#gobblepot fluff

Are you sure about this? It's not too late to back out..’

Jim glances over at Oswald, who eyes the glassy surface of the lake a few feet below them warily.

'True..’ Oswald says thoughtfully, tracing a thumb down his own front, over the heavy silver buttons and thick damask of his waistcoat front 'But I promised. Perhaps inebriated, perhaps against my better judgement, but I promised. Besides, nobody is likely to see us out here.’

Jim eyes the treeline surrounding the small stretch of water, fed from one end by a last, shallow waterfall. There's nothing, nobody in sight, the only noise is the distant, hollow echo of birdsong and the hushing of the wind in the trees. Even the cabin, a small hideaway Jim's father had left in his care, was lost among the trees. A meandering trail connects it to a creaking wooden dock where they now stand, green with algae and age, crouched low over the lake shore.

'Friends do this...on occasion, I presume?’

Oswald rolls the word 'Friend’ over his tongue like he's trying it out, like he's trying not to sound too confident in..whatever this is. Whatever leads two grown men who have every right, every reason, to hate each other, to take a gamble. To somehow decide that what they really both need is a vacation. Money is no object, at least not for Oswald,heir to the Van Dahl fortune and sometime mob boss. But being seen together with the GCPD's brightest and bravest may present a few problems.

So that's how, having planned quietly for a couple of weeks, pulled in favours and politely assumed the rest, they leave, just after midnight in Jim's car. Oswald giving an uncharacteristic whoop of celebration as they sail past the city limits, out, into the woods and away. The first ‘proper’ vacation either of them have taken in years

'Friends do a lot of things…’ Jim says gravely, eyeing the water again before turning back to Oswald, mischief in his eyes 'I mean, they go on vacation together. They swim together. They make stupid drunken bets they have no intention of following through on. And some of them probably take their clothes off together too,yeah. So I think it's safe to say we’re friends. And I'm still game if you are.’

The little smile Oswald shoots him in return, part sheer joy, part daring, part giddy glee to be in on whatever game Jim is playing here, well. It sparks something in Jim's chest, affection and want, and without another word they are both undressing.

The air isn't cold, there's the barest summer breeze, preventing it being unpleasantly hot. The lake is a cool, glassy blue, and clear enough to see the pebbles at the bottom. There’s definitely worse places to swim. To win a bet. To suddenly be very naked in front of Oswald fucking Cobblepot.

Jim swallows his fears like a dry pill, leaving them stuck somewhere behind his collarbone. He pretends not to notice the meticulous way Oswald undresses, even though they are both trying to be quick.

His waistcoat, shirt, cravat, and belt are all neatly folded on the wooden boards behind him, leaving him milk-pale and bare-chested in the watery afternoon sunlight. His mouth is a hard line, thoughtful, as he eyes the water and unfastens his trousers, sitting to slip off socks and shoes, tucking them together before he stands.

Jim only realises that he’s staring when he’s standing, shirtless, with Oswald raising a pointed eyebrow at him, hands on the waistband of his own pants.

‘Ready, detective?’

‘Jim, please, for Christ’s sake..’ He corrects automatically, before considering Oswald a moment.

Hair still perfect. Eyes dark and glinting with mischief. Slim bare shoulders peppered with freckles and the silky pink welts of old scars. ‘It’s not too late to back out..’ He echoes, grinning at Jim, teasing him.

‘Not likely.’ He says, finality in his voice, as he pushes his pants and underwear down over his hips and to the floor, feeling a hint of satisfaction at the way Oswald’s eyes widen before he pushes his own pants to the ground. Jim thinks he sees a flash of black silk underwear. It figures.

But he can’t stare too much before they are both naked to the summer air, and Oswald is reaching for his hand, and saying with for more certainty than either of them feels ‘We jump on three. One….Two…’

They both jump as the ‘Th..’ rolls off his tongue, yelling as they hit the water with a resounding splash.

It’s a shock, enough that they both come up spluttering, hearts racing, feet scrambling to find purchase on the stony bottom of the lake, laughing.

