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inappropriatefangirlneeds · 6 years

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Gotham s4ep20 “That Old Corpse” Personal Review

For Jim Gordon the law is not a steel boned corset but more of a fragile lingerie corsage..

Warning spoilers below

“I would sooner debate you all on TELEOLOGY versus DEONTOLOGY than leave her with that overgrown Boy Scout.” * Oh eff you EDWARD NYGMA and people like you, those two concepts aren´t that hard to grasp if you explain the terms, don´t feel more intelligent cause you got in touch with terminology other people didn´t, they have no use for those words but they sure do understand what they are about you might get a compelling discussion, you know when you are faced with the necessity to break rules and law to make a living instead of doing it just to flaunt your ego, might be an interesting perspective Ed, consider this (Overgrown boy scout though :D) This really is one of the episodes themes though. With Jim Gordon we´ve already walked all kinds of paths of the question of the lawful vs. the right thing but now we got some more steps here.

LESLIE THOMPKINS & JIM GORDON get a whole straight forward conversation about the whole issue: “Who doesn't want to be Robin Hood? But you're still breaking the law.” “Jim, you wish you could do what I'm doing. Helping people without the straitjacket of the law as if the law means anything in Gotham.” “If the law has lost its meaning, it's because people like you are turning your back on it.” “I am fighting back. I don't deny anything I've done. You want to send me to Blackgate? Go ahead.” “I don't want to send you to Blackgate! That's the last thing I want to do. Don't you know I wish I could let you walk out that door, turn my head?” “What's holding you back? Maybe if you let me go, you'd let yourself go, too.” Oddly Leslie seems to have forgotten that Jim Gordon does bend the law for the right cause.Why though he was present during the Galavan thing. Jim is not exactly completely restricted by it. “Come to the Narrows.” “What?” “Where you can make a real difference in this city. You can make up your own rules about how to do it.” For Jim Gordon the law is not a corset with steel bones but more a fragile lingerie corsage. It´s nice to look at and you can flaunt your body in it if you please but it´s not restricting you. He is already quite on board with the whole doing bad / criminal thing for the sake of the good cause. Jim already made up his own rules. Just look at him torturing suspects in this episode. It´s not like he hasn´t already “let himself go”. The only real thing that´s holing him back is appearance. He wasn´t happy about Oswald´s public licence system he wanted the old more concealed mafia cooperation back. Only HARVEY BULLOCK voices the issue. They have long crossed that line. “People get away with a lot worse in Gotham every day.” “Doesn't make it right.” “We got away with worse. Both of us.” > Oddly recently we have had Harvey Bullock be on the “hold up the rules” train, he arrested Oswald although he helped them, he called Jim out on falling for Lee´s “she is doing good” argument. This time they have switched platforms. This time it´s Harvey being ready to let Leslie get away with her crime because of her motivations and because there is worse people. Jim instead is the one to insist that not only the “good intention” matter. Less oddly this is the kind of philosophy Jim usually shows with other people. We get more and more expressions of doubt about himself but he still goes on with acting based on the other kind, the one that supports him bending rules and law. Which certainly must be less easy to suppress now that Bullock is directly addressing this. (I´m on the other hand suspecting that with Bullock that is less a matter of philosophy than one of personal feelings. He never liked Oswald, not even before he killed Fish Mooney. I´m pretty sure this animosity was even more leading him to arrest Oswald than it was his righteousness.)

Then there is the matter of PERSPECTIVE. All the question of doing a good thing or causing a good thing doesn’t matter much if there´s different points of views on what´s “good”. When Harvey Bullock and JIM GORDON torture the guy in the trunk of their car Jim reminds Harvey of their audience. “Harvey, Harvey. Reporters, buddy.” The good cause of foiling crime outweighs the unethical deed of torture for the both of them but that´s only their judgement the reporters might see that differently. Likewise BRUCE WAYNE´s intentions of bringing JEREMIAH to Jerome´s grave were good but the outcome was detrimental to Jeremiahs situation. “I thought it would help. I was wrong, but we need to leave.” JEREMIAH VALESKA and BRUCE WAYNE is the other pair where this question is discussed most directly: “Jerome wanted to slather you in honey and have you eaten alive by corpse beetles. Now, that's mad. Me, if I want to kill you, I'll just do it. I'll shoot you in the head. Simply and sanely. See, I don't want to kill you, because I want to show you how much I've changed things. How much we've changed things. 'Cause I could not have done any of this without your help.” Just like with leading Jeremiah to the dug up Jerome Bruce´s intentions with the project that turned out to be bombs instead of cheap environmentally friendly energy were good. However this doesn´t matter when the outcome is death and destruction. Or does it? He´s contributed to it! He has made it possible. What weighs more heavily the thing you wanted to do or the thing you did? It´s also tied straight back to him feeling responsible for what Jerome did after he let him live! And on the other side it connects the whole issue back to JIM GORDON. He doesn´t let Jerome live. He shoots him to stop him from pressing destruction buttons. He´s trying to safe his live as well when he is about to fall from the roof but with shooting him he already risked his death. Apart form this quite obvious bomb point I do think that there´s something to be said about JEROME & JEREMIAH here as well. Jeremiah says he would just kill Bruce without further ado, claiming he is all about the outcome, while Jerome would have delved in the deed itself. With Jerome there is much more focus on his intentions and motivation. On the other hand you could also read this as the both of them being on the same page. In pointing this out Jeremiah also flaunts his own intention, which is differentiating himself from his brother. It´s not about killing it´s also about making a point that he kills differently than Jerome? LESLIE THOMPKINS & EDWARD NYGMA “Were you awake the whole time?” “Maybe.” “Smartest man in Gotham, huh?” “Don't just wrap me around your finger, Lee.” “Come on. Let's run.” I´m still kind of expecting that they turn on each other, Leslie inviting Jim to the Narrows is potentially as suspicious as Edwards “not gonna happen” line last week (about the both of them joining and loving Lee), maybe I´m paranoid but I don´t like their relationship very much plot wise but they are still super cute together, how can they even have that much chemistry? How?! However both seem to have a common ground in “darkness”. Leslie accepts hers for the sake of the good cause. Her crimes are motivated by the outcome, one that´s helping others. She doesn´t see herself as a bad person for doing crime because the cause justifies them. On the other hand Edward doesn´t care about this, he would rob a bank or kidnap nuns as long as he can make a name of himself and flaunt his ego. He delves into this darkness instead of focusing on what it can be harnessed for. He recognizes the darkness in Lee but also sees that she isn´t in the same place as he is but he seems to think she will get there, while Leslie sees his as well and his ability and thinks she can influence him to get on her path .. Edit: more

