan is and I would much rather have you all here and safe. I want to know where you are. Please, Edward."

Edward doesn't look convinced in the slightest, but he stops insisting, "Oswald, please..."

"I'll be back soon, alright?"

Edward frowns, comes close enough that Martin won't hear his fierce whispering, "You don't know that."

"And you don't know that I won't."

"Oswald-"

" Edward ," Oswald says fast, testy and not at all willing to argue this any further in front of Martin, "I appreciate it, really I do, but I need to be going."

Edward's shoulder slump for a moment, but he pulls himself up again. Oswald can almost see the moment he recedes into the Riddler, letting his more egocentric and emotionally stunted persona take over the reigns while Oswald walks out. He doesn't say anything, and Oswald is thankful.

He does sigh though before stepping through the front door. Oswald turns, places his hands fleetingly over Edward's shoulders and kisses his cheek, unsure if he meant the gesture as a "Don't worry" or a "Goodbye". Either way, he got his message across. Edward softens, hand tracing down the sleeve on Oswald's coat as he draws away again, like Edward wants to catch him and bring him back.

Oswald walks out the door.

The hangar is immaculate. When he'd first pulled up to the building with Scarecrow and Tetch, he'd thought Jerome had some need for a plane. Upon entering and seeing the massive blimp, the pilots, and watching boys in striped Arkham uniforms drag barrels of Jerome's gas into the back carrier, things start to fall into place.

"The kidnappings," he says, "the concert in the square, all to draw the biggest crowd so we can drop the laughing gas on them."

He huffs, turns, hoping maybe, miracle of miracles , he can talk these two lunatics down from this massive ledge. "This is madness ."

Crane cocks his head and even through the burlap bag Oswald can see the frustrated disappointment in his eyes. "I thought you'd appreciate the beauty of it all," he drawls, neck cracking slightly as his head lolls from side to side in an eerie sway, "But Jerome was right, he only anticipated your betrayal."

Oswald's heart stops. His face falls, lungs punching out the last of his breath.

Found out.

"That's right," the Scarecrow croons, "You went to Gordon, Judas ."

He's hit suddenly in the back of the head, and Oswald doesn't even have time to really dwell on the panic that pangs in his chest before the floor is rushing up to meet him. There's a crash somewhere that seems distant, though it might just be him, colliding with the ground. Oswald is out cold before he can find out.

"Tie him up," Jervis states casually, gesturing down at his fallen form, "Put him on the blimp. Jerome wants him to have a bird's eye view."

"We can't just kill 'em?" one of the men asks. Scarecrow turns to him, cocks his bagged head to the side, and revels in the nervous shrivel it elicits.

"He wants him alive," he replies tersely, eyes passing over Tetch for a brief flicker of a moment. "He's formed an... attachment, it would seem."

"He is right. It would indeed be much easier to kill him, less risk of our dear visionary's undoing," Tetch says with a raised eyebrow.

Scarecrow only shakes his head at Jervis in warning. "He'd kill you the moment he found out."

"No body, no crime," Jervis simpers, "We could hide his corpse away for a time?"

Another headshake. "He would know. Jerome's had a man on The Penguin since well before we escaped Arkham. I don't doubt our fearless leader is still keeping a watchful eye." Crane says irritably, "Just put him on board."

Oswald wakes up tied to the rails on the inside of the blimp, scared, and afraid of heights. He wonders why he's not dead, but it's a fleeting curiosity. Jerome could have killed him earlier but he'd kept Oswald alive for... whatever reasons he had. The others probably had orders not to hurt him. One blessed thanks to Jerome's infatuation.

His squabble with the pilot is frightening. Oswald feels helpless and trapped grappling for the wheel, the gun, and eventually just to right himself again. He peers out the window to watch the scared crowd in the square scatter like ants as the blimp draws closer. He can't do anything, he doesn't know how to pilot a fucking blimp .

The startling chime of his cell phone is almost like an angel's sweet harp playing the tune of salvation in his ears.

Too bad Jim Gordon doesn't feel like playing his savior today, of all days. Damn him.

" Steer a blimp?! " Oswald gawks into the receiver, "Are you out of your mind -Jim, I don't even drive my own car!"

"If you don't, thousands will die, maybe worse."

"What's worse than that ?"

And Oswald can almost hear the cocky little eye twitch Jim always gets when he knows that he's won, "What about Martin? How will you two run an empire in a city full of lunatics? What if he gets sprayed?"

Oswald sneers hatefully at his phone. Jim, for as often as he promotes his moral character, that whole boyscout routine , can be a manipulative bastard when he feels so inclined. He's a darker character when it best suits his own needs. In another life he and Oswald might have gotten along. Maybe they'd even have been friends.

"Fine."

A huff of relief comes from the other end, and Oswald is about to tell Jim that he owes him for this when Jim says, "Thank you."

Short, sweet and to the point. He hangs up immediately after, and Oswald is left to struggle with himself.

Gotham is, and always will be, his home. Oswald wants to keep it safe, even if that means betraying Jerome this far into the game.

He's sorry, truly, truly is, and wishes he could support Jerome as much as he said he did, but it just wasn't realistic. Oswald wants to create a life and home for Martin to grow up in. He wants something dastardly beautiful for his boy to rise up and claim. Chaos for chaos' sake was how Jerome lived, not Oswald. They'd been oppositions from the very start, Oswald had just been too absorbed in his own fears to see it. From the first moment he heard those deep whispers offering him some sort of twisted friendship; when Jerome made him dance in that ridiculous outfit... even the first time he kissed Jerome's cheek... that had all been a misunderstanding on his part. Oswald had misinterpreted Jerome's cruel jokes.