Jim catches Oswald’s waist without thinking, steadying him, almost letting go when Oswald glares at him, somehow a little more threatening with wet hair in his eyes and eyeliner bleeding across his cheeks.

Until Oswald’s hands are on his forearms, partly steadying himself and partly holding Jim there, close, bellies flush, a point of warmth in the chest-deep chilly water.

Jim waits, for a cue, a reprimand, something, icy blue eyes appear to be searching his face, brows furrowing like Oswald doesn’t quite understand.

Just when Jim is about to speak, likely to say something about forgetting all this, getting warm and dry and pretending this didn’t happen, Oswald silences him with a squeeze of his elbow.

‘Thank you, Jim. Old friend. I don’t think I’ve felt like this in some time. If ever.’

His eyes are still searching, but there’s something else now, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

‘Maybe we can forget the other things. Old rivalries. What people expect of us. The past. At least for a couple of days.’

Jim smiles without really thinking about it, arm still tight around Oswald’s back. He’s a slight, reassuring weight under all those clothes, slim but not breakable like Jim thought he’d be. Not paper and matchsticks. Sinew and muscle and a fluttering heart, a determined voice, broad shoulders and slim hips. Rising up onto tiptoes, easier than anything with the water and Jim supporting his weight, and kissing him.

Soft and shy, about to pull back before Jim’s arms are tight around his waist, reassuring as he dips his chin, catching Oswald’s mouth with his own. Heart fit to burst through his ribs as he responds, messy, greedy, water slopping between them, eventually giving up trying to stand on tiptoe in favour of wrapping his legs around Jim’s waist.

There’s nothing then, but the hollow noises of the water between them and the helpless noise Oswald makes when Jim slips his hands under his thighs, supporting him, as he deepens the kiss.

***

They get back to the house eventually. Find blankets and tea and a place in front of the fire. Jim never mentions what exactly either of them won, or forfeit, for completing the bet.

Oswald never mentions that this went far better than he could he hoped for.

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Jim's car came to a splashing halt in front of the old-fashioned gate to Oswald's mansion. Peering through the rain-dotted window, you didn't see a doorbell or guard. "I'll call—" The gate buzzed open, surprising you because of its old look. "Well, let's get inside." Above you a window was pulled open and Oswald appeared, shouting, "You can use my garage!"

A minute later you were dripping water onto an old-fashioned rug in the foyer, trying ti stay stil in fear of ruining the warm-toned wooden floor. So this was it. The Penguin's residence. You looked around curiously, seeing multiple interesting paintings and books, and eventually getting distracted by the sound of a cane on the floor.

"Oswald!" "Y/n, Jim!" He smiled. "So good to see you!" The kingpin walked over with two towels in his hand, handing you one. "If Jim's foresight can't keep you dry, at least mine can remedy some of its consequences." He winked at you and gave Jim, who took no offence, a playful nudge with the towel for him.

A young woman in a black-and-white uniform walked into the room, holding a vase filled with light rose-colored flower twigs. "Mr. Cobblepot, sir, where should I put the flowers?" "Ah." He smiled and thought about it, "Put them on the dining table. The smaller room." He nodded and adressed his guests again when she was gone, "I had the gardener come over and cut the cherry blossom tree outside, in case it gets destroyed by the storm."

"They, uhm, look good", Jim surprised you by voicing his opinion on someting insignificant in the present of the gangster, small as the compliment may be. "Yes, they bring some of that spring feeling into the house," you agreed, reckoning that this was the very same reason why Jim was in such a good mood today. Despite the weather being less than ideal for going outside, the change in tone was noticeable, hopeful in a way.

Oswald gifted you both with smiles, "My mother always had an eye for such things. Anyways," he turned around and gestured to the side, "feel free to use the shower, you must be cold." "No, thank you," Jim was quick to decline, then to correct himself to add to his high spirits, "We don't want to claim too much of your hospitality." "Oh," Oswald waved off, "take as much time as you need. Like I said: if it comes to it, you can stay overnight as my guests. There's plenty of space".