JEREMIAH and JEROME VALESKA and THEIR PAST MAYBE? * Who are those Jerome followers? I mean I would say either you are the kind of person that likes some chaos and to trash a place while partying or you are the kind of person that can partake in an event that takes quite a level of organization but then again young people organize illegal parties and whole festivals in the woods maybe that´s not so out of the ordinary, maybe you can get a whole mix but oh well, in general I wonder about all those mobs and groups that show up, where are they when they disband? Do they wear sweatpants if they aren´t out to make trouble? *“And trust me, you're gonna want to pay attention so the TWIST makes sense at the end.” I was getting really excited when the Jerome video popped up and Jim was mid fight with Ecco, like oh what are they gonna do with this plot? Have I judged too early? But then it was Jeremiah who orchestrated the whole thing. He was not unaffected by the gas. Him telling Bruce that he sees Jerome everywhere was probably a lie, or not, who knows? Maybe seeing him everywhere sparked his change and his obsession to outdo him? But anyway That is not a twist, I guess you could claim the twist is there not being a twist which in some way is a twist but with the absent of an actual twist this doesn’t really count as a twist it´s just a suggestion of something that isn’t there that´s not the actual thing. In other words I´m disappointed. * And it does not change anything about the fact that having someone in that prominent role that dedicated his life to something else before and who just took this path because of some gas is cheap. And I still don´t like that notion that, (assuming Jerome was right about Jeremiah) the choices a person makes don´t matter. * But I´m gonna try to find something interesting in this. > I´m wondering if we are meant to believe that Jeremiah already started working on that energy system having in mind that this could be used as a bomb? Even before the whole Jerome thing went down? Were it his natural impulses or his subconscious that made him gravitate towards such an ambivalent project? I´d rather believe not, I want to believe his intentions were the same as the intentions of Bruce, but then again this could feed some characterization > “Like everything Jerome set his mind to, his insanity gas failed. Other than some mild cosmetic effects, he might as well have sprayed me with water. You all need to see Jerome for the utter dud that he was, so I donned the mask of madness to show you how feeble that is compared to actual greatness. Behold, the face of true sanity.” So given his words we could read this as sibling rivalry, Jeremiah wants to come out of this on top. He´s better than his brother. He´s not only better he´s also different. Where does his all come from? Is he really seeing Jerome everywhere and wanting to spite him? He took some time learning about Jerome´s “obsessions and goals” and came to the conclusion that: “I will outdo every one of them”. I don´t think that mixes well with Jerome and his talk about legacy, also I´d like to have some more background where this could be base on.. > Another thing is this repeated “Progress requires sacrifice” notion that Jeremiah shows, he also says “To truly build something, you must tear down what’s already there.” I haven´t had the impression that this is a philosophy he would support? He was more about protection and building in a constructive way, granted this was self protection but still. He expected Jerome to confront him, he feared for his life and he hid and built a defensive structure instead of going out of his way to find Jerome first and get rid of him. Which he should have done if he believes in the notion that for him/something to flourish obstacles need to be eradicated. On the other hand it was implied that Jeremiah planned to maybe kill Jerome. Which would make the defensive structure more of a trap in order to destroy him. Maybe it was both and this is meant to show Jeremiah´s struggle/split between the tendencies Jerome sees in him and the choice Jeremiah made to not act upon them?! Just this still feels a bit out of nowhere, I´d really like to have had some hints, maybe connected to his architectural work that this is a philosophy he cherishes.. > Then again maybe I´m asking for something that was in fact there. Maybe him throwing young Jerome under the wheels was his version of “progress requires sacrifice”. By making his family believe he was in danger he could leave them, which opened up opportunities far from circus life for him, he could go to school and have success .. * I loved all the details they had this week: >The mazes on Jermiah´s walls > Jerome´s diary outside and inside > The diy flyer that called the crowd to Jerome´s grave > That one umbrella (see below) one of the Jerome followers had * JEREMIAH´s hiding spot among the dead. This was such a good choice because you can´t escape how much it resembles his home underground, how in turn his safety maze is resembling a grave, he´s hiding dead to the world, and now Jerome obviously got into it through the gas * The shot with Alfred going through the door and the fight scene we only get a glimpse at * I loved how Jim Gordon was a proper detective again for a moment, the tactical retreat to trap Jerome´s followers was a nice moment, as well as him basing this strategy on Jerome´s tactics of distractions .. well he couldn´t know that this was all on Jeremiah.. only Oswald figured that out! (“I don't expect you to betray the memory of that old corpse. I want you to betray whomever it is you are currently following.”) * I loved that there was a lot of openness and communication (even if sometimes not sincerely) Jim is quick to tell Alfred about the problem, JEREMIAH talks about the gas, he directly calls out BRUCE on the lie and he promptly apologizes and changes his strategy * Likewise although less kind the interactions between BUTCH GLIZEAN and OSWALD COBBLEPOT were rather open. “There's nothing petty about my aggression.” “So, am I to starve until I guess the source of your resentment?” “You said, if I joined you …… “ // “Shh! Did you just shush me?” Just like Jeremiah Oswald addressed a problem inbetween them directly and the openly talked about it. * “What I want to know with a minimum of fuss,” Oh Oswald, I feel you, everything is exhausting * It´s a shame that we don´t know more about ECCO. With a show that´s supposedly about Gotham before Batman and the villains he hunts they are way too quick to push characters into those roles. I want to see them being someone different and then slowly change and develop but there are like Oh by the way here have Harley doing Harley things (assuming Ecco is meant to be her) Edit: more * “Confusion is always an opportunity for the clear headed.” * “You, go where Jim Gordon goes. He comes under some harm, assist him. I do not need Lee blaming me if he's killed under friendly fire while I go about my business.” * “And even though I know it's not real, it feels real.” * “Dead when he came in. More dead when he was eviscerated and his brain was sliced up.” Oh Lucius * “Which is exactly why I will not have you bumbling into the GCPD en masse.” Bumbling! * That poor „We’re saved!” guy was funny .. * Harvey running that guys head into the metal bar was mean but takin more beer out of the coffin a funny moment again, also Harper!! * „Yes, that's right. Now you can tell me why you sound so concerned.” I don´t even know why but his tone in this makes me ship Jim and ALFRED even more.

