#buy a cane and also one of those toy cars that you pull back and then they zoom

[mothmothwoth]

one of these days I will cave and buy myself a walking stick/ cane of some sort

[lisinfleur]

Sometimes it is in you

The request:

Author’s Notes | I loved this request, but I also want to warn the readers my intention with this fic is nothing but provide entertainment. I’m not telling people with disabilities should… no. Just stop here. Sometimes it is in you indeed the power to change the view of the things around you, but it doesn’t diminish the things the people with special needs suffer every day, from the prejudice to the difficulties and barriers someone with special needs has to face all the time. So, please, keep in mind it’s just a poetic and philosophical concept, not any kind of ableist contradiction ok? Universe | Vikings Pairing | No pair Info | Modern Age AU, requested by anon for 5CW7 Words | 2688 ⁑ Warnings: Some cursing.          

The Mall.

If there is a place that Ivar detests the most is the Mall.

With so many people screaming around that place should be called "the ninth circle of hell"! However, somehow, Ivar wasn't on a bad day and he decided he could take a walk at that place to finally exchange some shirts he earned in the last family party he was avoiding going to the store to exchange for a bigger size.

A big mistake, he thought, almost immediately after crossing the doors of that place. It was full - for a reason he couldn't understand. Something about kids' stuff on the food court. Something about a clown. Ivar's ears caught pieces of what the kids were screaming around, but even then, he tried to keep the good humor... The kids were just happy, right?

When something started pulling his trousers down, Ivar was caught surprised by the sight of a little boy. For a second, he thought the little child pulling his trousers was in need of some help. Maybe lost... Maybe searching for something like a security guard or his parents... Ivar soothed his heart and looked down at the little one like few times in his life disposed to help a complete stranger at the mall. His mind was really on a good day. But no good mood can last forever, especially when talking about Ivar Ragnarsson.

And his smile vanished from his eyes completely when the expression of that boy changed immediately from a smile to a scared frown as soon as the child looked back at his smiling face...

The little one's eyes looking from his cane to the braces in his legs and then, back to him, scared... Of course.

Ivar's smile became a disgusted giggle. What was he thinking? To go to that place was a huge mistake. It always was! Why would it change today? People just didn't know not looking at him all the time as if he was some kind of stupid attraction to be observed, watched, commented. He was sick of muttering and scared faces like the one printed on that boy's expression...

Ivar's face frowned, and his tone sounded harsh.

"What? Didn't you ever see a cripple man in your life? Get the hell outta my way and stop looking at me like a damn spooky ghost, boy!" he said, seeing the child's eyes filling with tears as the young boy crawled back some steps, before trying to get up, being suddenly helped by a woman that picked him up to her arms, looking at Ivar with a frowned angry face, just like his.

"You don't need to be so harsh. It's just a child!" she spat, causing Ivar to roll his eyes.

Of course...

Fuck the fact that it was her damn boy pulling his trousers and ruining his mood by treating him like a spooky monster. No... It was his fault not being a damn smiley idiot all the time, right?

"Try to educate your son not to disturb strangers on the street nor stare at the others and maybe he won't have people being harsh at him around," Ivar answered, facing the woman who looked at him surprised by his angry behavior.

"He thought it was..." she started, but the boy embraced her tighter, sobbing something into her ear that made her take a deep breath, looking at Ivar still angry, but less disposed to fight. "Just for the record, he's not my son, he's my nephew. And life would be easier if you weren't so bitter about a simple misunderstood. Let's go," she said, embracing the boy and giving her back to Ivar that turned himself back at the doors of the mall, decided to never go back into that place.

Fuck the shirts... He could buy new ones in the stores he was used to and donate those that didn't serve him. Anything to never have to be in a crowded Mall once again...

Anything to never have people looking at him as a monster once again... Clenching his heart... Causing him to come home infuriated, throwing his braces and cane carelessly on the ground, furious.

Why couldn't he have a normal walk?

Why couldn't he walk around unnoticed like his brothers? And have a beer at the food court of a mall without anyone looking at his legs, commenting about the stupid braces he had to use over his clothes?

Why couldn't he have a normal life?

The questions of his everyday crisis bitter the rest of that day and Ivar was unable to take that scared boy's face from his mind.

Stupid child...

Stupid braces...

Stupid disease...

Stupid life...

"FUCK!"

He knew very well a good day could be a good day. A bad day could become a whole bad week. And it wasn't different about that one...

First, the mall and that stupid child.

Then, Sigurd and his idiot behavior at the dinner table - OF COURSE, his stupid bardic brother would defend the child and be against him! OF COURSE! What was he expecting?

Then the week started with the actions of his company falling two points percentual at the stock market. Two meetings canceled with important investors...

And now, thanks to that stupid child and his rage outburst of that day, his braces just broke causing him to fall on his office, face to the ground.

Ivar punched the ground, infuriated, hearing when Ubbe and his secretary burst into his office called aback by the sound of his fall.

"Ivar... Brother, are you..."

"Stay away!" Ivar yelled when Ubbe tried to approach, causing the older one to come slower, lowering himself by his side.

"Let me help you, Ivar," he said, calmly.

But Ivar was too angry to notice Ubbe just wanted to help indeed.

"I don't need your damn help! I need fucking new braces, that's what I need. Fucking fragile shit!" he cursed, reaching for his cane and pointing it at the secretary.

"Get me a damn appointment with the fucking physiotherapist!" he yelled, causing the poor girl to cringe.

"Yes, sir..."

"Not the old one!" Ivar yelled louder, causing her to shrink a little more "Find me a gods damn new doctor that won't get me shitty equipment!"

"Y... yes... sir!" she gasped, leaving the room quickly as Ivar was slowly trying to get to his chair, finding the harder way to get up without Ubbe's help.

The older one sighed.

"Are you sure you're..."

"I'm fucking fine, Ubbe! Now get the hell off!"

With another sigh, Ubbe left the office, treating to calm down the poor secretary at his door as her fingers were typing the doctor's number wrongly for the third time due to the shivering.

A few moments and the appointment appeared on Ivar's computer screen.

"Tomorrow, seven in the morning" and the address he had to visit.