"What about you," he adressed you, "would you like to shower first? I'm sure Jim," he raised a playfully admonishing finger, "wouldn't want his partner to catch a cold." Their eyes were on you. "Oh, I can manage. He still has to drive me home afterwards. I don't want it to get too late for him." Jim gave a small smile at that. "Well, alright then," Oswald said, "but I insist on at least giving you something warm. You can hang your clothes up", he gestured to a row of coat hangers and hooks, "and just wait here. Tea should be ready in a minute and I'll fetch you something so that you don't drip on the floor." He disappeared at a quick pace despite his limp, leaving you and Jim looking at each other impressed and slightly surprised.

You nudged his side. "It's not everyday that a criminal offers you tea instead of a bullet in your head, huh?" You hung your raincoat on a hook. He shrugged, "Could almost get used to it." You turned away slightly. Of course there would be an "almost". Jim would never completely accept the friendship Oswald was offering the two of you. You couldn't even blame him: it was Jim's right to choose not to get close to a crime boss. At least he could joke about it at the moment. He might not be making the biggest exception, but he had never gotten as close to accepting Oswald's innocent-seemming offers as today, and you were happy to enjoy it while it lasted.

"I'm back again! Here you go." Oswald was about to put a big towel on Jim's shoulder when Jim took the soft fabric out of his hands and put it around his back with a "Thanks, no need for that." Oswald eyed Jim's wet blazer. "Are you sure you don't want to take that off?" Your partner scratched his neck and caught the small expression of amusement you tried to suppress. His eyes widened and he turned his gaze from you to Oswald, who noticed his cute abashment, "I...didn't mean to..." He gestured behind himself. "I can lend you a jacket. O-or a sweater, whatever you prefer." Jim gave him a smile and decided to take off the blazer after all. "Thank you, I'll just let this dry for now." He made to hang it up near your raincoat. Oswald stilled Jim's hand. "It will dry more quickly on a heater. I'll have someone take care of it. Now, if you'd follow me."

The house continued to be impressive and Oswald quickly regained his confidence while Jim trailed behind him, still with a faint hint of embarrassment on his face. The hallway was impressive as well, painted pictures lining the walls and the same wooden floor bringing a warm note into the house while raindrops tapped against the windows insistently.

Eventually the elegantly clad man halted in a big living room of sorts with old armchairs and a sofa to one side and a dining table to the other, a more private room, where he usually didn't receive guests. "Here we are. Where would you like to sit?"

You admired the no doubt expensive table and spotted the vase of cherry blossoms Oswald had instructed to put there. They only made the room more beautiful, empathizing the hopeful feeling in the air. Your gaze swept to multiple armchairs and a sofa with a table next to them. There were more than enough chairs for all of you to find something fitting, each looking comfortable, not to mention the sofa, which was looked soft, inviting you to warm up— Jim chuckled. "The sofa or the chairs, it seems." You chuckled. "That obvious?" "I can understand your expression", Oswald agreed, "The sofa is indeed very comfortable. As are the chairs." He turned away from the table, stepped back to allow Jim a better view, and made a welcoming gesture. "Have a seat wherever you'd like."

Not thinking about it for long, you sat down on one of the upholstered chairs and watched Jim take place on the one next to you. Sitting on a sofa with Jim or Oswald would only distract you from the case. The latter was still standing, looking away when you glanced his way eyeing Jim, who awkwardly folded the towel he had used to rub some of the rain out of his hair.

Oswald turned around to grab a bunch of fabric you hadn't even noticed, being too busy admiring the furniture. "If you're not going to take a shower, at least allow me to give you blankets." With a proud smirk he handed you a patterned one in red, orange and lilac and held a similar one out to Jim who felt the need to look away with all this hospitality Oswald was offering him. "No, thanks." Oswald gave him an impatient look that reminded you detectives of the power he held, especially in his own place. Still, Jim insisted, ever the stubborn person, "I'll warm up in no time." "Take it." Oswald gestured to you. "I don't have any use for this many blankets anyways. He remained standing for two seconds and then got seated in one of the armchairs himself. "Have it your way. The blankets are here." He put them onto the low table in the middle of you.