#gotham #gotham meta #jeremiah valeska #gotham s4ep20 That Old Corpse #mine Gotham full episode reviews #umbrella

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iv-kplpt · 7 years

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lacanverse part I - objet petit a

this one is complicated, long story short: a pinnguin au, partially based on lacanian terminology. inspired by @teawitchjoan and @hollyknight.

summary: oswald’s one and only goal was getting bruce wayne out of his position as ceo - and he achieved it. and it feels like nothing. his life feels like nothing. and then... she comes along. (the old town’s changed so much, he doesn’t feel like he belongs.) ~6,7k words so far rated m because i said so and because there most likely will be some sex in part II or III.

He got what he wanted - and it felt like nothing, like sulfur, like ash. It felt bitter. It felt empty. He felt empty.

Oswald got his revenge - got back what rightfully belonged to him. He got Bruce Wayne out of his CEO position at Wayne Enterprises; he got money. His family’s land. A luxurious penthouse, overlooking the city.

And yet… He felt so perfectly, absolutely empty. His life in Essex was far from perfect; but at least it was honest. It was filled with bruises and spilled blood and jealousy and anger - but in Gotham he was living a lie.

(His whole résumé was a lie - but it worked.)

He missed his old life, actually - he missed the bruises. The feeling of a fist, crashing against his jaw. He still had sleepless nights, at least.

(With great money came a lot of possibilities for self destruction.)

Oswald was… Not doing great as CEO. At first, everyone was charmed - he was intelligent and eloquent and seemed scrupulous and honest, hell, he almost tricked himself; but something was missing.

He got what he wanted; and yet - despite having nearly everything - he still felt like he had nothing to his name.

He practically became the new face of Gotham - and it felt like nothing.

(He missed getting punch drunk and just drunk and he missed the fleeting thrill of fucking with exasperated cops.)

Oswald Cobblepot had everything; and it turned out, crying in a Ferrari still feels like crap.

He felt something when he tricked Bruce Wayne into punching him, right in front of Regina; it was a weirdly pleasant feeling, getting a black eye from his childhood friend whose family stole everything from him. And then… Nothing - nothing for three months, spent mostly alone.

(He didn’t make any friends. Lots of people tried to get into his life; but he wasn’t letting anyone in. He knew what are they after; and he didn’t feel like playing that game.)

He was in a bar. Salvatore Maroni recently bought it from Carmine Falcone, and was rebranding it - the place was no longer a mafia den, turning into just another expensive, exclusive bar Gotham was filled with. He liked that place, plain and simple; and last time he was there - back when it still belonged to now disgraced Falcone - he met someone; she had red hair, playful smile and Oswald couldn’t get her out of his head.

So, he was in Peperoncino, watching Jacques - the young bartender - work his miracles. Jacques had a beautiful, almost angelic face and Oswald sometimes considered trying to get closer to him; but the man was in a relationship, and Oz wasn’t too fond of getting tangled up as the third one. It was never worth it.

“So, what is it gonna be tonight, mister Cobblepot?” Jacques asked and Oswald winced slightly.

“I told you to just call me Oswald.” he said, tapping his fingers at a wooden surface of the bar, glancing at the tv flatscreen behind Jacques. “And whiskey.”

“On the rocks?” Jacques asked; his copper hair looked beautiful in the dim light and Oswald sighed, almost feeling jealous for Jacques’s partner.

(It’s been a while since he last spent the night with anyone.)

“Yeah.” he said, again glancing at the screen. “Hey. Turn up the volume.”

He recognized the face on the screen - he’d recognize it anywhere. It was the girl he met at Peperoncino - Charlie.

“This is yesterday’s news.” Jacques said, after looking up. “Want a shortened version?”

“Alright.” Oswald sighed, as Jacques set his glass down in front of him. “Do tell.”

“She’s a daughter of billionaires from NYC.” Jacques said, picking up the shaker. “She married a con artist, he ran away with the money. Her parents… Didn’t take it well.”

“They committed suicide, you mean.” Oswald corrected him calmly, despite not feeling calm at all. “Go on.”

“She disappeared for two years. And now… She’s back. And her husband is dead. She refuses to give out any details.”

“Huh.” Oswald said; a picture of Charlie was still on screen behind Jacques. It was a good picture, giving justice to her eyes and lips and the way her hair curled and fell on her cheekbones. “Ugly story.”

“But not the ugliest I’ve heard.” Jacques said nonchalantly and Oswald smiled slightly, knowing damn well the bartender is referring to the tragedy that befell the Cobblepot family. “Why are you so interested?”

