Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

Sleepover

 After a long day of answering phone calls, filling out paperwork, and occasionally going out on patrol, I meet Ed at the precinct entrance. He holds out a small ring of keys, "Did I mention I've recently procured a car?"

He points his keys toward a small, boxy light green car.

I smile, "Awe, Ed, that's great. It looks kinda low though...can you fit inside?"

"When I hunch, yes. But that means it's the perfect size for you," he walks over and unlocks the car door.

I step in first, maneuvering my way over the shift stick to get into the front passenger seat. He gets into the driver's seat, a good portion of his back stooped over, his spine poking the roof.

"How can you afford gas for this thing?" I ask, clicking on my seatbelt as Ed starts up the car.

"I only take it out on special occasions, like today. I went and retrieved the car during my lunch break," he explains, as the car sputters to life.

We drive off, the nearly empty Gotham streets giving Ed no reason to pause as we take a leisurely ride home.

"Wow, I don't get to ride in a car much these days. Not with the oil embargo," I observe, looking out the window at the rows of idle cars parked on both sides of the street.

"These things will come to pass," Ed encourages, "in the meantime, we'll drive slow, save gas, and enjoy the ride."

I smile, turning my head over to Ed. He's so optimistic, it's hard not to admire that. I sigh, if only...

    Ed's apartment is built in the same style as my own, with aging wooden walls and floors. His furniture is sparse, with a single couch chair, ten inch television, a wooden desk, and a ratty rug taking up a small corner of the apartment that could be considered his "living room". There's a rickety table near the kitchen, with a single chair sitting on one end. A door stands to the side of the kitchen, left open just enough to see the beginnings of a bedroom.

"I...know it isn't much. Forensic work pays fairly well but, I am still paying off student loans," Ed explains, a hint of embarrassment in his tone.

I smile, "Don't worry Ed, I wasn't expecting a mansion. This place is fine, it looks...pretty much like my place just...less furniture."

"Oh, I know, you've always had good taste in interior design," he grins.

"Not really, I just get ideas from magazines and advertisements," I chuckle.

Ed shuffles his way into the bedroom, while I take a look around the living room. While the couch chair appears practically untouched, the desk is cluttered with all manner of papers, pens, pencils, and books. Peeking out of the mess, I pull out a framed photo of me and Ed at our high school graduation, the black-and-white photo now beginning to brown with age. The picture next to it is a picture of Ed by himself at his college graduation. It's strange, that the two pictures he has on his desk are of academic achievements, and yet none of them include a very important person...

"Hey Ed, do you still see your father?" I ask, leaning my head to peek through the open door.

There's a slight pause from the other side, "That bastard can rot in a hole for all I care."

I sigh, "So I take it...no?"

Ed exits his bedroom, "Unfortunately, I have no sleeping bags in which to hibernate with. Would sleeping in the bed suffice?"

"Ed, he's your father, you should at least call him every-wait...did you say sleep in the bed?"

He gives a short, controlled nod, "Yes, my bed is large enough to fit your small form and myself."