Then a second appointment: an orthopedist for the new braces, same place, same time. A professional with multiple specialties. Ivar sighed.

The girl's effectiveness got him calmer. Maybe he could think about increasing her payment with a bonification for handling his angry behavior like that. She was good... And he didn't want to lose the fifth secretary in a year...

"Take the day off," he said when leaving the office with his pace reduced by the broken braces. "Tomorrow you can arrive after my appointments."

She just nodded at him, still scared, but relieved by his satisfied tone.

Slowly, he left the office - there wasn't a reason to remain there. It would be a lost day and he could already feel the pain in his legs from the fall and the strength he was having to apply to keep himself standing with that broken shit.

His butt back home, the old broken braces he finished breaking, just to release some of that terrible energy he had inside. After getting rid of the pieces, Ivar prepared the old and unused wheelchair... That hateful equipment he didn't want to use but would have to make use of, at least for a day.

"Shit," he cursed.

Ivar hated to be sitting on that thing. He hated the whole process of going out and on that thing to use his cars. But even with the fact that he hated to steer that shit, he refused to receive any help from his brothers for that morning and the driver didn't even offer to push his chair towards the door of the doctor's building: the white-haired man worked to Ivar for long enough to know his boss's touchy personality towards that equipment.

With some difficulties, Ivar reached the waiting room where the last thing he thought he would see was what started that whole hurricane in his life: the boy from the mall, happily running through the room.

For a second, Ivar thought his day would be a horrible bitter shit once again, with that stupid child running around, making noises and probably treating him like a monster once again - even more, now that he was sitting on that despicable chair. However, his eyes were surprised by a second presence around that room: the boy wasn't randomly running. He was playing with a man that Ivar couldn't avoid noticing, laughing as the boy was running around with an airplane in his hands.

Ivar's eyes noticed how happy that boy was and for a moment, he remembered how happy that child was at the mall, seconds before pulling his trousers. Ivar sighed and then, that happened...

The man got distracted for a second with his phone ringing. The laughs stopped for a single moment. And the boy ran towards him pulling his trousers just like he had done to Ivar at the mall.

"Daddy! Look!! It's flying higher!!" the boy insisted, showing the airplane that the man gently picked from his hand, pretending the toy was flying even higher now that it was in his taller hands.

The child laughed even louder. But it wasn't that what caught Ivar's attention for that scene: to "fly" around with the toy, that man caught a cane with his other hand, playing with the boy as walking around slowly... Just like him...

Ivar's heart clenched into his chest. He had been so harsh with that child and his anger had destroyed his whole week because of that small incident. And all that boy was doing was confusing him with his father...

Guilt kicked in hardly... But before Ivar could say anything, his name was called and he saw that woman at the door. "Fuck," he thought - she was the doctor...

Embarrassed, Ivar moved his chair towards the door, entering the room before launching one last glare to that boy so innocently ignoring his existence at that room, playing with his father with a beautiful glow in his eyes that had nothing to do with the tears Ivar had caused him to cry that day at the mall.

"He's my brother's son," the woman said, closing the door and taking her seat, not looking straight at Ivar that noticed she was trying to be professional. "My brother lost his legs when he was serving at the war and he has to use that cane to stabilize his balance while using the prostheses. Otto just thought you were his father and ran to tell you the clown had called him to the stage that day. He was too eager to tell his father about what happened. He didn't hear when I told him it wasn't Tom."

Fuck... A thousand times...

If Ivar was feeling guilty, now his guilt became even worse: he thought that "stupid boy" had ruined his mood. But the truth was that he had ruined that boy's wonderful day... "Stupid me..."

"I'm not mad at you," she said, finally raising her eyes towards him. "Neither is he. To be honest, he doesn't even remember about that situation anymore. But I understand..."

Ivar's blues landed on her eyes and he sighed.

"My brother also had judging eyes over him. People muttering around about how strange he was walking when he didn't have the mastery of his prostheses yet. Idiot young people mocking on him in low voices... I know how you feel. I can see in your eyes how bothered you are to be sitting on this chair. But sometimes, people aren't this bad. Sometimes is just a child..." she said, looking at him and Ivar sighed.

"It's hard not to think bad in every situation," he said and she nodded.

"I know. It happens so many times that sometimes we just lost the hope that people aren't acting the worst way they can do," she said, placing her papers over the table and looking at him straight into his eyes. "But if we think like this, we think everything will always be bad. And if everything is bad, then what is the purpose of keep waking up every morning?"

Her words touched him deeply and his eyes became kinda confused as Ivar was absorbing what she was saying.

"I could have refused to receive you when I saw you were the same man that made my nephew cry at the Mall that day. From my place, my perspective, you were the vile one who took his smile. But I chose to give a chance and understand your side. I chose to open and believe you weren't that bad. Don't get me wrong, sometimes you'll realize your instincts were right and it was the worst case. But sometimes you'll see yourself discovering you misunderstood the other side of a situation just as it's happening here. The decision of giving it a chance to be the better option is yours. Sometimes, the power of changing the world around you is within yourself. It's your eyes, Ivar. You choose what side of the world you want to see," she said, extending her hand towards him with a gentle expression completely different from the frowned face he remembered from the mall. "Nice to really meet you, Mr. Ragnarsson. I'm Doctor Y/N Y/L/N."

Ivar accepted her hand, shaking it kinda stunned by her words. And during that section, she simply solved the pain he had at the moment with some simple exercises that relaxed his muscles from the tension provoked by his fall. Without a single doubt, Ivar left her office knowing it was the best and the more complete appointment he had in his life.

When he left, there was the boy, pulling his father's trousers once again, playing with the airplane, happily. A happy smile that became small when he saw Ivar at the chair coming out of his aunt’s room.

A strange feeling formed in Ivar's chest when the happiness vanished from that boy's smile. And he was completely able to notice his own moody temper building sentences and bad thoughts in his mind, judging himself, hurting himself.

Instead of saying anything, Ivar decided to just stop the chair, looking at the boy. And the little one came closer, looking at him.

"Are you hurt like my daddy, sir?" the boy asked, curious.

"Not like him... I was born this way," Ivar said, observing.