“Because i know that girl.”

“Oh? A friend of yours?”

“You could say that, yes.” Oswald said, thinking back to the night they spent together in Maroni’s apartment, her fingernails on his back, his teeth on her neck. “I’m glad she found what she was looking for.”

“I can imagine.” Jacques nodded, sliding a strawberry daiquiri to a woman sitting nearby. “Why do you come here so often?”

“Let’s trade. You’ll give me an ashtray, and I’ll give you an answer.”

“Deal.” Jacques said with a faint smile, setting an astray down in front of him. “So?”

“Because this is the only bloody bar in Gotham where no one tries to pick me up.” Oswald muttered, lighting up a cigarette. “I’m a dream trophy husband, apparently… And a lot of ladies suddenly want to be my trophy wife.”

“Young, rich, tragic, handsome.” Jacques said knowingly and Oswald snickered. “Mmm. Yes. I almost see the appeal.”

“You might joke, but it’s true. Lots of people want me… And I don’t want any of them.”

He wasn’t lying; he wasn’t interested in people who were interested in him. Or - “interested”, as he was sure none of this is genuine, that none of those people would even look in his general direction if he wasn’t rich.

(He missed people he left behind in Essex.)

“An ice prince in his ivory tower.” Jacques chuckled and Oswald smiled. “That’s so pretentious, mister Cobblepot.”

“Life’s a bitch, so am I.” he said without thinking and the bartender groaned.

*** He spent many evenings like that - it was either this or loneliness; he very quickly grew bored of fancy, high society parties he was frequently invited to. Making polite, passive-aggressive remarks towards Bruce was fun for a while; and so was the attention he was getting. Quickly he started to feel like an exotic curiosity; and he knew no one would like him if he became himself - truly himself - for one more moment.

He didn’t make any friends. He felt lonely, and spending money wasn’t helping; it was still just him and his thoughts.

He sometimes wonder what would his parents think of him. He did get back what was stolen from them; would they be proud? He hoped so.

(He always loved the way his mother called him her pride, and he always loved the way his father introduced him to his friends and business partners.)

He spent about six months like that, and during those six months he genuinely felt something only once, when he saw her photo behind Jacques. What was it? He wasn’t sure - pride? Sympathy?

At least it wasn’t boredom. At least it was something.

He spent nearly six months drinking excessively and chatting up Jacques and Esme - Maroni’s secretary. He knew her polite attention is safe - Esme was a married lesbian; married lesbians don’t steal heart-shaped wallets, at least not from men.

Drugs were an option too - and he was heavily considering this option when everything changed. Drugs and recklessness; he missed the thrill of fighting, fight-or-flight instincts kicking in, the adrenaline rush, blood on his knuckles.

That evening, he was at a party - a charity fundraiser, hosted by the Kane family. He decided some fresh air might be good for him and his lungs; and he was politely trying to blow another gold digger off - knowing damn well members of the board, of his board are watching from a safe distance - when his phone buzzed,

Not many people had his private number; less than ten, actually. He valued his privacy; and he didn’t trust many people anyway.

(Trust is overrated. Trust drove his father to suicide. Trust got his mother committed to Arkham.)

“Uh-uh.” he muttered, glancing at it; it was a text from Jacques.

GUESS WHO’S HERE

...Santa? Oswald typed back, not paying any attention to the person standing right in front of him.

Your friend! She seems nice. She ordered a martini.

Oswald’s heart skipped a beat, when he realized who is Jacques talking about. He wasn’t sure why - he barely knew Charlie, they had sex once and that was it. And yet… The memory stuck with him. It was less about the fact they had sex, and more about the way her skin felt under his fingers, the way her breath felt on his skin, the way her hair fell on her face and the way her laughter sounded in his ears. Maybe it was all simply because she snuck out in the morning, leaving him asleep and alone.

(She left him a note, signed with an imprint of her lips. He wanted to dispose of it - he really did; but he never got rid of that card and he was sure it’s still somewhere among his things, along with the lipstick-stained shirt he wore that night.)

I’m on my way. Thanks, Cupid.

I used to practice archery, actually. :P

“I have to go.” he said suddenly, interrupting the nameless woman mid-sentence. “I’d say it was nice meeting you, but frankly, I don’t feel like lying tonight.”

(It was the most asshole thing he said in a long time; it felt good. Like a breath of fresh air.)

He left without another word and arrived at Peperoncino soon after.

“Mister Cobblepot!” Jacques called out to him. “Impeccable timing.”

“Where is she?” Oswald asked, trying to be calm, even though he didn’t remember last time he felt so excited. Jacques giggled.

“In the bathroom.” he said finally and Oswald sighed with relief. “She’s having a girls’ night out with-”

“With me.” Oswald heard a familiar voice, coming from behind him; and when he turned around - there she was, Misty Haze, in all her crossed-armed, plump glory, staring him down with disapproval. “Mister Cobblepot.”

“Miss Haze.” he said nonchalantly and she scoffed; she wasn’t too fond of him. He refused to give her an interview abouts seven times; and then went and gave one to her rival from the same newspaper, Vicki Vale.

(He owed Vicki Vale a lot; her investigative skills brought a lot of things to light.)

“What do you want from her, mister Cobblepot?” Misty asked sharply.

That was an excellent question, and one he didn’t quite have answer for; luckily, he never had to search for one, because in that moment Charlie returned from the bathroom, thus again entering his life.

“What’s going on?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear, same way she did all those months ago, when they first met.

(She looked beautiful. She looked happy.)

And then she noticed Oswald.

“Oh my god!” she said joyfully, her face lighting up. “Oswald? Oswald Cobblepot?”

“I’m surprised you remember me.” he said softly; way softer than he intended.