You wrapped up in the one he had given you and touched the fabric, which was surprisingly comfortable for something vintage, or at least something that you assumed was. "Thank you. The blanket is nice." "I'm glad to hear that. They often help with the cold..." Assuming that he was talking about his leg, he must be using them quite often, you mused. "The-they're washed, of course", the man added hastily and Jim gave your flustered host a trusting nod.

"So," you started, "the person we're looking for is a serial kidnapper who goes by 'The Spring Sword'. They've left their mark — a series of slashes on the ground — in front of multiple clubs where people disappeared, and the only witnesses are the three reporters who first covered the case and five people who want to remain anonymous. It w—"

There was a thunder so loud that you forgot what you were going to say and fidgeted with Oswald's blanket. The man gave you a smile and chimed in with a quick look outside, "And now you need to catch this kidnapper or killer before they drag the next person outside after this weather calms down? The weather reports certainly are on your side: the storm will hopefully have calmed by tomorrow but it's still supposed to rain heavily for the next days, so you should at least have less other crimes to deal with." "Yeah." You hadn't thought about it like this before. It was nice to get this positive outlook.

"How do you have time to keep up with the weather?" Jim blurted out. Oswald's eyes flitted down to this leg for a split second and he contemplated on what to say. The truth would bring him your sympathy but if Jim ever decided to use it against him... "It's your leg, isn't it?" Jim felt stupid for asking. "...Yes. It is. But don't worry, we're at home." Jim nodded and wondered how many times he'd barged into Oswald's club and made him stay there for longer than his leg could take, pushed Oswald against a wall when all he wanted was to sit down.

The two of them were quiet, Jim looking away and Oswald trying to decipher his concentrated look. You rose to speak, "It is a lovely home. Fits your style." "I try my best." So he had decorated a part of it. Then you're not just good at putting looks together. The words were at the forefront of your head but saying them would be too much. If Oswald got closer to you, which he most certainly would if you allowed it, you'd prefer him to get closer to Jim at the same pace. Okay, enough with the yearning. You were a detective.

"So, you've never heard of the 'Spring Sword'?" Oswald raised his index finger. "It didn't ring a bell at first. But..." He grabbed a newspaper from the table, perfectly prepared. "While you drove here, I had some time to freshen up my memory. It didn't actually read it in the news but it reminded me of something an... acquaintance asked me a few days ago." Jim grumbled, "And what was that about?" The gangster didn't let it deter him, "He wanted to know whether I was involved in the kidnappings. Because when his grandmother told him the news, some things didn't match his information." Oswald pointed to the new's article. You leaned forward, fingers brushing with Jim, who'd done the same thing. Both of you retracted your arms and concentrated on what Oswald explained.

"According to the news, faint slashing sounds could be heard from outside all clubs around the time the abductions or killings must've happened. If you ask the regulars though? No one heard a thing, not even from friends." "And you didn't deem it important to investigate?" Jim crossed his arms. "I—no," Oswald tried to defend himself, "well, it wasn't that long ago and at the time not many people had been kidnapped. But I assume there are more victims now?" You nodded. "The Spring Sword is a serial kidnapper or killer now, and the numbers have kept growing. At least until the weather started changing."

All three of you listened to the strong raining sounds from outside, the patter of droplets against the glass windows, and the wind making the trees bow. Turning to Jim, you wondered whether he really wasn't cold. With him being stubborn again, it could take some time until he took another offer from Oswald, and currently his hands were covering his arms pretty suspiciously. If only you could warm him up... Jim noticed your attention and relaxed his arms, now crossing them defensively. No, hugs weren't on the table right now, the newspaper was.