All of sudden, the child smiled at him.

"Then don't worry! Aunt Y/N fixed my dad and she'll help to fix you too!"

"Otto, leave the man alone," his father called his attention, but this time, the warmth on Ivar's chest just made him smile at the boy.

"That's some good news, boy," he said, seeing as the little one ran back to his father.

That boy wasn’t saying he was broken… That boy was just trying to find his way to tell him everything would be fine. Ivar just had to choose how he wanted to listen to those words and this time, he chose to listen to the boy’s innocence…

It was a good child. And maybe Y/N was right.

Maybe that power was in him... To change the way he would receive the people’s words. To make things better around himself.

And maybe the world didn't have to be that bad after all...

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[thegreenfairy13]

Dog Sitter - Part 3 Hand Over The Dog Then

A Gobblepot fanfic. When Oswald loses his dog Ed, Jim Gordon finds it and does an excellent job when it comes to taking care of the mobster’s furry friend. Read it on Ao3 here. 

Five days have passed since Oswald’s unfortunate run-in with Jim and he honestly doesn’t expect to hear from the foul-tempered Captain anytime soon. Not after exchanging their latest unpleasantries that is. But here goes Gordon and surprises the gangster. Quite thoroughly.

Oswald spent the last five minutes staring at the inconspicuous box lying on his desk disbelievingly. He’s completely paralyzed. This can’t be happening, but yet it does: Jim Gordon has sent him a present. Well, not him personally but rather Edward.

The point still stands. After years of resentment, anger, rage, vengeance and playing all kinds of games, Jim Gordon has decided to something nice for the very first time. It’s the closest Oswald will ever come to receiving an apology from the impossible man.

The gangster treads carefully through the contents of the parcel: three dog-collars made of surprisingly soft leather, two more coats for Ed, two dog bowls, another doggie basket, and countless toys. Oswald can’t even fathom when and how the busy man had found the time to buy that insane amount of dog accessories. Did Jim just walk into the first store and grabbed anything and everything that struck his fancy?

Picking up one coat, he slides it over Ed’s head, and lo and behold, it fits perfectly. So Jim indeed put some care into his selection. Also, contrary to any prejudice he holds against the cop, all of these items are of immaculate quality. Of course, they aren’t as luxurious as Ed’s usual collection but they are no cheap crap either.

Zsasz saunters into the room and stares at the parcel with blunt curiosity. “Seems like the Captain went slightly overboard,” he states as his long, leather-clad fingers descend into the box. “Wow, is that a velvet frock ?” he asks while digging through the contents, eyes widening at the sight of a little black jacket complete with coattails.

“I’d prefer you wouldn’t go through my personal belongings,” the Penguin snaps, yanking the item impatiently from his minion’s hands.

“Technically, these aren’t yours,” the assassin points out, still itching to get a better look at the coat but knowing better than to test his employer's patience.

“Edward owns these, I own Edward,” Oswald retorts with a little huff while shoving the parcel underneath his desk.

“Well, that’s just the law and I can’t remember we ever cared much about that,” Victor decides, slurping his milk-shake loudly. “I very much assume dogs are able to own things,” Victor carries on, unfazed. “Don’t you think?” he asks. Raising his cup, he takes another sip while studying the mob-boss expectantly.

The Penguin only responds with an annoyed glare. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tries to remember why exactly it’s not an excellent idea to poison those god-awful milkshakes. Besides, he has no idea how he ended up discussing whether dogs are able to own things or not with his hitman. Oswald needs to change the topic.

Getting up from his seat, he pulls a face while tapping his cane impatiently on the floor. “Did you find me another caretaker for Edward yet?” he demands to know, aiming for his usual, imperious nature.

His change in demeanor has the desired effect as Zsasz returns to his professional self. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head. “None of the applicants meet your expectations. Honestly, I’m not even sure first-aid-courses specifically for Bulldogs are even available.”

When the kingpin doesn’t answer, the assassin sighs in exasperation. “Why do you even need a dog-sitter?” he demands to know, earning himself another scowl.

After all, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot didn’t rise to become a king to justify himself. It’s certainly none of his minion’s business why he can’t care for his puppy 24/7. He has other obligations too, and some of those need to stay a well-kept secret.

Like Martin. Martin, his little boy, his son, the light of his life.

None of his subordinates must ever know where his kid is being kept. Oswald went great lengths to ensure his child’s safety. And that includes absolutely nobody being able to guess his whereabouts.

The kid is currently visiting a private school in Connecticut where no one has a clue who and what his father truly is. To those people, he’s nothing but a wealthy businessman like so many others. Just another irresponsible parent who only visits their kid on the weekends.

Oswald never imagined being a father. And even if, he would have never guessed he’d be the kind of parent who can’t care for his child as his mother did.

Not being able to wrap his arms around the precious little thing whenever he seeks guidance, comfort, or just needs his dad’s presence, rips the criminal’s heart out on a daily basis. Yet, after Sofia’s attempt to take his son’s life, Oswald can’t take any risks.

First, he tried staying apart from him completely - for Martin’s own good. But the little man wouldn’t listen. And one night, he broke into the mansion, alerting each and every security system in the process.

Of course, Oswald had tried to send him away again. But when Martin broke down in tears and spoke for the first time in his life, the gangster knew he stood no chance. Not after Martin had called him dad.

And since then, the mobster drives to New Haven every Friday evening, uncaring how much his bad leg would hurt, or much work still needs to be done, in order to spend the weekend with his kid.

Gabe is certain Oswald has an affair with some sweet, innocent girl who may never know he’s a gangster. Butch thinks more or less the same. Zsasz probably assumes he tortures his enemies in a dark cellar during his free time. And thank you very much, Oswald intends to keep it that way.

If only Ed would not puke the moment he enters a car, Oswald would take him along for the ride. But after countless failed attempts to get his pet used to driving, the mobster decided to hire a dog-sitter.

Sadly, neither Gabe nor Butch can be entrusted with the task at hand. Oswald doesn’t trust Gabe’s mental abilities enough to leave something as precious as Ed in his care. Butch, on the other hand, is still hopelessly devoted to Tabitha who in turn is still in a relationship with Barbara. And Oswald is pretty certain she wouldn’t hesitate to use his dog against him if given half a chance.