“I assume… Congratulations are in order!” she said cheerfully, seemingly unaware of anything. “That’s quite a step-up from who you were when we first met.”

“Nobody.” he replied calmly and her smiled paled. “I was nobody. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

(What was he doing? He had no idea. He had a feeling he’s not going to like the response he probably just provoked; he almost regretted saying anything.)

“Was that insensitive?” she asked hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s okay.” he interrupted her hastily; his phone was buzzing quietly in his pocket. “I suppose I’m just… Touchy.”

“Uh-uh.” she nodded, looking at him weirdly. “But anyway… It’s good to see you again.”

She smiled nervously, her eyes fixated on his face, on the scar running across the bridge of his nose, the one she once gently brushed with her fingertips before he leaned in and stole a kiss from her.

“It’s good to see you as well.” he said softly and Misty rolled her eyes. “I… Have to get going. Have a good night.”

He turned around and left before any of them answered; outside he fished out his phone, to see a string of messages from Jacques who was quietly listening to everything.

Wow, smooth. the last message read and Oswald sighed.

Shut up.

Do you want me to let you know if she drops by in the future? No additional charges, just order a drink next time. :P

...yeah.

He sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket and lighting up a cigarette; he felt surprisingly anxious.

Some ash had fallen onto his polished, expensive shoe; but he didn’t care. He just stared at it tiredly. He could always buy another pair.

*** He haven’t heard from her for a week; why would he? He turned around and left as soon as it was possible; plus they were just one step above being strangers.

(She looked so concerned when she thought she offended him. She looked sorry. She looked soft and beautiful.)

He met her at another fundraiser; she was Maroni’s plus one. He knew and kind of liked Salvatore - he was a weird, old man, but he did take him under his wings when Oswald first showed up in Gotham for the first time in twenty years.

They bumped into each other next to the fountain, or rather: he bumped into her. He noticed her some time earlier, and had been absentmindedly following her with his eyes for quite some time now; he picked a moment when she was alone and walked up to her, pretending he doesn’t see her.

She almost dropped her wine glass, but smiled as soon as she looked up and saw his best, apologetic smile.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry!” he said. “I didn’t see you.”

“Well, you see me now.” she said with a playful smile. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I am now.” he said instantly and she laughed, shaking her head slightly; she was wearing the same exact shade of red lipstick she did when they first met. “And you?”

“Oh, not really.” she said with a sigh. “I don’t know anyone, I’m… Still new to town. And my partner disappeared somewhere.”

“He’s like that.” Oswald said with a knowing nod. “I bet he just wanted to show you off.”

“Well gee, I hope he’s coming back, he’s my ride home.” she said jokingly. “You look good, Oswald. This life must agree with you.”

(Did he really? He was drinking too much and didn’t remember last time he slept well.)

“And you look as beautiful as you did first time we met, Charlie.” he said with a wink and she giggled, covering her mouth. “We have some catching up to do, you know.”

(His most vivid memory of her was the face she made when he made her say please; he remembered her skin and her breath and her moans. Making a polite conversation felt weird.)

“Well, there’s no rush.” she said finally. “Because I’m considering a longer stay. A permanent one.”

“Oh, Gotham is good at second chances, if that’s what you’re after.” he said nonchalantly and quickly regretted it as she winced and turned her eyes away. “Shit. Sorry.”

(He just said that to a woman who most likely killed her own husband for driving her parents to suicide.)

“It’s alright.” she muttered. “So you know?”

“It was… On the news.”

“Hah. Of course it was.” she said with a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. “But yeah. This is what I’m after. A second chance, another shot…”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, tilting her head slightly.

“You might be onto something.” she said finally. “It looks like your second chance worked out pretty well. Wonder what’s in store for me.”

Absentmindedly she reached out towards his face - and he let her; but she stopped her hand just before her fingers touched his cheek.

“We do have to catch up.” she said, brushing his - silk, yellow, expensive - tie instead. “Can I get your business card, mister Cobblepot?” she asked with a giggle and he smiled.

“Only if you have a pen. You get my private number.” he said and she gasped theatrically, handing him a fountain pen.

“Does it make me the luckiest girl in Gotham?” she asked, as he wrote his number down on the back of the card; he handed it to her and she hid it inside her purse, smiling lightly.

“Oh! There he is.” she said suddenly, spotting someone - most likely Salvatore - over his shoulder. “I have to go. I… I guess I’ll call you!”

She walked past him, took a few more steps, stopped, turned around, came back and planted a light kiss on his cheek, before leaving for good.

(Her kiss burned and he felt so alive.)

*** She never called. Or texted.

It felt almost like… A rejection - a very subtle, and a shockingly painful one. He checked his phone often; but there was nothing.

And it felt… It felt. That was a relatively new thing - he was feeling something. Something he couldn’t describe, until one morning he woke up with a realization - it was longing; something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

(He longed for revenge and fortune, and he got just that; he achieved his goal and the longing stopped, the feeling had stopped.)

He resumed his life - his lonely, empty life - until one morning Regina Zellerbach walked into his office and slammed a newspaper onto his desk, shooting him an accusatory look.

“Good morning to you as well, Regina.” he said calmly, wondering if she’s angry about the meeting he skipped or maybe about the other meeting he skipped or maybe about that one he didn’t skip, but he might have as well done that, because he spent the entire time playing a very absorbing game on his phone. “What’s up?”

(He recently switched back to his most insufferable accent; he knew it’s making all those prim and proper elite pricks uncomfortable.)

“What were you thinking?” Regina said, rapidly tapping a picture with her index finger. “You represent this corporation, and-”

“Well, for starters, I have no idea what are you talking about.” he interrupted her, picking the paper up. “So maybe give me a moment. The defense calls for a break.”