With three people having disappeared so far, the so-called Spring Sword may not seem like a special criminal, but they're a force to be reckoned with, having managed to kidnap, probably kill, multiple people in a busy spot of this city, and possessing more style than your average murderer. Follow our column to stay up to date. We're sure: there's more to come — and it will be thrilling.

"It's oddly sensationalist, isn't it?" you asked, making Oswald lean towards the newspaper and consequently you, who pointed towards the end of the article. Jim came closer too, brushing against both of you, seemingly too focused on the article to care. "Yes", Oswald figured, still waiting for your partner to finish reading. When Jim was done, the kingpin spoke again, "I know how the press can be: one day you're interesting because you're a criminal, the next, they try to appeal to your sense of mercy," Jim sent him a dirty look at that, "but no matter what, they try to make it entertaining. They need to, in Gotham. Everything's so unusual, the readers want to know the articles they're reading won't just all be the same. But—"

Someone knocked on the door. "Mr. Cobblepot, sir, the food plates are ready. Can I bring them in?"

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Author's note: Here you go, the next chapter before December starts ❤️ (most of you will probably see this in December 🤭) There's one more chapter planned, which will probably be published in 1.5-3 months. Keep in mind that I have other projects (not just ones for my blog) and that I always edit my works, before and after publishing them (hopefully before anyone reblogs it 😂). It's astounding how many mistakes I can miss even after reading through something at least ten times, often much more often. Before publishing the second chapter, I found and edited a total of 14 mistakes in the last one! 🤫 With that being said, what did you think of this chapter? 😊

The sky was darker and made you unsure as to whether you'd be able to go home soon. You found yourself pleasantly excited at the prospect. The house was already so comforting and interesting and the people in this room seemed like the perfect companions for a stormy night. Oswald, the gracious host who appeared personally blessed by your visit, and Jim, intent on bringing you home in time and with an unusual air of carefreeness about him today.

After taking his first bite, Jim let out a happy sigh. "Wow, some of these were in the oven?" He ate another bite of the mini sandwich. Oswald grinned. "Only the best for my guests." He tried some as well, deciding to eat something before continuing with the talk about murder.

Instead, he cherished the presence of other people during dinner, the sounds of eating with the occasional hum of contentment. Looking at the two detectives, by now cozied up, he felt a satisfaction he hadn't realized he'd needed. Finally he had you close for more than just discussing a case and not just that but providing shelter and food for you, allowing you to catch a break from work. While the bite-sized vegetable stack between his finger reminded him that being inside hadn't shielded him from the cold, the fact that you obviously felt comfortable managed to warm him up.

Yet what would happen if the storm stopped? Would you drive home and forget about everything? Who was he kidding, Jim might never think of his hospitality again. If Oswald was lucky, the detective would lose his good mood and in the future merely throw him a bunch of dirty looks, instead of the pushes he'd received before.

A thunder brought him back to the more probable scenario: you'd be forced to sleep here. Just in case, he'd already had a few of the guest beds prepared, so that shouldn't be a problem. You'd most likely sleep in his house, wake up at his place! He almost hid a wide smile behind a napkin but then realized that you might not like sleeping in a different place. The current view however, promised a different thing: you were at ease, enjoying the warming blankets, seats and the food. Whatever the future would bring, he could be proud of this evening.

Jim didn't want to compliment the delicious food lest Oswald think they were good friends now. Oswald hadn't prepared it himself anyways. Or well, maybe that was a reason to give the compliment: it had likely been prepared by an innocent chef. Their payment, on the other hand... He gazed to you, who was sometimes more friendly to Oswald than he could imagine ever being.

The weather had left its cold on you, making you want to cuddle up. The lovely interior only encouraged you to do so, contrary to your reason for being here, the serial murderer case. You touched your blanket and looked around. Oswald was enjoying the food too and Jim—he was looking at you and smiled when your eyes met his. He was here too and you'd hung out together before, which was one of the reasons why you were currently comfortable now. You pulled the blanket up and adjusted your seating position. Hach, it was really cozy.

