Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

Indifference

   I return to my apartment already changed back into my normal clothes. I hide my costume in my suitcase and rush to the living room when I smell something burning. Upon opening the door, my vision is clouded by gray smoke. Fanning it out of the way, I slowly step toward the kitchen, where Oswald is frantically jumping in between two pots, trying to keep the both of them under control.

“Oswald, what are you doing?!” I cry.

He whips around, “Oh, oh hello Natalie. I...I got home early from work, and thought that you might be...pleasantly surprised by some cooked cuisine. But, well...as you can see-”

I push him out of the way and turn off the stove on both the pots. Using an oven mitten, I pop the oven open and cough as a wave of smoke comes out. In a tin foil tray, a burnt, shriveled chicken sits surrounded by a blackish dust.

“Oh Oswald…” I turn around to an embarrassed Oswald, who’s stuck his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket and his nose digs into his shirt as he bows his head down.

Removing the chicken from the oven, I set it to the side and open up the pots. What appears to be vegetable soup overflows from one of them, and a congealed, gravy-like sauce bubbles from the other.

“Well, maybe we can salvage the soup…” I conclude, tossing the gravy pot in the sink.

Oswald stutters, “I, I sincerely apologize...I was just...I...I-”

“Forget it,” I mumble, “you tried.”

Pouring the soup into two bowls, I set the table, and Oswald and I sit on either side.

“Raoul Morgan no longer works at the club, correct?” he asks.

I nod my head, “Yeah, he’s now the janitor over at the Royal Flush Casino. I think he’s doing information gathering for Amanda there, since it’s essentially a pleasure palace for Don Falcone and his right hand men.”

Oswald’s eyes become glassy as his mind wanders, “Yes...good…”

I try the soup, and then try even harder to not spit it out immediately. What is in this? He better not have slipped something into it.

“Do you think Raoul would comply if I asked him for a favor?” he continues, quietly sipping his soup as if it were completely normal.

I shrug, “Yeah, of course. He’s been terrified of you ever since you beat him with the bat.”

He looks over and realizes I haven’t touched my soup in a while, “You...you don’t like the soup?”

“Uhm...I’m...I’m just not familiar with the taste. What is it, exactly?”

“Seafood chowder, I tried making it how Mom makes it, but it certainly isn’t the same. Perhaps it needs some salt-”

“No!” I cry frantically, startling Oswald. He slumps in his chair, bowing his head in shame and embarrassment.

I twist my lips, before getting out of my seat and crossing toward him. Rustling my hand through his hair, he tilts his head up.

“Oswald, you don’t need to impress me, you do that well enough on your own,” I tell him.

He reaches up and kisses me on the lips. I slide down to meet him, leaning my body forward into his. I straddle myself onto his lap, and he grabs me by my knees to hold me up. I let go, as Oswald’s hands move up to my waist.

“Oswald, Major Crimes thinks that Detective Gordon killed you,” I inform him.

He rolls his eyes, “C’mon Trixie, do we really have to talk business now? I just wanna…” his voice trails off as he perks his head up and starts licking my neck. I wrap my arms under his, pushing his chest into mine.