Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

Somewhere Safe

It's dawn by the time I reach my apartment. Getting past the guards took forever, and calling V at two in the morning for instructions on how to hotwire the Batmobile (Batwoman had the key) took even longer.

After changing out of my costume, I flop onto my bed, absolutely exhausted. A part of me wants to call in sick, but I have to go to work to warn Gordon. I'm just going to get as much sleep as I can before...I have to...go to work...

Oswald creeps into Trixie's apartment. When he'd returned from his visit to Don Falcone's mansion, he'd noticed that she'd disappeared. He was tempted to simply sleep in her bed, but, well, he himself was quite tied up last night, and didn't return home until late.

Something's wrong, the usual stirrings of her morning activities have not yet begun. She's usually started getting ready for work by now, is she ill? Dead? Ill to the point of death?

Gripping his hand around the door handle, he opens the door to her bedroom. There she is, lying in bed. The sheets are still freshly made from the previous night, and she lies atop them, not even bothering to tuck herself in.

Oswald swings the door back, leaving it slightly ajar. He roams around the bed, his finger tracing the edge. Getting down on his knees, he meets her face-to-face. She's so vulnerable when she's asleep, if only she could always be like this.

A strong morning wind blows through the apartment, slamming the door shut. Oswald leaps back, his eyes darting to Trixie. Would she wake?

Without even a stir, she remains completely asleep. Wow...whatever she was out doing last night must have wiped her out. Did she go out partying? Did she see other men? ...no, Trixie isn't the type.

He looks down and finds that her Trickstress costume has been haphazardly stuffed into the folds of the mattress. Ah...so that's what she's been up to. Can't have anyone noticing this.

Oswald stuffs the remainder of her costume into the mattress before standing. Perhaps he should surprise her, prepare her breakfast, or maybe do some cleaning. Hmph...no, he's never been good at those things, and her pot is still burned from the time he tried making her soup...

He rounds the bed to the other side, her bed is large enough for two, and she prefers to sleep on one particular side anyway. Taking off his pointed black shoes, he sits down on her bed before hoisting his feet up. He turns to Trixie, who'd at least bothered to change into her sleepwear of a tank top and shorts. Doesn't she know that winter's coming? Gotham gets terribly cold in the winter months, she could freeze to death.

From out under her, he begins undoing the sheet covers and pulling them out. Once he has it entirely out, he covers her with the sheets, also wrapping himself in its folds.

Scooching closer to her, Oswald lays a hand on her shoulder, "Trixie...what am I going to do with you?" he asks aloud.

She doesn't respond, instead lies completely still, her head turned away from him.

"You think you understand how I feel...but you don't. You have no idea how much I...how much I love you," his hand glides down her arm, and stops with him taking her hand.

"And yet...you'll never know this, you never could know. Unless and until I can truly trust you, you'll never know how I feel about you. And I can't trust you, can I? Not now, nor ever."

He takes his other hand and brushes her hair, "I...I should kill you, shouldn't I? Because...because there are times when you make me feel so weak and helpless and I...!"

He stops, realizing he's squeezing her hand in his. Loosening his grip, he toys with her fingers, examining each one with care.

"...at the same time...if I were to end you, that wouldn't end my sorrow, would it? No, I will always be left wanting, damned if I do, damned if I don't. But...is it you that I desire, or simply what you provide? Do I love you because you're the only one who's come close to giving me what I've always wanted?"