Maybe you should ask Oswald what he'd meant to say about the case, but the woman would come back with beverages and the atmosphere seemed far too special to rush a discussion that might as well take all night with how it was rumbling outside.

"Are you warm enough?" Oswald looked you over, genuine concern etched into his features. "I could lend you something if you wanted to change. There's—there are some spare clothes that might fit you." Oh, you could guess what he meant: some people had been killed, maybe just defeated, but their clothes...

Jim coughed. "Is that so?" Crap, he shouldn't have asked! Everything was going so well until now. Quick: find some excuse. Oswald's explanation got caught in his throat, "Wh—what are you asking, Jim?" After a moment of hesitation, Jim raised his brows but playfully, teasing. "Why would you have spare clothes in different sizes in here? Is there some lover you'd like to introduce to us?" Oswald's mouth hung open. "Lover? What? No." He caught Jim's smirk and quickly adjusted his tone, now similarly kittenish. "At least not to the GCPD'S knowledge." He kept looking at Jim, afraid to also pull you into what he hoped wasn't amateurish flirting but at least came across as harmless banter. "You'd have to get a warrant I'm afraid." Jim laughed and you did so too.

You joined the conversation, "So no lovers then? Come on, we're the trustworthy kinda cops," you gently pushed Jim's side, "we would never blackmail you."

"You—well, uh—certainly, I know I can trust you." In truth Oswald had wondered whether he could trust you: Jim obviously half tolerated him because he needed his help to fight crime and half thanks to you. Still, some of the times Jim had actually been nice instead of indifferent, he'd eventually tried to pull away. Today though, today Jim seemed genuinely interested in him as a person...

"I do not have a partner or lover, no." At the moment he wished he had a glass to take a sip from. "As you surely know, it can be difficult to maintain any type of relationship in my line of work. But, I'm glad to know you two." He brushed a crumb from his suit. "What about you, detectives?" Okay, he could try flirting. If Jim had done it, he could do it too. "I'm sure two people as attractive as you—"

"Mr. Cobblepot, may I come in with the tea?"

Really, now?! Oswald answered in a somewhat clipped tone, "Yes, yes, come in." It was only once she put everything down that he realized with embarrassment that he could've told her to wait. Or just ended his sentence and then allowed her entrance. But obviously he was utterly inexperienced, sitting frozen in place while hot water was poured into tea cups.

"Do you need anything else?" You turned to Oswald, who quickly cleared his throat. "Not unless our guests need something?" "I'm good", you addressed Oswald. Jim nodded and tried to make it appear a bit like a compliment maybe, like he was saying Oswald was a good host. Judging by the man's look however (suddenly paler than usual), Oswald only interpreted it as a show of pity.

You shook your head ibternally. He'd been nothing but nice so far. And gracious and sweet and handsome.

Finding himself at a loss for words, Oswald grabbed one of the mugs and took a sip. Ouch. It was way too hot. How could it take so long for her to serve it, and still be hot? It didn't matter. He wouldn't seem any more out of control today.

You felt the need to assure Oswald he hadn't made a fool of himself but on the other seat, Jim's cheeks had gone pink, his head turned down to the blanket instead of Oswald, who he could no longer bear to observe.

"We're single," you stated, "and I for one don't wanna date some random person I never met." Oswald nodded. "I see." He tried to find something else to say, to not let the conversation die, and demonstrate how normal he could be. "If you ever need someone to do a background check..." Oswald gestured to himself. "You know where to find me." As soon as he'd uttered the words, he realized how foolish the promise was. He wanted to spend time with you, not help some stranger get to know you, goddamnit.

Jim let his gaze trail from the blanket towards Oswald. Not his face but his fingers, clinging to the handle in a strong grip. Like the kingpin he was, he wouldn't let go of the things he owned an instead reach for more things to acquire, until he had more terretories than all the mob bosses before him together.

The work Jim and Harvey and you had put into making Gotham a less corrupt place would have been for nothing: you'd need Oswald's help more than ever but the man would no longer be the umbrella boy Jim had saved, have no time for favors that would likely harm one of his businesses.

