People were rushing to and fro to his left and right. So much for a peaceful season full of contemplation and slowing down for the holidays. Still, it was merely a Christmas skit for Gotham’s big Christmas fundraiser. Why he had to be here to keep an eye on proceedings, Jim had no idea. Logically he knew that he was here because he lost a game of Rock Paper Scissors against Harvey but why police presence was needed at all during a charity event eluded him. As if the criminals of Gotham were only waiting to crash a fundraiser instead of breaking and entering the vacant houses of the rich people present at the town hall. Terrorist attacks during the elementary school choir’s performance. Of course it also couldn’t be any officer in plain clothes but it had to be a detective. The police making an appearance during social events to win favours or something.

Now that he was already here he could at least look around and snatch some of the backstage snacks laid out for the actors and other participants who came from costume and makeup completely famished. They were simple but more to Jim’s taste than the ridiculous hors d’oeuvre usually served at such events. Slowly the backstage area emptied as the next group went on stage. He sneakily inched towards the snack table. Somewhere behind a partition someone was rummaging around.

“Has someone per chance seen my wings?”

“What?” Jim turned around to find an annoyed Cobblepot coming around the partition. Apparently criminals had found their way into this fundraiser event after all.

The man stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Jim standing there with a sandwich halfway to his mouth. He did not exactly look dressed for villainous success. Frankly, he looked downright ridiculous. Cobblepot was draped in what looked like a black sheet with purple ornaments held tight at the waist with some kind of cummerbund and a vest on top. Apparently he was aware of his less than sleek get up as well if the way he tried to cover as much as possible of his outfit by crossing his arms over his chest was any indication.

“Hello Detective Gordon.”

“Uh, did you say something back before?” Jim asked. He could not stop staring at the outfit disaster.

Cobblepot’s expression switched from embarrassed to judging due to Jim’s lack of a civil reply.

“There is no need to stare, Detective. I assure you this is the better option. Originally they wanted to dress me in a white gown,” he simply answered. “I was convinced that it would make a good impression on people if I took a small role in one of the plays last minute. And I need all the support I can get.”

Jim nodded: “Of course. And…especially the purple fur trimming is a nice touch.” (Cobblepot rolled his eyes) “Seems like you and me are here for the same reasons. I was sent to represent the GCPD.”

Had he said wings? God, whoever cast Cobblepot as an angel must have lost his mind. At least he was small, polite to some degree, had a charming if slightly maniac smile, and could enact some serious wrath Jim supposed.

At his words the other man looked relieved. In Cobblepot’s mind they were probably in the same boat now. They were often in the same boat to be honest, what with their little deal and regular cooperation. And if Jim wanted to be even more honest, Christmas being the time of contemplation and all, his partner in crime often tried too hard to be inviting but was ultimately engaging and pleasant company with a ready smile for him. That he was always dressed to the nines (if insanely flamboyant) and graceful did not hurt their meetups in the least either.

“Then, Jim, if you’re here on business you could look for my wings. I’m not sure that my appearance as a heavenly herald” (at this he raised his eyebrows) “without a pair of wings has the same flair. I’ll look over there and you could check here?”

Jim. The Christmas spirit must have struck Cobblepot as well it seemed. Jim just nodded and turned around to look in the area behind the food and drinks table. A lot of props were scattered around. And there, on a stool, lay a pair of wings. They were the kind you would wear like a backpack and would find in a cheap costume store with wide white rubber bands. Someone had gone to great pains to spray paint the top of the wings with silver glitter as well. While he was not the kind of guy who ever wondered or even realized whether some piece of clothing would clash with another he would need to be blind not to see that the wings will look terrible on the flashy black and purple robe. The white gown may have been an insult on Cobblepot but he wondered who had come up with the alternate design which also didn’t seem to go terribly well with, well, anything.

Jim steered his steps back to the middle of the room.

“I have found them,” he called out.

Cobblepot returned with a “Good” and took the wings from him. He then struggled rather unsuccessfully with them.

“Let me,” Jim said and took them back, holding the bands like one would hold a coat for someone to slip their arms into the sleeves.

Cobblepot hesitated for a moment before he put one arm through one loop and then the other. Jim adjusted the wings. He had been right, the whole ensemble looked awful but at least someone had bothered to fit the wing’s straps to his narrow shoulders so they wouldn’t constantly slip down. The man turned around to face him and for a moment Jim’s breath caught.

Oswald was slightly odd-looking and plenty beautiful just like his mother had been with her large startled eyes. He was aware that he was staring and busied himself by also adjusting the straps in the front. The silence became pronounced so Jim decided to just cut his losses. “Done. You’re good to go, Oswald,” was the only thing he could come up with though.

Oswald’s eyes snapped up and God, Jim still had his hands resting on his labels. At least he wasn’t awkwardly gripping his shoulders or pressing them against his chest but still. Any moment Jim will remove his hands, stick them in his pockets and take one or three steps back. Any moment. The moment just…hadn’t come yet. And now Oswald started to smile in his nervous, unsure way covered up by bravado that he seemed so often to sport in Jim’s company when they did not talk shop. He was lovely, questionable nightmare-coloured toga, cheap wings and all, and Jim had to lean in. This was ridiculous, he was ridiculous. Still, he leaned in further.

Really, it was just common sense that they would hear steps any second and draw apart. Except that no one was stumbling in to conveniently break them up or get an eyeful to report to the newspaper. All these romantic descriptions of breath mingling were a disappointment, too, as Oswald apparently had stopped breathing altogether. He just stared at him which was kind of unsettling so Jim closed his own eyes, hoping he would catch the hint. Oswald’s hands came up to settle on his shoulder blades and he took this as a sign to lean down just this bit further. When his lower lip touched Oswald’s lips lightly he stopped short, savouring the pinpoint contact in a very public backstage area of a corny Christmas fundraiser event. Captain Barnes was there, Bruce was there, Selina had probably sneaked in in a dazzling dress. Whatever. This had gotten too important too long ago. Just when he wanted to move his lips and end this anticipation in the air the long expected steps came towards the back room. Jim reared back with his lips burning from the barely there touch. Moments ago he would have been happy to have a stranger dissuade the weird atmosphere but now he was dissatisfied in the most literal sense.

It was frustrating to see how fast Oswald was able to collect himself and move in the direction of the stage. He turned his head around to address Jim.

“I’ll see you later on stage.”