As for Zsasz… Well, keeping something alive outright contradicts his job description.

“Why don’t you ask Gordon?” The assassin’s voice pierces right through the kingpin’s musings, startling him in the process. “He owes you, right?” Zsasz continues. “And you haven’t been exactly collecting your debts lately. I mean, I’d rather torture him for a couple of days but as you seem to have a soft spot for Gordon….”

Holding up a hand, Oswald interrupts his subordinate. “I decidedly do not have a soft spot for the good Captain,” he states, pulling a face and Zsasz retreats with a soft smile playing around his lips.

Oh no, the Penguin definitely does not have a soft spot for anyone except his kid and dog. And certainly not for some deceitful cop. Sure, he should kill the man who brought him to Arkham twice, and who robbed him of his position of power in the process, but killing is just too mundane.

After all, revenge is a form of art. And Jim Gordon deserves something special. A special kind of revenge. The very moment Oswald has figured out what to do with him, he definitely will. Absolutely. That’s a promise. Until then, he can still be useful.

And maybe, just maybe, he admires Jim - just a bit. In a city full of corrupt politicians and crooked cops Gordon is a refreshing exception. He still refuses to adapt to the rules of Gotham City, still believes in fighting against all evil and still only compromises if absolutely necessary.

Jim Gordon is the closest thing to a dragon-slaying knight Oswald has ever encountered. In a way, he reminds him of the heroes from his childhood fairy-tales.

Deep down, he can’t even blame Jim for his desire to put him behind bars. The mobster is well-aware of the blood on his hands. In Jim Gordon’s eyes, he is a murderer. One who will continue to kill in the future and according to the cop, he needs to be stopped. So yes, maybe he has a soft spot for Gordon.

If he only understood that in a city like Gotham some deaths are absolutely necessary, mere casualties!

But then, Jim wouldn’t be Jim if he started understanding why Oswald does what he does. In this rotten city, he’s still a shining light, a man striving to bring back law and order, blind to the fact that only the king of all crime can guarantee some form of order. That’s just the way Gotham works and nothing will ever be able to change that. This city is simply rancid to its core.

Admitted, Jim’s attempts to save the city are a tad bit endearing. Or would be if they wouldn’t cost Oswald dearly time and time again.

Heaving a deep sigh, the kingpin takes another look at the box beneath his desk. Despite all his flaws, Jim cared quite nicely for Ed. Zsasz has a point there. The question is, would Jim accept to look after the pet? After what he said to him?  Would he put up a fight again when it came to returning Ed?

Oswald doubts Jim would have really refused to give him his pet back. Sometimes the Captain simply acts like a stubborn child in his determination to keep what he loves safe and sound. A trait the mobster understands better than most people. In truth, Oswald wouldn’t have acted differently if their roles had been reversed.

The mobster regrets his harsh words deeply. He really crossed a line that day he shouldn’t have, despite his emotional turmoil. Yet, what better way to apologize than giving someone exactly what he wants? Self-satisfied with his train of thought, Oswald orders Gabe to take him to Gordon’s apartment.

When arriving at Jim’s place, the cop succeeds to surprise the mobster a second time.

Oswald remembers the place being a grimy, untidy mess. Yet when arriving, he finds Jim standing in his door frame, wearing sweatpants, holding a paint-brush and currently renovating his entrance area.

His face drops when the mobster limps closer. Clenching his jaw, he spits out his usual greeting. “Cobblepot.” Oswald wonders how he never fails to make his name sound like an insult.

“Old friend,” he taunts in return, knowing full well how much he despises the phrase.

Dropping the brush, Jim walks into his tiny flat, sure the gangster will follow. When looking around, Oswald notes a couple of major changes. The once almost gray walls are all painted white, the cheap linoleum covering the floor has been ripped out, revealing a rather nice parquet. The biggest improvement though is a big, very comfortable looking, light blue sofa in the living room. The kingpin takes all these changes in at lightning speed, keeping his face politely indifferent the entire time.

Jim follows his gaze towards the sofa. Being the good cop he is, it’s hard to deceive him. “Had to throw the old sofa out after Chester drooling all over it,” he growls but there’s no real heat behind his words.

“Right,” Oswald agrees, wondering what the real reason might be. It’s not like Ed has ever destroyed any furniture at his own home.

Walking into the kitchen, Jim pours himself a glass of water. “Want something?” he grumbles from behind the counter and the mobster wonders if he means some refreshments or the reason for his visit.

Trying his luck, he decides to ask for a cup of tea, almost certain Jim won’t have any at home. Moments later, he hears the sound of water heating up.

“Black tea or fruit tea?” comes the next question, sounding not less hostile. Oswald has to bite his tongue else he’d start lecturing Jim how fruit tea isn’t really tea but an infusion.

“Black,” he answers instead, playing absent-mindedly with his cane. “Two sugars and a dash of milk please.”

The Captain nods, jaw set so tight the mobster fears for him to get a cramp.

“What do you want from me?” Jim asks harshly and once he’s done, he pushes a cup into Oswald’s hands big enough to water an entire palm tree with its contents.

“Why thank you,” he replies smiling brightly. “I can’t recall you ever being so hospitable before.”

The cop grits his teeth. “Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, downing his own glass of water. “I’m only worried you lost your dog again.”

“I really don’t intend letting Ed roam freely a habit,” Oswald chuckles, deciding to try out Jim’s new sofa.

“I only wish that was true,” Jim retorts, rolling his eyes and clearly meaning the human Edward.

“Jim Gordon making a joke, that’s one for the books!” he exclaims, pleased the irritable man is in a somewhat good mood. Of course, Jim doesn’t respond. “Really an improvement,” he praises once he’s settled on the couch.

Heaving a sigh, the cop takes a seat opposite the gangster. “So, what made you decide my first day off in two weeks should be interrupted by your visit?” Jim asks, tapping his foot impatiently, clearly itching to throw the gangster out already.

