#jimwald | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

birdwatching-goesbothways · 2 years

Text

Of marshmallows and bad ideas

Summary:

A heatwave has Jim Gordon sleepless, so he decides to take a nightly walk, during which he runs into a certain someone.

Notes:

@gobblepotgazette

I wrote this for Gobblepot summer 2022! My main prompt was ‘full moon’, but I also added ‘fruit’, ‘broken AC’.

Summer in Gotham is a curse.

The heat lingers over the city like the fog does in winter, even at night.

The tall buildings standing close to each other add to this problem, by making any thought of a fresh, cool breeze nothing more than a silly fantasy.

During the nights, the merciless sun is replaced by faint stars, barely visible through the electric glow of the city.

Even then the warmth lingers, clings, stubbornly refusing to dissipate.

Seeping from thoroughly sun-warmed stone so that not even an open window provides much of a relief.

None of that would have been much of a problem for Jim Gordon, he’d grown accustomed to it by now, after living here for so long.

…Had the wonders of modern technology not forsaken him by allowing his air conditioning to be broken on the hottest night of the year.

As it is, he is tossing and turning in a bed already barren of any pillows or blankets, windows ajar in the vain hopes that it might at least offer some illusion of fresh air.

This cheap and quite useless try at fooling himself has a price though, as through the open windows there is bright moonlight streaming in, burning his tired eyes and threatening to give him a headache.

To make matters worse, his attempts at blocking it out or simply ignoring it have proved to be of questionable success at best.

In fact, all his efforts proof completely useless, as sleep keeps eluding him expertly.

When he changes position for what he feels is the hundredth time this night, he decides to give up entirely. Instead, he hastily throws on some clothes, grabs his keys and heads for the door, feeling eager to leave his stuffy apartment.

If he can’t sleep anyway, he might as well stop trying and enjoy the night instead.

He hesitates for a moment, before grabbing his gun and badge too, almost as a second thought.

Better safe than sorry, even though he’s not planning to visit the truly dangerous parts of the city.

Even though the heatwave has criminal activity on an all time low, giving off the impression that not even criminals seemed to be resistant to the drowsiness and listlessness that comes with the heavy heat.

Even though the full moon and warm wind create such a peaceful and serene atmosphere, illuminating the empty streets in an almost ethereal glow. Once outside, he wanders around aimlessly, enjoying the excuse to get rid of his restless energy.

It’s… nice honestly. The, if not exactly cool then at least less warm, night air feels soothing against his flushed skin.

He comes across what he suspects is a drug deal, but for once he just passes by.

He doesn’t feel like making an arrest tonight, and one more stupid kid hoping to make quick money won’t make much of a difference.

Besides, if they’re out “working” in a night like this, instead of partying with their friends or making an effort to escape the heat, they must truly be desperate, and having to pay for a lawyer won’t exactly do anything but make their situation worse.

Other than that, the streets are completely empty.

There’s the occasional stray cat, sure, and sometimes a lone car drives by, but for the most part he walks alone. So when he hears the rhythmical clicking of a cane, and notices that the shadowy figure a few streets ahead limps in a very particular way, he already has a strong suspicion as to who it is.

He speeds up his steps to catch up, resisting the urge to break into a jog.

That just might come across a little threatening, especially since Cobblepot doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet. When he is finally close enough, he reaches out to tap the gangster’s shoulder, only to have him suddenly swivel around, teeth bared.

The unmistakable flash of a knife has him stumbling back in surprise, holding his empty hands up in a non-threatening gesture.

“Easy now, it’s just me. And I really wasn’t planning to get stabbed tonight, so if you don’t mind…?”

Cobblepot’s almost manic expression immediately shifts to embarrassment as recognition flits across his face.

The knife vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Impressive slight of hand as he has to admit.

“Jim! I apologise, I realized someone was following me, and I thought… had I known it was you, I would never have been as rude.”

Now it’s Jim turn to be embarrassed. Of course Oswald had noticed him approaching, he would be long dead if he didn’t have a talent for such things.

“Lesson learned, don’t try to sneak up on a mob boss. Got it.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate your company, but what are you even doing here, at this hour?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Too warm. You?”

Despite making his inquiry deliberately casual, he’s pretty interested in the answer. Because Cobblepot still seems overly tense, his pleasant smile more strained than usual.

There seems to be anger bubbling beneath the pristine surface, and he can’t help but wonder why a man of his standing would walk along Gotham streets alone at night, instead of being driven in one of his fancy cars, or at least protected by lackeys.

“Ah, you know,” the smile he receives now is faker than the Gucci handbags they’re sometimes trying to sell on main street.

“Just a trivial old business meeting. Nothing for you to worry about.”

If he were one of Cobblepot’s Business partners or lackeys, he’d worry for his safety.

“And you just.. felt like going for a walk? Alone?”