When Jerome teased him for a kiss, Oswald had given it.

If he'd just been smart, realized what Jerome was really about then and not in the middle of this entire affair, he never would have done it. Jerome never would have been interested.

How would things have been different if he'd just kept his head down and to himself?

But then... Jerome had been so shocked to have been kissed... hugged for the first time... the way he'd looked at Oswald like he was the very world the first time he got them off….

He didn't entirely regret that. Who knows if anyone else would have ever shown Jerome any affection?

Oswald shook himself back to the present; back to insanity gas, blowing up politicians' heads and a fucking giant blimp -all to deter everybody from whatever real goal Jerome had.

He was insane.

Sure, Oswald was a little crazy himself, but at least he knew where to draw the line. He killed for advancement and revenge, not necessarily just because he could, and if Oswald wanted someone dead they were dead. He didn't do the antics. He didn't do... this . He didn't distort. He built.

That man... the first test subject of Jerome's gas... his mangled face and hauntingly horrific laugh... That was not the kind of Gotham that Oswald wanted for his boy.

Oswald struggles with the pilot for the lever, eventually managing to knock him out and get a hold of the wheel for himself. He steers the blimp with shaky hands and a belly in summersaults, a little high on adrenaline and a spark of paternal determination.

"Ah ha! Okay, okay..." he tries to console himself, "the river... where is the river?"

Jerome may be upset with him, but he'd never expected his plan to work either. Maybe he'll forgive Oswald for snitching on him to Jim. He's actually starting to feel a little good about his odds and Oswald's almost got a real handle on things when he chances a look out over the bustle and spies two figures on the rooftop. One of them is standing with a gun and the other is teetering on the ledge. The red hair is unmistakable really, even if Oswald hadn't been looking out for it.

His short-lived moment of victory comes crashing down around him when Jerome falls dangling from the flagpole bolted to the side of the building. He almost calls out, thinks about calling Jim even, because Oswald has prepared himself for a hundred different ways this day might go down... but he hadn't been expecting this. He wasn't prepared for this . Oswald is holding his breath, waiting expectantly as he watches Gordon peer over the side and offer down a hand.

Jerome doesn't take it.

There's another moment of conversation, and Jim almost topples over himself as he insistently tries to reach further.

Oswald watches as Jerome's hands slip, and he can almost hear the roaring laughter in his head as his body falls-stopping only when it hits the car below.

There's a moment where Oswald has to pause. He can't move his body, and Oswald blinks back the tears threatening to jump out from his eyes and forces himself to just breathe. It's difficult, like trying to suck air in with a blanket around his head. He feels overheated, the air doesn't satisfy his lungs with any inhale, but he manages it. He lets out one, short, pained cry before shaking his head and willing his arms to move again. He needs to land the blimp, needs to hand over Crane's toxin, needs to be the damned hero for the first time in forever. He needs to get home to Martin and wrap him up in his arms. Oswald can be sad about this later.

Because of what he's done today, Martin will be safe another day.

The landing is a little rougher than Oswald had hoped for, but considering he's never piloted a blimp in his life, it's a rather great feat.

To his surprise, Edward is there. The air of the blimp landing knocks his coat around his waist, and he has to hold his hat on his head to keep it from blowing away. When Oswald kicks open the door, he holds out a gloved hand to Oswald and helps him down. Oswald is more than relieved to be on solid ground once again. He's pretty certain he's developed a fear of heights. Oswald can't stop himself from pushing forward the final foot, slipping his arms around Ed's middle and practically barrelling into his chest.

Edward catches him with an 'oompf' and returns the embrace, a gentle hand holding the back of his head as the other rubs his back.

"I'm so sorry, Oswald," is all Edward says, but it's enough.

Ed understands the odd connection he and Jerome shared more than anyone else ever could. He understands why this is hard for him. No one else would. By all accounts Oswald was blackmailed into helping Jerome; a crazy man who wanted to destroy the city, and Oswald should be delighted that he's dead. He should feel freed.

In a way, he does feel a little bit lighter... He doesn't have to worry about how he would try to keep himself away from Jerome in the future, or how he would keep Jerome away from Martin. He doesn't have to worry about hurting Edward with his lies or more miscommunication (at least on that front). He's free to move on from this, he's got the room to break free of the transference that riddles him with anxiety every day . Jerome is dead and this time he won't be coming back.

"It's-" Oswald tries, forcing himself to calm down. "It doesn't matter," he croaks, "Jerome was crazy. This is... it's for the best."

"Oswald..."

"Leave it, Ed," he begs, stepping back to wipe away the mist in his eyes with his coat sleeve.

Edward doesn't say anything else. He simply stares at Oswald with a sorrowful expression and doesn't comment when Oswald angrily swipes at his eyes, trying to appear well held together when he's aware that Ed knows better. He'd been around far too long to not know better, knows Oswald too well as a whole.

But he doesn't comment, let's Oswald pretend everything is fine, and Oswald is ever so thankful for it.

Edward simply extends his hand once more, smiling painfully towards Oswald before gesturing to the car behind them with a nod of his head, "Come on, let's go home. Martin will be worried by now."