Oswald’s polite smile never falters despite being slightly irritated by the Captain’s behavior. Can Jim not once be civil? “I simply wanted to thank you for your well-chosen presents. Ed was delighted to have his little frock back. Are you still certain you didn’t name him after me?” The kingpin could bite his tongue. Somehow he has serious troubles not turning everything he says into a jab too.

“He ruined my sofa and turned my life upside down,” Jim scoffs. “Might have reminded me subconsciously about you,” he admits with the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.

“But unlike me, the dog didn’t ruin it?” Oswald scoffs in return.

“Never said you did,” Jim retorts, rendering the gangster speechless for a second.

Hiding his face behind the mug, the Penguin takes another sip from his tea. Trying to decide how to spring his idea at Jim, he finally goes for bluntness. So far, all his attempts to be diplomatic have been an utter waste anyway. “I need a dog-sitter,” he simply admits, trying to assess the other man’s reaction.

As usual, Jim stays stoic before his face gives away his emotions. For whatever reason, he’s utterly unable to control his expressions in front of the mobster. Within seconds, he goes from incredulousness to his usual anger to something Oswald can’t really assess. It might be hope but he isn’t certain.

“Last time I looked I was still a cop,” Jim remarks drily, “not one of your minions.”

“Very true, old friend,” the Penguin acknowledges with a lopsided grin. “Yet one who owes me one or two or maybe thirty-five favors. Not that I keep count,” he finishes, leaning back against the soft cushions.

Mirroring his movement, Jim contradicts him. “If you kept counting, old friend,” he starts, narrowing his eyes at him, “you would have noticed how that isn’t quite true.”

Jim Gordon’s usual self-denial was to be expected yet Oswald can’t help pulling a face. After everything he did, after bringing Sofia to Gotham, after putting him behind bars for crimes he didn’t even commit, after flying a blimp in circles for hours to save their beloved city, he would have expected at least something .

“May I jog your memory then?” he offers, the amiable facade again firmly in place.

“There’s really no need,” the other man growls. “I know what you did for me but clearly you have no concept of what I did in return.”

“So you think taking care of my dog for a week makes us even?” the mobster snaps back incredulously.

Tilting his head, Jim considers the man sitting in front of him. The silence stretches between them for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before the cop speaks again. This time, he’s barely audible.

“I was rather referring to all these times I didn’t put you behind bars when I had the opportunity,” Jim tells him in a gentle voice.

And isn’t that just the height of insolence? Wasn’t the other man happy to send him off to Arkham and throw the keys away for his own benefit? Didn’t he allow for him to get tortured without even batting an eye?

Before Oswald can so much as take a proper breath, Jim already holds up a hand. “I know what you must think,” he says. “But how many times did you stab, shot, or threaten to torture someone directly under my nose? Hmm?”

“You sent me to Arkham!” the mobster blurts out. “Twice! For crimes, I never committed! And you knew !”

“Exactly,” Jim concedes. “You were never insane, though. You would have never been released from Blackgate. And I never claimed otherwise in court.”

Slightly taken aback, the Penguin tries processing the given information. Could it be true? Was sending him to Arkham an act of mercy in Jim’s eyes? Did he rather let him go to this hellish place because he knew he would be released at some point?

Shaking himself mentally, he snaps out of it. Jim has never been soft on him. He set out to destroy his empire and only when realizing that the alternatives were much worse, he let him reign somewhat freely. Only since that ordeal with Sofia, Jim has toned his efforts to drag him to the ground a notch down.

“You ruined my empire,” Penguin accuses. “You ruined the Pax Penguina when it just worked perfectly fine,” he concludes.

“Worked just fine?!” Jim’s voice practically booms through the tiny apartment. Getting up he starts pacing the tiny place, body shaking from barely contained rage.

“You practically declared yourself a God who decides who lives and who dies in Gotham and who becomes the victim of a crime and who doesn’t. Nobody should be allowed to wield that amount of power. Not you, not me, nobody.”

By the end of Jim’s speech, the Penguin is almost certain he’ll grab his lapels and shake him again. Yet he doesn’t. Instead, the cop just looks slightly defeated despite all his anger.

“Why would you need a dog-sitter?” Jim then asks out of nowhere, effectively changing the topic. “Don’t you have an entire army of goons at your disposal to look after Ches-, I mean Edward?”

Turning the cane thoughtfully between his fingers the Penguin nods silently.

“So why come to me?” Jim urges and again Oswald decided honestly would be the best course of action.

“I like knowing who and what I love is safe when I’m away from Gotham,” he sighs. “I don’t need a repetition of what happened to my mother.”

Gordon doesn’t answer right away, just frowns slightly. “I won’t become a co-perpetrator to murder,” he finally decides. “If you want to place Ed into my care only so you can go and stab someone….”

Oswald scoffs. “Please stop painting me as some lunatic serial-killer. That’s frankly insulting.”

The Captain merely rolls his eyes.

“I now and then have to leave Gotham to take care of someone very important to me,” he admits. “And I would rather do so knowing Ed is being well cared for. But I completely understand now that going to you had been a stupid idea.”

Picking up his coat, Oswald turns to leave. “Thank you for your time, Jim,” he tells him, already reaching for the doorknob, cursing when some of the fresh paint stains his sleeve.

“Wait!” the cop mutters. “I never said I wouldn’t do it.”

[psychospeak-blog]

Won’t Go Slowly // 28

One // Two  // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen// Twenty // Twenty One // Twenty Two // Twenty Three // Twenty Four // Twenty Five // Twenty Six // Twenty Seven

A/N: Sorry it’s late!

One of the great things about working in academics, in your opinion, was the fact that you got extended holiday breaks.  You were spending most of your days hanging around the house with Marshall in your pajamas, going for a nice evening walk in the snow (usually still in your pajamas), taking breaks from the organizing and measuring of your office to look at baby furniture and watch movies, usually watching Grey's Anatomy over the phone with Tyler before bed.  Basically, the only thing you had to get dressed for these days was your prenatal yoga class and, even then, you were just wearing yoga clothes, so it was pretty much pajamas.