The man’s smile sours.

“Their incompetence annoyed me, so I sent them away.”

 Great. Apparently, his spontaneous hunch has been completely right.

Penguin’s mood must be pretty bad, if he’s angry enough to send the entirety of his men away in order to walk somewhere by foot, despite the obvious pain in his leg.

God bless the poor devils he has “trivial business” with.

At least he tells himself that the gnawing worry he feels is merely for the people Cobblepot meets, not for the man himself.

He can’t deny though, that it’s not a great sign, to see the penguin so seething with rage that he becomes reckless.

He looks like he’s just itching to make rash decisions that will end badly for everyone involved, most of all himself.

For a moment he considers simply arresting the mafia-boss to stop the blood bath he suspects would follow otherwise.

All he has to base an arrest on though, is him threatening an officer with a most likely illegal to possess switchblade. Even if the obvious claim of self-defence wouldn’t work, Cobblepot’s lawyer would have him out by tomorrow morning.

Free to go wherever he likes, only considerably more angry.

That’s not worth straining their already tense relationship more for.

But he can’t just let things unravel either.

That’s when a, part brilliant, part idiotic idea hits him.

“If the business is so trivial, maybe you’d like to accompany me on my walk instead?”

Perhaps that would at least give him time to calm down a little, before he went to unleash hell on whoever managed to enrage him so.

He seems conflicted now, obviously contemplating the offer, yet loath to give up his initial plan.

“As much as I’d love that, I’m afraid being seen together at this hour wouldn’t be good. I’d hate to tarnish your integrity.”

He’s not going to give up that easily.

“Didn’t think of that. My apartment’s A/C is broken, so I can‘t really invite you there, but… you could join me on the roof.”

Seeing that Cobblepot doesn’t seem entirely convinced yet, he uses his ultimate ace.

“Besides, wouldn’t you rather spend such a nice summer night with a friend instead of wasting it on business?”

By the way the mans expression changes from slight suspicion to shock, and then to honest joy, he can tell that he’s got him now.

Even his anger and frustration seem to be momentarily forgotten.

“If you insist, I suppose I could make some time.”

Jim has to supress a smile.

******

Once they’re on his apartment’s roof, which almost definitely isn’t supposed to be used as a hangout spot, Cobblepot looks almost comically out of his depth.

Standing on the dusty and barren flat roof with his fancy three piece suit, perfect eyeliner and elaborately styled hair, he looks like Jim felt whenever Barbara had dragged him to some fancy restaurant with too many forks and too small portions of food.

“Why exactly did you want to come here again?”

The obvious confusion yet careful politeness makes Jim chuckle. What a subtle and painfully Oswald way to say “this place is a dump, why the fuck did you make me come here”.

“I know it’s not exactly fancy, but it’s tradition.”

That certainly manages to catch Cobblepot’s attention.

“In my youth, in nights like this, me and a few friends used to sneak out. We didn’t feel like sleeping or staying inside. Not when the moon was bright, the air was warm, and you could sometimes see fireflies.”

Jim doesn’t entirely know why he’s sharing this private piece of memory with the king of the mob of all people. Maybe he wants to defend his choice of place, or maybe he just likes the way Oswald’s eyes light up at the freely shared memory.

“We lived in the suburbs though, which essentially meant if anyone saw us, our parents would know by morning. So we found a place where no one would see us, which just happened to be the roof of an abandoned factory.”

Oswald smiles, although it seems a bit melancholic.

“That sounds wonderful. I wish I had stories like this.”

That gives Jim another ridiculous idea. And when he already gave in to the first one, he might as well do so with the second.

He does have to try and keep the man here long enough to calm down. “Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.” Unknown to Jim, Oswald’s anxiety is getting worse by each second ticking by.

He just can’t help but worry.

What if Jim wouldn’t return at all, and it was simply a cruel joke, something to embarrass him? Or worse still, what if it’s a trap? He’s certainly thrown people off the roof before, so what would stop Jim from doing the same?

His morals, idiot, his brain helpfully supplies, not easing any worries with its admittedly truthful remark.

What could be taking Jim so long? And why did he even invite him in the first place? It’s not like he expressed any desire to spend time with him before.

He’s not coming back.

He should just leave. Spare himself the embarrassment and hurt of not being wanted.

What a silly idea, to accept such an obvious ruse in the first place. A rooftop? Seriously? There’s nothing here. Nothing but dust and dirt.

As Jim returns, he finds Oswald pacing restlessly, obviously uncomfortable.

He politely ignores the obvious relief on Cobblepot’s face as he sees him, instead showing off what he brought.

“Blankets and candy, some fruit too, in case your tastes are too refined for dollar store twizzlers.”

He lays down the blankets, gesturing for the other man, who seems to be at a loss for words for once, to sit down.