To keep believing he was as good of a man as he tried to be, Jim might decline whatever invitations or proposals the mob boss had for him, and in time Oswald would grow tired of it, maybe even bored. He'd turn to someone else and God, Jim hoped it wouldn't be you, that he could pull you away from this world and maybe Oswald would forgive you, knowing that it was all Jim's fault.

But what would happen once you and he no longer meant whatever it was you meant to Oswald? He'd seen what could happen to Harvey, who was Fish's lover on occasion, who got hung up by his feet nonetheless, just for trying to protect his friend who'd investigated something tied to her.

If something like that ever happened to you... Jim shuddered, only a part of it still been due to the rain. It was still insistent, hitting the house as if to remind him that he was trapped in here. With you. Jim didn't expect Oswald to harm you — if he did, he wouldn't have brought you with him but instead just left you at the door like he did with Harvey — yet he couldn't forget how quickly allies could turn enemies, friends to foes. He couldn't forget who Oswald was. A ruthless killer, crime boss. The Penguin.

His nails dug into the blanket. Normally, he would've stormed out by now, ignoring the disturbing truth. Unable to that, he got up and went over to a window. The storm couldn't last that long.

He was wrong: the trees were bending at dangerous angles, the wind strong enough that he was sure he wouldn't get five steps before having to go back or seek shelter. At least the Spring Sword couldn't drag anyone away from a club for the rest of the day and probably night. No one would go out in this weather.

Oswald raised his voice, "Don't worry, my offer still stands. You can stay here, for however long the weather decides to make trouble." Jim turned around. Oswald was fidgeting with his mug, palms pressed to the tea that wasn't as hot as before. His green-blue eyes quickly looked to the window. He only wanted to help. At least right now. And he was still embarrassed about his interrupted attempt of flirting. Jim felt kinda bad for him. The flirting was something Oswald shouldn't feel bad for. Not at all.

Thunder roared and invigorated Jim's want for justice. He strode back to his place. "Tell us, Oswald, is it standard for Gotham party guests to ignore a kidnapping taking place?" he asked accusatorily. "Or was the time you were beating someone behind Fish's club just a rare occurrence? The look he got in return made you press your lips together. Poor Oswald looked as if Jim had poured a bucket of cold rain over him, eyes all wide while his shoulders were raised high. "Jim, I—No, i-it isn't. Not in my clubs and as far as I know not in a lot of others." "That so?" "Yes. It's bad for business. If clients go missing, it discourages others from visiting the place and goodness, Jim, no one wants the police sticking their noses int—" Just then he realized what he was saying. "I-I mean..."

You deemed this a good time to intervene, thinking about your words carefully before saying, "I was wondering the same thing: it's a busy area and not just one but three people disappeared." Glancing at Jim, you were relieved to see his previously hostile posture had eased. He was invested in the case for now.

"Then the whole thing with the sword. Even if this was a gang's deed and people ignored it, the slashes would've at least gained the attention of some regulars. What did you say again, Oswald, before the food was brought to us?"

He needed a moment to remember; the first thing that came to mind was his interrupted attempt at flirting.

"Three people is not a huge number of people to disappear in Gotham, and frankly way below what the article about this case said it was, especially with them being seemingly random citizens." Jim agreed. "This could've been personal revenge or a mugging that happened after they left the party if it weren't for the slashing noise. But none of the regulars that were inside or outside heard it, for all we know it could've been a hallucination."

Feeling more comfortable with this subject, he relaxed and spoke with more confidence, "If you ask me, it's suspicious that the Spring Sword continued after the journalists promised to keep everyone up to date. If this is a gang's doing, someone would've noticed by the article. What I'm also wondering is...why would they name the criminal 'Spring Sword' when they claim there'll be a lot more to come? How would they know? Sure, the kidnappings or murders started in spring but it seems a bit unnecessary."