Today, though, however, you'd actually put clothes on because you and Marshall had a errand to run.  He was sitting in the passenger seat, sitting up like he was a human, and you got some interesting looks and laughs as you drove.  He looked so happy with himself though, that you couldn't resist taking a picture when you were at a stop light, sending it to Tyler.  Marshall started cowering, however, when you drove towards town, and you suspected he thought he was going to the vet again.

"It's okay, we're going someplace fun," you reassured him, although he still looked doubtful when you pulled into the parking lot.  You definitely knew that he'd been to a pet store when he was a puppy, because you'd been with him a couple of times when Tyler needed to grab dog food, but you weren't sure if he'd actually been to a pet store as an adult dog who you couldn't pick up anymore.  The good thing was that he was pretty well-behaved and even-keeled, so you biggest worry would probably be him taking out a shelf of items with his wagging tail.  

It was pretty humorous watching his eyes widen once you opened the door to the store as if he'd never seen such an incredible place before.  He looked up at you, like he wasn't quite sure he was even allowed to go inside but, once you told him he could, he stepped inside and started sniffing immediately.

"Hi," the girl behind the counter said brightly, her eyes cast downwards, "What's your name?"

You answered for him, and her eyes flicked up to yours again.  "Can he have a treat?"

When he heard the word 'treat', Marshall immediately sat down, and then started swiping at the air, trying to show off his ability to shake a paw.  "Yes," you said with a laugh, and she came out from around the counter, crouching down in front of him.

"I didn't have to ask you to sit," she said, giving him two treats, which he took happily.  Afterwards, she asked you what if you needed help finding anything, and you said you told her you were just looking for Christmas presents, so she left you to browse.  

You went to the Christmas section first, because they needed Christmas toys, in your opinion. You chose a Christmas tree that looked pretty chew proof for Gerry, and a soft reindeer for Marshall because he liked to cuddle with his toys. You were picking out a penguin with a squeaker for Cash, when you noticed a box of candy cane dog treats.  And then you got an awesome idea, and added it to the collection that you were creating.

And then you went to look in the regular toy section, picking Gerry out a puzzle toy that you could put treats inside that would hopefully keep him occupied because he'd apparently been having some....behaviour issues lately, and you found a toy that looking like skipping rocks for the pool or lake for Cash (and that Tyler would probably enjoy, too).  You were just deciding on a ball for Marshall that you could kick and throw and that also floated on water, when your phone pinged with a text from Tyler.

Tyler: Are you taking my dog on a date?

Tyler: Make sure he pays

Tyler: He'll probably try to get in your bed after just fyi

You laughed to yourself, and then you realized, that while you had a collection of presents for his dogs, you had absolutely no idea what to get for him.  Nothing seemed quite right, and you wondered if maybe you should try to do things differently this year.  You'd already gotten gifts for the pups, who were really easy to impress, and you knew Tyler had stuff for the baby.  So, maybe, you could just exchange Christmas presents between your "kids" for this year.  It wasn't like there was anything either of you needed, anyways.  

With your six toys and the holiday dog treats, you went to the check out counter, the woman from earlier before looking over all of your purchases and smiling down at Marshall.  "Someone's a lucky boy," she said, as she started to ring everything through.

"Oh, they're not all for him," you said, "For his brothers, too."

"How many brothers does he have?"

"Two," you answered, and before she could ask said, "All labs."

"Three labs?" she asked, and you noticed her glance at your belly, so you instinctively rubbed it, "that must be a busy household."

You opened your mouth, and then shut it again, because you weren't about to start explaining that they weren't your dogs.  "It is," you said, "But there's a lot of love, too."

"I'll bet," she said, bagging up all your purchases.  "Have a Merry Christmas, guys."

You were so overtaken by the Christmas spirit and all the decorations at the shopping plaza that you decided to stop at Starbucks for a holiday themed drink, and got a puppaccino for Marshall, which he devoured in the car.

When you got home, you contemplated calling Tyler, but you couldn't remember whether he had a game tonight or not.  And then you remembered the internet.

You crashed on the couch as the phone was ringing, to which Tyler answered, "So, did he kiss you?"

You didn't know what he was talking about, until you remembered the text he sent you in the store.  "Yes," you answered, "With tongue."

"That's aggressive," Tyler said, and then, "Hang on, babe, one sec."

You were expecting him to set the phone down while he did something, but instead you heard him say in a stern voice.  "Gerry, stop that.  Those are expensive shoes."

You heard a shuffling noise and then a sigh.  "Sorry," he said, "someone is acting like a two year old."

"Well, isn't he?"

"Not in dog years," he said, and then, in his dog voice, "Oh, and now you want to cuddle with me, huh? Are you sorry for what you did?"

You shook your head, laughing.  "I had a question," you said, "About Christmas."

"Santa's real," Tyler said, "Don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

You snickered, laying back on the couch and running a hand through your hair.  "No, I was wondering if maybe you and I could not exchange Christmas gifts this year?"

" Why?" Tyler whined.

" Because, I know you already got stuff for the baby..."

"So? You always get presents for me and the dogs.  I'm not allowed to get you a present, too?"

" Tyler, I just don't think we should --""

"Well, it's too late," he said, "I already have your present."

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling you," he said, "That'd defeat the whole purpose of a present."

Obviously.  But you really just needed an idea of what it might be so you could get a comparable gift.  "Is it something for the baby?"

"Mmmnope, that's separate," he said, "Well, kind of, I guess, in a way."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you might enjoy it while you're pregnant.  But it's just for you," he said, "And it's not what you might think, either."

"What?" You questioned.  You definately hadn't hinted that there was anything you wanted because there wasn't.   

"I mean, I understand if you want a vibrator, but I don't really feel comfortable buying that for you.  It's kind of personal thing."

"Tyler!" You yelled, in shock that he had just said that.  But, in all honestly, you shouldnt be that suprised. "Seriously...."

He laughed loudly.  When he was done, he said, "It's just a little something.  You don't have to freak out or anything."

You sunk back into the couch, even more if possible.  "I don't know what to get you."

"You don't have to get me anything for Christmas," he said, "you can just get me twice as many presents for my birthday, it's fine."

"If you're getting me something for Christmas, then I'm getting you something for Christmas," you said, "What do you want?"

"A really big hug?"

"Tyler..."