He quickly glanced at the front page, furrowing his brows and sighing when he realized what is he looking at. Someone managed to take a - slightly blurry - photo of him and Charlie, in that exact moment when her fingers were nearly touching his face.

“And what exactly seems to be the problem?” he asked finally, still staring at her fuzzy profile. “What, is it illegal for me to talk to people now?”

“She’s a murderer!” Regina said sharply and Oswald winced, calmly putting the paper down.

“Nobody’s perfect.” he said nonchalantly. “At least she’s not involved in corporate espionage.”

“...what?” Regina asked, taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“I asked our brightest IT guy to run some comprehensive checks on some of the people who had been chatting me up… And we found out some very interesting things. Like paychecks. Or blood connections.” he said calmly. “Come on, Regina. Cut me some slack, I’ve been a target of corporate spies for months now.”

“You still shouldn’t affiliate yourself with her.” she said stubbornly, crossing her arms and sighing. “Bruce Wayne-”

“Ah, but I’m not Bruce.” he interrupted her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s my whole thing, innit? I’m not Bruce Wayne. I’m a martyr.”

“She could be dangerous.” Regina said, sounding almost defeated. “She has a remarkably shady past. For all we know, she might be involved in corporate espionage.”

“Yes, and Bruce Wayne might be Batman.” he said sarcastically and she scoffed. “Fine! I’ll be a good boy from now on. Does that satisfy you?” he asked coldly and she sighed, shaking her head.

(Regina Zellerbach was never his ally; she did condemn Bruce Wayne for punching him, but he was well aware she’d take his old friend over him any day. The feeling was mutual - he’d take literally anyone over her as the chairwoman any day.)

Jacques texted him the same day;

She’s here the text said.

I don’t care. he replied, glancing at his own reflection in the mirror; he was lying on his bed in his littered bedroom, absentmindedly browsing the internet on his phone. His flat was a mess - he never invited anyone over, so there was no point in cleaning anything up.

Really?

Yes. Really.

You’re very moody, mister Cobblepot. Good quality for a CEO, I suppose.

When in Rome…

The longing had returned; the longing for the unobtainable.

He went for a walk that night; it’s been a while since he walked those streets. He ended up in the Cobblepot Park; the last thing his family built before everything went to shit.

He sunk a lot of money into rebuilding the place. He had the money and he had an opportunity, so he decided fuck it - and renovated the place, much to the board’s displeasure. He paid for fixing the spray-painted walls and planting new plants and clearing his father’s bust; the place was a shining diamond it used to be when he was a kid.

And yet - walking those alleys made him feel nothing.

(He remembered the last time he was there, when he was a kid, crying, with disoriented Bruce doing his best to comfort him.)

He stopped in front of his father’s bust, looking into the lifeless features, picture perfect rendition of Theodore’s serious face. Many people said his father looked intimidating - but they didn’t know him. They didn’t hear his warm laughter and the way he looked at his coy wife and the way he used to make Oswald feel like the world is a safe place.

(He always feel the safest when his father would pick him up. He felt like king of the world, sitting on his father’s arms. He felt untouchable. Indestructible.)

He looked around, to make sure he’s alone; he had a reputation to maintain. He didn’t need anyone to eavesdrop on him talking to a piece of stone.

“Hey, dad.” he finally said quietly, anxiously. “Like my suit? I picked it myself, because there was no one to help me with it.”

He paused for a moment, remembering all those times he played here with Bruce.

“I think I’m lost.” he said finally. “I achieved what I wanted, but… I’m definitely not happy. I feel… Disappointed. Bored. Would you hate me if I said fuck this and went back to England? I kinda liked it there. It was mostly shit, but at least it was mine.”

The statue didn’t answer and he brushed it with his fingertips. He never visited their graves; he didn’t have the strength. For now, speaking to the statue had to do.

“This is bullshit.” he said eventually. “I’m not happy. It’s almost as if… It was all meaningless. As if the chase was the fun part. I put so much time and effort into this - and I can’t even talk to people, because no one in Gotham cares about me as a person. Funny, right?”

He lit up a cigarette and put his hands back in his pockets.

“There’s a lot I want to tell you.” he muttered finally. “And I could use some advice. But, thanks to uncle Thomas… I’m alone in that crap.”

When he turned around, ready to leave - he saw Bruce Wayne, standing in the distance, awkwardly looking away.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Oswald muttered under his breath, fixing the collar of his coat. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking a walk.” Bruce replied carefully, not moving. “It’s… A public place. And I have a lot of free time on my hands.”

“Mm.” Oswald muttered, glancing at him from across the small square. “And how does that feel?”

He tried to see his childhood friend in Bruce, his partner in crime, his old confidant - but to no avail. No matter how hard he tried - children they used to be were long gone; and he wasn’t ready to trust again yet.

Trust is overrated. Trust can get you killed.

Bruce Wayne looked at him with sad anticipation; Oswald wondered if he’s going to punch him again.

(He’d like him to. Then he’d be able to punch him back.)

“How are you doing?” Bruce asked finally, instead of answering his question, and Oswald scoffed. “How’s… Work?”

“Guess.” Oswald replied dryly. “You know it firsthand.”

He turned around and left, walking past - still perfectly still - Bruce.

It was starting to rain and he snickered, thinking maybe he really became the new king of Gotham, if the weather outside mirrored what was happening inside him.

His tears got lost in rain.

***

The next day he woke up with a cold, and a ringing sound in his ears - and it took him a long while to figure out the sound is coming from the door, meaning: someone probably wanted something from him.

He groaned and checked his phone - it was late afternoon and he had a lot of missed calls. He probably missed a lot of stuff; but he didn’t care.

“Yeah, yeah!” he called out, wrapping himself in a blanket and shuffling towards the door. “Why didn’t security call me first?” he asked grumpily and raspily, unlocking the door. “They’re not supposed to let random strangers into the building.”