Jim straightened up. Oswald was right. "So what do you think explains this?" "I think the journalists may have made the story up." "No way," you shook your head, "we visited their families and friends. The victims really disappeared and they'd never do that to their loved ones on purpose."

"Hm." Oswald frowned. "In that case, it might've even been a bigger organization. Perhaps they pressured the journalists into making up the story about the Spring Sword. Or, if the person exists, I guess they could've positioned some of their people at the clubs so regulars and normal visitors wouldn't be there. In any case, 'll have my people look into it."

You nodded thankfully and raised your mug to your lips to warm yourself up some more. Maybe you were getting a bit tired. The tea was nice, neither bitter nor to sweet, and different enough from the standard flavors that it made you hum in approval.

Oswald spoke up again, "In fact, I could call some people right away. Would you like to take a shower in the meantime?"

You looked to your partner and followed his gaze to the window, which gave you a look at the clamouring nature. Jim swallowed. "What if we miss our time frame to go home?" "Home? Today?" Oswald chuckled. "I'm afraid you wouldn't get very far." Your friend's jaw clenched and he tried to hide his anxiousness with a tight-lipped smile but you knew him and apparently so did Oswald, "Of course you are free to wait and see. I however should probably do the calls in privacy and soon, so I don't disturb anyone's dinner."

The idea of a warm shower was very tempting to you and staying the night afterwards seemed like a good ending for this day. "I wouldn't mind staying here for a night, Jim. If the wind calms down and we leave, who knows how longer we'll be safe until it starts again?"

Jim took in your posture and gestures. You didn't seem too cold but that was the thing, wasn't it, that if you went outside, you'd get cold and have to warm up before going to bed. He didn't want to be the reason you were tired the next day you try to solve a case.

"Yeah. Okay. Let's wait and see. If the weather gets a lot better, we can try again and if not, we sleep here. That sound good?" "Yes." Oswald stood up. "The guest shower rooms should have everything you might need. If you want to, I'll see to it that you have fresh nightclothes." He eyed Jim, sure that he'd decline to offer, but he was surprised when he said, "Good, then we could wash our own clothes. Do you have a drying mashine?" "Pfft, who do you take me for? Of course I do. Your clothes could be done by tomorrow morning." Jim raised his brows. "And you're sure they're not from dead people?" "Really?" Oswald sighed. "No, Jim, they're unused. Falcone hosted a lot of people in his time and he had many a guest sleep in his house. I intend to continue his hospitality. With my own, new clothes. Now, if you'd follow me."

Letting Oswald lead the way through the house, you began to realize how big it was. There was a room filled with with bath towels, bathrobes and dressing gowns of different shapes and colors, slippers, classic black underwear and whatnot. Oswald waited patiently for you to pick out what you wanted, and shut the door behind you.

Jim had chosen a bath towel because if Oswald was calling his contacts in a separate room and you wanted to shower, he might as well have a shower too. "Here we are." Jim gestured for you to go first and then let himself be lead to the room he'd be using.

You closed the door behind yourself and hung up the things you'd gathered. The room wasn't heated as strongly as the other one but luckily there was a rug.

Soon warming water ran down your body as you opened a shower gel that had been in the room. It was obviously not whatever Oswald used —why would it be if possible competitors, perhaps even enemies, might stay here and use it for things like training sniffer dogs with it — but the scent was comforting nonetheless.

Everything had been comforting so far, from Oswald's willingness to host you to the food, beverages, blankets. Even the flower twigs in his home had shown you that he cared for decorations, little things to brighten the day.

The shower curtain too had a floral pattern, you noticed, wondering whether it was picked to fit the season or if it just happened to fit Oswald's taste or was completely random. He obviously had some choice over interior design and seemed to put actual thought into it. It intrigued you, that such a feared person had a liking for odd patterns and delicate flowers, that he took the time to admire freshly cut twigs when the weather forced him to stay at home.

Despite the many life or death situations he was no doubt used to, these things still held importance to him. And with the way he had treated Jim and you, apparently so did you.