Then he sits beside him, before taking out the twizzlers and munching on one of them. He offers them to Oswald, who indeed seems more inclined to go for the fresh cherries he brought.

“Fraternising with the enemy by offering them snacks? Shame on you!”

“Never saw you hesitating to offer me a drink either. That’s what they say, right? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

“Believe me, the things I do to my enemies are very different.“ he lightens the remark with a cheeky grin that makes Jim feel slightly uneasy.

“I offer you drinks because I hardly see you as an enemy, old friend.”

“Alright, “old friend”, he says, opting for a lighter mood. “You complained about not having memories like mine, so I decided the time has come for your first ever legendary rooftop hangout.”

Only when Oswald laughs in surprise, lifting one impeccably styled eyebrow, Jim notices that he let the old, quite embarrassing name slip out.

“That’s, uh, that’s what we used to call it. Back then.”

“Adorable.”

“Shut up.”

That’s when he remembered that he brought something else too.

He takes out the items from his bag. A candle, matches, toothpicks and mini marshmallows.

The puzzled looks he receives from the other are very satisfying.

He does eventually take pity on him though.

“Another tradition. You can hardly make a bonfire on a roof, so we had to improvise in order to eat marshmallows. This is what we came up with.”

He sticks one of the mini marshmallows on a toothpick, before lighting the candle and handing it to Oswald, whose confusion seems to have turned into intrigue.

“How do you do it?”

“What, don’t tell me you never had marshmallows?!”

“As you might be able to imagine, I didn’t really have friends in my youth, so it just never came up. We weren’t all football stars and homecoming kings, Jim.”

Perhaps Jim would feel bad for him, were he not wearing a tie that probably cost more than his entire apartment.

He bites back the comment though, instead aiming to share his sparse knowledge of marshmallow grilling.

“It’s simple, really. You just have to hold it close enough to the fire to melt, but not close enough to burn.”

It’s amusing to see the grown man so out of his element, working with the same precision you’d expect from a surgeon, as if the marshmallow might explode in his face at the smallest mistake.

“Personally I just light them up and blow out the flames though. They end up a bit charred, but it gets the job done.”

Oswald chuckles in surprise, and Jim can’t help but notice how beautiful he looks like this. Genuinely happy and unguarded, exited about something so trivial.

“You always did lack patience and foresight.”

“Careful, I’m about to revoke your candle privileges, and then you’ll have to eat the marshmallows raw.”

“Raw? Seriously? It’s not meat James.”

“I’m never inviting you anywhere again if you keep criticising me.”

“Oh no, please do reconsider Jim, how could I possibly survive without the luxuries of this barren roof?”

It’s surprisingly easy to joke around with the man who calls himself king of Gotham.

Although right now he seems more like a court jester, with his affectionately mocking quips.

“Pray tell, what else does one do on a “legendary summer night rooftop hangout?”

“We used to talk about all kinds of things. Stuff like, how would our three dimensional world look like to a being of the second dimension? Would it be some cosmic horror trip?”

The nostalgia has gripped him full force now, and it feels like these nights long gone are once again close enough to reach out and touch.

He can almost hear the laughter of his friends, feel the thrill of going against his mothers rules to just get away from everything for a while, from the oppressive atmosphere and the glaring emptiness his father left.

He wonders how his friends from back then are doing today.

Better than him, he suspects. Certainly not roasting marshmallows with a ruthless killer.

Whatever.

“It’s fascinating to hear such things. I suppose my own youth wasn’t as normal, in hindsight. I spent most of my time poring over books, reading every book about strategy and war I could get my hands on.”

“Sounds lonely,” Jim can’t help but blurt out, which he immediately regrets.

He really isn’t in any place to judge.

Still, the image of a younger Oswald, sitting alone in his room while the others met up with friends or went to parties, desperately reading book after book, hoping to get somewhere, some day: it hurts.

He wonders if it was a voluntary choice, or if had simply been his way of coping with the fact that none of the others wanted to talk to him.

Okay, definitely enough of that train of thoughts.

Oswald brushes away his concerns easily, if not completely convincingly.

“I was simply too far ahead of them. And it paid off, didn’t it? Here I am, powerful and wealthy, respected, while they have their pathetic nine to five jobs and little domestic fantasises.”

“But enough about me,” he exclaims, cheer returning to his voice, “please do tell me more about that youthful ritual of yours, I find it terribly fascinating.”

“One time we ended up giving the constellations new names. Believe me, they were terrible.”

It looks like Oswald wants to know more, so he quickly continues on. He isn’t about to confess that he made up a constellation called ketchup dancefloor.

“Other times we just talked about life, or exchanged secrets.”

At the mention of secrets, Oswald perks up, before asking all too non-challantly: “Oh, secrets? What kind?”

The trap is awfully obvious, however Cobblepots terrible impression of innocence is so amusing, that Jim still decides to indulge him on a whim.