“I charmed my way past them.” he heard in response and he blinked a few time, looking at Charlie, who had an oddly determined look on her face.

“Hello, Oswald.” she said, looking at him with concern. “Are you… Alright?”

“Did we have a date?” he muttered, despite knowing damn well they did not have a date. “And yes. I’m feeling peachy.”

“I’d believe you if you said you feel like a very old, moldy peach.” she said and he scoffed and coughed. “What happened to you?”

“I caught a cold. No big deal.” he muttered and she scoffed and shuffled past him.

(He didn’t try to stop her.)

“And what happened to this place?!” he heard her ask as he was locking the door. “Hurricane Oswald?”

“Charlie, what do you want?” he asked finally, entering his very messy living room.

“Talk?” she replied hesitantly, looking at him. “We have some… Catching up to do.”

“No, I mean what do you really want.” he said and she tilted her head and raised her eyebrows; he had to sit down. He wasn’t feeling well. “I’m not going to give you company secrets.”

(He didn’t even know any secrets.)

“I really just wanted to talk.” she said quietly, tensely crossing her arms on her chest and looking away and he almost felt like a paranoid asshole.

“Then why didn’t you call? Or text?” he blurted out. “I’ve been waiting, Charlie.”

“Because I lost your number!” she said angrily. “I accidentally spilled some water on the card! And I tried calling your office, but… It didn’t work. Do you really think I’m a spy?” she asked. “I’m not.”

“Which is exactly what a spy or a gold digger would say.” he muttered and she scoffed. “Shit. Sorry. I’m… Not myself.”

“No, you are yourself. People are only truly themself when they’re sick or drunk.” she said sadly.

He felt… He felt something. Something like shame. Something like remorse. But why now? Why around her, of all people? He barely felt anything around Bruce and he didn’t feel anything as he was treating other people like crap and he didn’t feel anything as he was blowing various gold diggers off. Why did he feel something around someone he barely knew?

“I guess I simply have to earn your trust.” she said eventually and he blinked. “Right?”

“Don’t say that.” he said faintly. “I guess… I’m just not in a good place right now. This is stress talking. Oswald Cobblepot will be with you soon.”

“In this mess? I doubt it.” she said, looking around. “Need a hand?”

“No, I’ll… I’ll manage.” he muttered, getting up and heading to the kitchen. “I’ll fix myself up, tomorrow I’ll be a new man.”

He found a last packet of cloves in one of the cabinets, and opened a bottle of vodka with his teeth. Charlie raised her eyebrows.

“Getting drunk for breakfast?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” he muttered absentmindedly. “But no, I’m not trying to get drunk, I’m trying to-”

He paused and sneezed.

“I’m trying to survive.” he said finally.

She made him promise he’ll clean his home up as soon as he gets better, and stayed with him until he fell back asleep. They didn’t talk much; but he didn’t mind her presence. Her hand was pleasantly cool on his hot forehead.

She left him a note with her phone number, and she left it on a table, away from any wayward liquids. She signed it with an imprint of her lips and he smiled lightly, wondering if what happened between them the first time they met is going to happen ever again.

He wondered.

*** From what he had seen, Charlie was doing great in Gotham - she was easily making friends and she was the star of every party she attended and she was dazzling and brilliant; and she was getting a lot of his attention, far more than other members of Gotham social elite.

He promised Regina Zellerbach he’ll stay away from her; but it was a lie, not the first one he ever told and not the last one. His entire life in Gotham was one big lie; he was sure nobody would mind one more.

He felt like Bruce Wayne is directing his attention towards her. He didn’t like the possibility; he was never a jealous type - especially considering there was not even an actual relationship to speak of - but it felt… Wrong. He was the first person she met in Gotham. He knew her body.

Bruce Wayne had no right to her.

(Those possessive, territorial thoughts weren’t anything new to him; he was always like that. You become like that once you lose everything, even in regards to things you don’t even have. Even in regards to people.)

When he looked at her, he felt longing. He had everything - almost everything. He had money and influence and power; it was all his, all his.

Almost.

(He wanted to make her his, one way or another. He wanted her to want him.)

But - he kept his cool during their encounters. He was perfectly polite in public - way more polite than he ever was to anyone at Wayne Enterprises.

(He sometimes couldn’t take his eyes off her. He still felt the warmth of her blood on his lips and the smoothness of her skin under his fingers.)

In fact - he was so perfectly polite it got her some unwanted attention.

“My god.” she sighed jokingly, sitting on his couch as he was waiting for the water to start boiling. “It looks like I’m going to have to choose at some point.”

“Choose what?”

“Between you and Bruce Wayne.” she said softly, looking up at him. “Before I’m caught in the crossfire.”

“You’re your own person. I’m not going to judge you if you decide to be friends with him. Friends or… Something else.”

“Mmm, it looks like it’s a preferred result for Gotham’s general population.” she said, glancing at her phone. “People don’t take too kindly to you chatting me up.”

“Because I have a reputation of a loner. And I told a lot of people to fuck off.”

“Oh yeah, I know. That bartender… What’s his name?”

“Jacques.”

“Yes, that one! Anyway. He told me.” she said and he sighed; of course Jacques couldn’t be trusted. That gossipy prick. “You’ve been spending a lot of time at that bar.”

“Yeah, well, I like that place.” he said, opening his tea cabinet. “They import good whiskey.”

“And you’ve been drinking a lot of it… Or so I heard.” she added quickly. “You know, I’m here if you want to talk.”

“I don’t have a drinking problem!” he said, way more aggressive than he intended. “Can’t a man have any privacy in this city?!”

“You were right. You really are touchy.” she said, seemingly completely unbothered. “But fine. Have it your way. I’m not going to press.”

“And I appreciate it.” he said calmly, picking their teacups up and carrying them. “Really.”

