Of no use to one
Yet absolute bliss to two.
The small boy gets it for nothing.
The young man has to lie for it.
The old man has to buy it.
The baby's right,
The lover's privilege,
The hypocrite's mask.

What am I?

?

The first time Oswald Cobblepot finds himself wanting to kiss Edward Nygma it means very little.

He has known this strange, mayfly man for such a short time in the grand scheme of things. And yet, with barely a few days of care and a rattle of whispered words aimed with the precision of a sniper rifle, he has changed the course of Oswald's life.

Ed had wrenched him firmly from the brink of death and then unapologetically thrust him back into the land of the living.

For men like you and I, love will always be our most crippling weakness.

Words weighted with the same power as an umbrella in Fish Mooney's hands or a knife in Tabitha Galavan's, yet infinitely more delicate.

Oswald rests his head against the cool bars of the precinct cell, closing his eyes. Funny, how quickly things can change in Gotham.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Somehow, even now, exhausted and filthy and finished, Ed manages to make him smile. Each murmured consonant is low and clipped yet the degree of intensity beneath the words is startling.

You're standing too close.

Oswald only has to tilt his head to see the place he and Ed had first met, barely a few feet away. So much has changed since those fledgling moments. He could almost question whether that naïve GCPD surgeon and the murderer who pulled him from the forest are the same man. And yet…

Did you know that emperor penguins keep their eggs warm by balancing them on their feet?

Even then, at the beginning of this, Ed had challenged him, pushed back with what Oswald had initially assumed to be fearless stupidity. Now, after everything, stupidity isn't a word he would quickly associate with Edward. Reckless, yes. Gambler. Addict. But never stupid. Between that first meeting and now, Ed has learnt the stakes of the game and knows when he has a winning hand.

Just as Oswald knows when he must fold.

"I'm beyond help. Forget me, my friend." Oswald swallows, mouth dry as a sudden thought strikes him. "But… If you could take care of my mother's grave-"

He knows that asking this man he barely knows (who has drugged him no less) is a risk. Yet somehow, he feels secure in his request. Ed has seen his grief first hand, witnessed the Penguin utterly crippled - he already knows where to twist the knife if he should so wish. Oswald has nothing left to lose but the idea of his mother's grave unattended for weeks, months...

"-I would be very grateful." Oswald licks his lips, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "If you can visit occasionally, tell her I'm thinking of her…"

He cannot find the words to finish his request and he wonders that his pride is really so ruined that he can barely bite back a pitiful please-

"I will."

Those two quiet words force a rush of held breath from Oswald's lips. He smiles but the lines of his face feel tight, like cellophane stretched over skin. "She likes lilies."

"Occasional visits, lilies, check."

I could kiss you.

The utterly unexpected words almost trip from his lips, spilling out from the gratitude sticky in his chest. He catches them just in time, thank all that is holy, but it makes him pause.

Oswald can't deny that there have been a few fleeting moments stolen over the last few days when he has felt Ed's eyes on him. When the air had seemed to tremble with something not fully formed, not quite finished but tangible all the same. When Oswald had held a knife against paper-thin skin, when they had ended the miserable life of Mr Leonard, not quite knowing who had dealt the final blow, when Oswald had first put on a suit and saved Jim Gordon, triumphant.

When, in the deep dead of night, Ed had thought Oswald was asleep.

Edward's eyes were always there in the dark. Watching.

Oswald inhales a watery breath, and the world swims around him. Enough of that.

"Thank you."

He has tasted friendship these last few days and, if he is entirely honest with himself, it has been intoxicating. Those beautiful bursts of nectar on his tongue, of carefree laughter and each dazzling smile Edward has pulled from him - Oswald is so grateful. No matter what the future may hold he is determined to fight for this friendship, be it Jim's or Ed's.

See what your death has brought me, mother. A true friend. Even now you watch over me.

The rustle of keys breaks Oswald from his reverie. "Alright Cobblepot, time to go. Arkham's calling."

The guard must see the shock on his face which he doesn't quite catch in time. "You are insane, right?"

Large, sweaty hands manoeuvre Oswald out of the cell, roughly pushing him up the stairs. He barely resists the urge to look back over his shoulder and meet those dark irises one last time.

Yet, something in him knows that if he does so he will freeze, crystallise into a pillar of salt and give the game away. So, he resists.

He feels Ed's eyes on him all the same.

I haven't written anything other than University essays in a very long time, so apologies if this feels a tad rusty.

Ever since the end of Gotham I've desperately wanted to write something as a personal send off to Oswald and Edward's beautiful relationship, staying as true to the beats established in canon with a bit of filling in the blanks. This story seems to be it. Each chapter is complete, bar the final one, and sits at around 20,000 words - I promise each entry gets progressively longer, deeper and just more.

So, entirely too late, I present my love letter to Oswald and Ed. I hope you and your families are well and that this provides a little distraction from the chaos around us. Enjoy this trip down memory lane, and a little exploration of one of many futures which may be in store for the Penguin and the Riddler...