"Uhh..."  he make a noise like he just fell back into the couch.   "Honestly, I'd be really happy if you baked me some cookies. Like, a whole tin I can take back with me and not have to share."

You were about to respond when you heard a knocking noise, and then a ruffle of paws against the floor.  "Hey, babe, I gotta head out for dinner," he said, and then after you said "okay", he added, "With some of the guys.  I'll call you later, okay?  If Gerry doesn't eat my entire house while I'm gone.  Cash, you're babysitting."

After you said goodbye, you laid your head back, looking up at Marshall sitting at the under end of the couch, staring at you.  "What do you think I should get for your Dad?" you asked, and he just tilted his head, still staring at you.  You reached up, scratching him behind the ears.  "Well, you're no help at all."

It seemed impossible, this year, for some reason.  Nothing quite seemed to fit quite right, or be the right combination, and then you realized why.

What did you get for the man who had already given you the best gift ever?

Nothing seemed like it would ever be enough.

**

"C'mon," you said to Marshall, opening the  door to the car so he could jump out, grabbing the box of candy cane shaped dog biscuits, ready to enact the plan that had come to you in the pet store.  You grabbed the tray with your peppermint mocha and Marshall's puppaccino to set the Christmas spirit even more, unlocking the door to Tyler's house with one hand, setting everything down, and then going around to turn on lights.  And turn on some Christmas music.

"Are you going to help me with the tree?" you asked him, but he just sat down and then pawed your leg, and you realized he just wanted his treat.  So, you gave it to him, while you ventured into the garage, realizing that this was going to be the hard part.  You found the box with the tree first, realizing that it was way to cumbersome for you to lift by yourself right now.  So, you took piece by piece out, setting them in the living room, while Marshall was licking his container of whipped cream across the floor.  You might have created a bad habit.

You huffed as you used your legs to push the couch out of the way just enough that you could set the tree up, Marshall looking at you like you were crazy for moving the furniture. Finally, it was out of the way enough that you could begin setting the tree up, standing back and taking a sip of your Peppermint Mocha every now and then, singing along with the music as you fluffed the tree up.  Once you were satisfied with it, you plugged in the lights, and then went back into the garage for the boxes of decorations, bringing them up to the living room.  On your last pass, you noticed through the window that it had started to snow again, so you opened the garage door, deciding to put your car in there while you were here so you wouldn't have to wipe all the snow off it afterwards.  

Marshall was waiting for you at the door when you went back inside, and you leaned down to pet him.  "I'm not leaving you here, don't worry."

He left and came back with a rope a moment later, pushing it against your leg, and you halfheartedly reached down and tugged it a little, knowing that if you went hard, he could pull you over.  You also realized that Tyler hadn't really packed any toys for him, probably because he had thought he was hurt so, other than the couple of tennis balls you had around your house, Marshall hadn't had any toys, so you made a mental note to take a couple with you when you left.

You opened the bins, taking a look at what you had to work with, and then you noticed the Dallas Stars ornaments sitting on top, and remembered that you thought he had a game for tonight.  You turned on the TV, flicking through the channels and muting it, so it didn't compete with the holiday music you had going.  You finally found it, and saw the game was still scoreless.  St. Louis, that's where it was.

His ornaments were kind of a hodgepodge, probably because he didn't always spend Christmas here. There were the Dallas Stars ornaments, a couple of hockey related ornaments you recognized that his Mom had given him when he was a kid, and quite a few dog ornaments, that probably his mom had given him at some point as well, as well as several of those cinnamon ornaments that you'd made together your second year of college, when you'd got yourself a mini Christmas tree for your apartment but didn't to spend money on ornaments.  The rest was a mix of plain Christmas balls, like he'd just bought them at the last minute to fill in all the holes.  They didn't even match. You made do, as best as you could, thankful that the lights were white so there wasn't a huge clash.  You were almost done, when you found something hard, wrapped in tissue at the bottom of the box, and you unwrapped it to find an ornament, one of which you had very similar, that you made in the ceramics portion of art in eight grade.  His was, well, it was absolutely horrible looking, paint swiped across it at the last minute, and you remember Kirsten mercilessly making fun of him for it, even before they were together, and before you really knew him.  You hung it on a branch, right front and centre. And then you dug into the last  wrapped item, but it fell out and you started laughing immediately, half bending and half squatting to pick up the tiny curve of wood.   You remembered it, when he was taking this woodworking class in eleventh grade, and he'd been excited because he had this elaborate plan to jigsaw a skate out of wood.  But the skate, as he showed you, kept getting smaller and smaller, and he ended up having to form it into a hockey stick, and he ended up failing the assignment, and you'd had to bite your lip not to try and laugh when he showed you his finished project. His mom, if you remembered, said something like "that's great, honey," when he showed it to her, and the both of you had exchanged a look like it wasn't.

You hung that on the tree, too, and were about to go about your project, when you realized that Marshall was sniffing the box of treats that you had bought, and you had a sudden vision of the tree toppling over as the dogs attacked it, especially with how Gerry was apparently acting.  You sat down on the couch to rethink your plan, noticing that it was snowing even harder now, and you really, really were not in the mood to drive home while it was snowing.  So, ordered yourself a pizza and went to Tyler's room, rummaging through his drawers to find yourself a pair of pj pants and a shirt. And then you found a string of garland, working on weaving it through the stairs, hanging the candy cane dog treats off it when you were done.  Marshall was very curious about what you were doing, so you had to instruct him not to eat all the treats right now.

It looked pretty great, in your opinion, when you were done.  The only thing you hadn't done was hung the star, because you'd have to stand on something to do so, and you didn't want to do that when your centre of gravity was constantly changing.  But, at least his tree would be up and decorated when he got home for the holidays.

You ate your pizza as you watched the end of the game, finally crawling into bed with Marshall afterwards, arranging a variety of pillows around you, with him curled up by your legs.  Both of you fell asleep pretty quickly, and you could hear Marshall start to snore just as you drifted off, too.

It was so much lighter in the room when you woke in a daze, realizing that what woke you was Marshall growling by your feet.  You reached your hand out to pet him, thinking he was dreaming, but his head was up, and he was staring at the half open door growling. You didn't hear anything, other than snow falling off the tree outside.  "Marshall," you said lightly, frowning when he bared his teeth, not even looking at you, "It's okay."