Having tea with her felt… Weird. But also right; just her presence in his home felt right, like this was the way things were supposed to be; and he was almost sad when she had to go.

“I can… Give you a lift.” he offered. “You’re still staying at the Peak, right?”

“Mmmm-hm.” she nodded, putting her coat on and fixing its collar, looking at her reflection in the mirror; he looked away, not wanting her to notice he’s been tracking her every movement. “Well, I… Would really prefer you over some random cab driver.”

“Sure.” he said, getting up and running his fingers through his hair.

“You know, Salvatore invited me over for dinner the other day.” she said as they were in the brightly lit, spacious elevator. “Can you guess where am I going?”

“...oh my god.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” she nodded. “It was… Awkward. He doesn’t know, right?”

“Well, that was the one thing I promised him to never do.” he sighed, glancing at her. “And I did clean up our mess.”

(When they first met, they had sex in Maroni’s home. He was homeless and crashing in his guest bedroom back then, and she was staying at one of Gotham’s cheap motels; old times. Simpler times.)

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for quite some time now.” she said, as they were walking through the garage. “Do you think it’s going to happen again?”

“What do you mean?” he muttered, fishing for his keys in his pocket; she scoffed.

“It’s an elephant in the room, Oswald. A massive fucking elephant - with emphasis on the word fucking.” she said, sliding into a backseat, as he held the door open for her.

He took the driver’s seat, adjusted the rear mirror slightly and looked at her reflection; she was smiling playfully and this smile made his heart ache and he felt longing, longing, longing.

“Depends.” he said finally; and in his mind, last pieces of this peculiar puzzle fell into place; he wanted her. He wanted something again. He had his damn bunny to catch again.

(All the fun was in the chase.)

“Depends on what?”

“On you, mostly.” he said calmly, as they were driving. “Do you want it to happen again?”

“Oh, are we going to be playing cat and mouse?” she asked playfully, and giggled. “Alright, I’m game. Meow!”

He laughed in response, his mind drifting back to Selina Kyle, a thief he hired to get him material proof of what happened to his family; and she delivered, and they parted ways. For a brief time - while she was still there - Oswald considered having a fling; miss Kyle was as beautiful as her name, melodious and soft like velvet. Or silk. He could never tell the difference between those two.

“Well, we’re here.” he said, after parking in front of Peak’s front, brightly lit entrance.

“Be a gentleman.” she whispered as he was helping her get out of the car, her hand in his, the storm of her red hair passing few inches from his face, smelling of petrichor and bubblegum. “Walk me to my apartment.”

“As you wish.”

She kissed him in the elevator; one moment they were standing next to each other, his hands in his pockets, and the next moment she was pulling him in, tightly grasping the fabric of his (custom made, hand-fitted) jacket, her lips on his.

She pulled away as soon as he put a hand on her back.

“You look good in a suit.” she said, her cheeks flushed and he felt alive, like he was living a cliche, but a very pleasant one. “Almost as good as you do in that god awful coat.”

“I still have it.” he said; the elevator dinged and the door opened and they entered the empty corridor.

(Suddenly he had a deja vu, despite never before setting a foot in that hotel.)

“And do you also have that mask?” she asked lightly and he tensed up immediately.

Right. The mask. The memento of who he used to be; a piece of equipment, carrying the memories of box matches and arms dealing and spilled blood. Memories of his old life - his old life nobody knew about.

(Memories of truth.)

“Don’t worry, I never told anyone.” she said quietly, seeing his reaction. “Your secrets are safe with me… Oz.”

She called him that almost hesitantly and for a moment he didn’t know where and when and who he is; it’s been months since anyone called him that.

(She called him that when she wanted him to shut up and kiss her.)

So he did just that - he leaned in and kissed her and initially she gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his hair, her back against the door to her apartment, his hands on her back.

She pushed him away, eventually.

“No.” she said, breathing heavily. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?” he asked huskily, his lips burning from her, his heart focused on a new goal, on a new chase.

“Because I changed my mind.” she said, as he let her go and stepped back, fixing his tie. “Go home tonight, Oswald. We have plenty of time.”

He went home - and left after few minutes, after changing out of his expensive, custom-made clothes into the cheap rags he used to wear back when he was still just a broke, vengeful nobody.

(He still had that shirt she stained with her lipstick. He never got it out; a small stain, right next to the neckline.)

He ended up in the seedy part of town, where one wrong look could cost him his life. He provoked. He taunted.

And he got what he wanted, what he craved so badly; the adrenaline kick, bloodied knuckles, bruises.

(She pushed him away suddenly and he thought back to that time he saw her giggling with Bruce Wayne and their smiles paled as they noticed him; Bruce Wayne had no right to her, but neither did he.)

As his fist clashed against drunk man’s jaw, Oswald gritted his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment, knowing that - despite the waves of familiar feelings washing over him - there will be no consequences. The thrill was only temporary; this was nothing, compared to his old life.

All was his, all was his - almost.

(And yet he felt as if he still has nothing to his name, nothing but old shame.)

He saw her face as he pummeled the unfortunate, nameless man into the ground, he saw her face and her neck and her hair; and her fingers, pulling someone else’s hair.

He went back home, where his punching bag was and he stayed up all night, angry, confused, lost; his emotions were mixing, overflowing, as if something broke inside of him, a dam of sorts. He felt same way he did when he first started planning his revenge, all those months ago. He felt a lot of things - some of them good.

New chase was beginning. New goal was forming. New unachievable was dawning on the horizon.

He drank himself to sleep the next morning, not bothering to let anyone know he won’t make it to the office that day. It didn’t matter anymore; he didn’t care.

In his dreams, there was no void in his life. In his dreams, he filled the emptiness.

In his dreams he got what he wanted.

#telltale batman #dc #dc comics #batman #eng #ff #oc #pinnguin

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