Ed

My alarm clock jolts me awake. My back is stiff from sleeping on the couch and all my muscles ache from all the fun Mr. Penguin and I had with Mr. Leonard last night. I knew I kept a baseball bat around for a reason. I wish I could sleep in, but I have work this morning. I don't want to arouse any suspicion by being late (or worse, calling in sick). I pour myself a cup of coffee; the first sip has the unfortunate side effect of rousing my other side from his slumber. I do the best I can to ignore him and try to focus on the day ahead. I notice that Mr. Penguin doesn't so much as flinch when I roughly set the frying pan on the stove. This concerns me. What if last night was too much for him and he died in his sleep? I'd be deprived of the chance to learn from one of Gotham's greatest criminals (not to mention I'd have a third body inside of a week to dispose of).

I walk over to the bed and carefully reach for Mr. Penguin's wrist. His skin isn't as warm as it's been the last couple of days, but the pulse is still there. My other side gleefully suggests smothering Mr. Penguin with a pillow. I try to convince him that course of action wouldn't benefit either of us. I must've left my hand on Mr. Penguin a bit too long; he suddenly jerks his arm out of my grip.

Oswald

"What are you doing?" I demand.

"I was just checking your vital signs," Ed answers a little too quickly. "Your pulse is back in the normal range and it seems your fever broke during the night."

Memories of last night float back into my head: Chinese food, cheap wine, and Mr. Leonard becoming a pinata. The last part makes me smile, even though I'm regretting that much exertion; I'm weak, tired despite the fact I just woke up. It must be a chilly morning in Gotham because my bad leg is stiff and painful.

Ed keeps chattering on. "I've got some scrambled eggs on the stove; a high protein diet is very beneficial to helping wounds heal. And I hope you like pancakes. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know. I have a tray somewhere around here so you won't even have to get out of bed."

That statement wakes me up in a hurry. "The table will be fine, thank you."

I push myself onto my elbows, ignoring how much that irritates my shoulder. I sit up the rest of the way, get out of bed, and start toward Ed's kitchen. My twisted leg protests with every step. I'm regretting, not for the first time, my failure to get it properly set after Fish Mooney hit me with that chair last year. But she got her comeuppance in the end...

Ed is standing over the stove, whistling as he cooks. Obnoxiously cheerful for this hour. I'm much more used to being awake at night and sleeping all day.

"Do you want some coffee?" Ed asks.

Knowing it's the only way I can maintain civility, I nod. "Cream, two sugars."

"Black and white," Ed chuckles, "just like a-"

"Penguin, I know," I say through gritted teeth, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"What's black and white and red all over?" Ed doesn't wait for me to answer. "You were two days ago."

"I fail to see the humor."

Ed hands me an absurd coffee mug with a question mark hand-drawn on the side. I take a careful sip. His taste in coffee isn't nearly as terrible as his taste in wine. I drum my fingers impatiently on the table as my stomach growls.

"Breakfast is served, Mr. Penguin," says Ed.

I tersely thank him and start cutting my pancakes into little pieces. Mother always told me I eat like a bird. After a few bites, Ed asks me if I like his cooking. I shrug noncommittally; nobody's pancakes could ever be as delicious as Mother's.

Ed

Mr. Penguin is sitting across from me, but I can still smell him. "Once we've fed you, we should discuss a shower."

Is that a flicker of panic I see on his face?

"I can manage that on my own," he sneers.

"What if you collapse again and nobody is around to help you?" My other side is ecstatic about the possibility of such a nasty accident.

"I won't. I may be a cripple, but I'm not as helpless as you think."

"I wouldn't dream of implying that you're a 'cripple', as you put it," I say. "It's just that being in a hot, steamy environment, especially after trauma can lead to syncope." Off his blank look, I supply the layman's term. "Fainting."

Mr. Penguin rolls his eyes. "I'll. Be. Fine."

"Well, if you insist on showering by yourself, I have plenty of clothes you can borrow." I say. "And make sure to change that bandage. You just got over one infection; you don't need another." I check my watch and hurriedly finish my breakfast. "I have to get to work. I just have basic cable, I'm afraid. Feel free to help yourself to the kitchen. I'll be home between 5:30 and 6:00, depending on how much I have to do. Since Ms. Kringle disappeared, Captain Barnes has given me some of her filing duties."

I put my dirty plate and mug in the sink, hoping my guest will be kind enough to do the dishes while I'm gone.

"Have a wonderful day," Mr. Penguin says with a mocking wave.