All of a sudden, he lept out of bed, barking like you'd never heard him bark before, pushing past the door, and  then you heard a voice. "It's just me."   It startled you, but it seemed familiar, and then you placed it, flying out of bed yourself because you could hear Marshall still barking and a commotion on the stairs.

"Marshall!" you yelled, throwing open the door, and seeing Tyler's Dad standing there petting Marshall now, who had calmed, although the hair on the back of his neck was still standing up, a remnant of him trying to make himself more intimidating.

When Marshall saw you, he came back over to you, and you crouched down, petting him, "It's okay," you said, and he licked you on the face, and then you asked Paul, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Nah, he was fine once he realized who he was," he said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.  Tyler didn't tell me you were here."

"Oh, he doesn't know I'm here," you said, and then you cringed, "I mean, he gave me a key.  He just didn't know I was here, tonight."

He laughed, "It's his house, you don't have to explain it to me," he said, and you stood back up slowly, your legs feeling shaking when you realized you that you were standing here, in front of Tyler's father wearing Tyler's clothes, with a pretty noticeable baby bump.  And you had no idea what to say.

"You're...." Paul said, his eyes eyes drifting downwards and your hand going over your belly, because there was no way of hiding it. "I didn't know you were....expecting."

Shit, shit.  Shit, shit, shit.  

"Yeah," you answered, "Umm...Tyler was going to tell you over Christmas."

He nodded a little, looking like he was deep in contemplation.  "So, you're....living here now?  With Tyler?  I didn't see your car or anything."

"Oh, no, no," you said quickly, "I just came to set up the tree.  My car's in the garage. It was snowing, so I didn't want to drive."

He smiled then, for a moment, "That's just what I was coming over to do this morning."

"Oh sorry, I didn't realize."

"No, no, I'm sure you could do a better job of it than I could anyways," he smiled, "I just wanted it to be here for when Tyler got home."

You stood there for a moment, just looking at each other and then you realized the reason he thought you were living there, was because he thought the baby you were having was Tyler's.  Which it was.  But only kind of.

"It's his sperm!" you blurted out.  And then you realized you just said the word 'sperm' again, to Tyler's father, and you shook your head.  

"What?" Paul asked.

"I...I wanted to have a baby," you said, "And Tyler donated sperm.  At the clinic.  We went to the clinic a lot."  You realized you were rambling now, trying to make sense of anything, and avoid telling him all the details.

"It's not his responsibility," you tried, rubbing your hand over your belly more.  

"Oh," he said simply, and then he scratched the back of his head, much like Tyler did, "Well, I should go.  Let you go back to sleep."

"It's okay," you said.  It wasn't like this was your house anyways.

"Nah, I just came to do that job anyways," he said, looking like he was thinking about going, "You're not, you weren't planning on staying here tonight were you? I'm sure you can, I'm not saying you should go."

"I was going to go home," you said, and then added with a laugh, to make him feel like he wasn't putting you out, "There's no groceries here, anyways."

"Oh," he said, "Do you need groceries? I can..."

"Oh no, I've got plenty.  At home."

"Okay," he said, turning away and then back again, like he didn't know quite what to do.  "I'll just shovel the driveway for you before I go."

"Oh, that's okay," you said, leaning down to pet Marshall, hoping to steal some of his calm.  "You don't have to do that."

"It's no trouble," he said, "you should be safe."

You knew you weren't going to convince him otherwise, so you accepted, a mix of 'take care''s and 'it was nice to see you"s as he left, and you ran your hand over your face as soon as the door closed in embarrassment.  And then you realized you weren't even wearing a bra, either.  Great.

You took a long shower, needing to completely wash all the awkward off you, realizing that you'd need to call Tyler and tell him, but you couldn't face that right now.  Maybe after breakfast.  

After you got out of the shower though and realized that Paul was no longer in the driveway, you went back into Tyler's room and your phone was lit up with a text.

Tyler: HAHAHAHAHA

You groaned, focusing on making yourself pancakes , and feeding Marshall, and then  trying to enjoy said pancakes.

It was probably 40 minutes later when your phone rang, and you answered it with a heavy "hi", to which Tyler responded with giggles.

"I can't believe my Dad walked in on you," he took a break to breathe, "in my bed. And that Marshall tried to attack him."

"It's not funny," you said.  It was mortifying is what it was.  "And I was not in your bed.  I was in the hallway outside your bedroom."

"But you were in my bed," he said, "Why were you in my bed?"

"Tyler," you started.

"I gave you a key, you're allowed to use it," he said, still sounded amused by the whole thing.  "I'm just curious, why were you in my bed?"

"I...." you looked down at the dog at your feet, and remembered not to give away the whole surprise, "I came over to get some toys for Marshell and it started snowing so I just decided to sleep here."

If he didn't believe you, he didn't let on.  "Were you naked?"

"No, I was not naked," you said, "I was in your clothes.  Which is worse."

Tyler laughed.  "How is that worse?"

"Because it's like...it's like we're sleeping together."

"Well, we did sleep together," he said.

"Yes, but I don't want your Dad to know that," you said, and then you remembered there were so much more important things: the pregnancy.  The baby.  "What did he say?"

"Uh...I'm not sure if he really believed you," Tyler said, "Or me.  I might have to show him the paperwork."

"Oh god," you muttured, sitting down at the kitchen table again.

"Babe, it's fine," Tyler said, "Honestly.  Honestly, he's probably just glad I got someone pregnant on purpose."

You made a small noise because telling everyone was a lot, and you didn't expect to be so involved in the process.  Especially when Tyler had said it was his responsibility.

"Don't worry, I'll fix it," he said, "You're really making this easy on me, you know."

"Hmm?"

"You tell everyone, and then I just get to swoop in and smooth everything over," he said.

"Okay,  I did not tell your mother, you let it slip."

"You told her you were pregnant," Tyler said, "that helped.  You wanna tell my sisters, too?"

"No."

"Please?" He asked sweetly.

"Not a chance."