“Something like this: I lied earlier. I don’t… “ he tries to make his voice sound light, hoping not to betray the weight of what he’s admitting. “I don’t actually see you as an enemy. I try, but I’m not very successful.”

For the fraction of a second, shock is visible on Oswald’s face, before he elegantly covers up any and all true emotions with a thick layer of sarcasm once again.

“Aww James, how touching. It’d be an honour for me to buy us matching shirts with the inscription “I don’t actively want you dead”. It’ll be so sweet.”

Jim’s retaliation consists of threateningly moving his hand towards the candle, as if he were truly planning to take it away from Cobblepot, who, by the looks of it, had been enjoying the marshmallows immensely.

Seeing the obvious warning, he relents, smirking.

“Alright alright, I’ll stop making fun of you. Now, I believe I do owe you a secret too?”

What a surprise! Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, not making use of the fact that he didn’t make any promises in the first place? Willingly surrendering private information? Truly unusual.

“You don’t have to. I was just explaining how the game works.”

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of breaking the sacred rules of summernight rooftop secret trading.”

He certainly isn’t too shy to embarrass Jim by continuing to use that silly name.

“I believe it has to be something you’ve never told anyone, something close to the heart?”

He nods, although he would like to deny that his secret had fulfilled these specifications.

He has a feeling Oswald would look right through his protests anyway.

“Then I have the perfect secret. I hope you’re aware though, that I will have you killed should you ever tell anyone.”

Alright, now he’s curious.

“Unless you’re about to confess a murder or similar crime, I festively vow to stay silent.”

“I’m not unhappy with my past or choices, it brought me to where I am after all. But sometimes I wonder how it would be like to kiss someone.”

He certainly wouldn’t have expected that. In fact, it hits him like a freight train.

“You’ve never..?”

“Of course I’ve had sex, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not some blushing virgin. It was just never paired with the kind of attachment that warranted kissing.”

And if he sounds slightly bitter about it, Jim certainly won’t call him out for it.

It’s shocking enough that a man so private, so careful not to show weakness, so worried about his reputation would offer such a private detail.

But then again, this is such a typically Oswald thing to do. The man is a tactical genius, a master manipulator. He even uses his vulnerability as a weapon, subtly forcing Jim to step away from his black and white thinking and recognising him as something else than a heartless criminal.

It’s impressive, really. And it’s working.

And fuck, the peaceful atmosphere, the silver moonlight, and the warmth these old memories brought to his chest have him considering something incredibly stupid.

“If you really wanna know what it’s like, I could kiss you.”

Oswald’s head snaps up with so much force that Jim is worried he might have pulled a muscle.

He seems to be completely flabbergasted, before his delicate features contort in anger. There’s a slight blush too though, which implies that he seems to have considered the idea at least for a moment.

“What?! How dare you make fun of-”

“Relax, it’s not that at all,” he hastily tries to explain. “I’m actually serious. You see, when me and my best friend were 17, we were wondering that too, so on a night exactly like this we just kissed each other. We were only that, friends, and there were no other feelings involved, but I don’t regret having my first kiss with someone I cared about instead of some random stranger at a party.”

“And I wouldn’t mind being that someone for you, if you’re interested,” he adds carefully.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s just an offer. Take it or leave it.”

Honestly, he has no idea what possessed him to make such an offer in the first place. It’s ridiculous, idiotic, and totally shouldn’t make his heart rate speed up.

“Besides, I do still owe you a favour, in case you’re more comfortable with a trade.”

He gives his best roguish smirk, hoping against all odds that it will be enough to convince Oswald.

If he doesn’t, he can still play it off as a joke.

Oswald just stares at him for what feels a lot longer than seconds, calculating gaze making him squirm.

He gulps, wondering exactly how obvious his nervousness is.

Whatever Oswald had been looking for, he seems content, as he finally looks away.

“A trade then. I accept your conditions.”

Jim’s confidence is fading fast now, as he realises just how crazy what they’re about to do is.

Oswald seems calm as always.

Annoyingly in control, mischievous glint in his eyes.

Oh to be that collected. Instead, his palms are sweaty, his heart is racing, and his breath is coming short.

It’s not because of Oswald, he tries to tell himself. It’s just been too long since I’ve been close to someone like this.

Either way, he certainly feels something as Oswald reaches up and pulls him down to his height.

Resistance doesn’t even come to mind, he just obediently follows along.

He looks directly into Oswald‘s eyes now, piercing and green, long dark lashes accentuated by subtle eyeliner.

He‘s close enough to see the little golden specks in his iris, and oh god was this a stupid idea, it feels way too intimate to be this close. To share his breath and smell his perfume, to feel his warmth.

He should break away now, should try to laugh it off.

Instead he closes his eyes his eyes as Oswald pulls him closer still, closing the gap by leaning in and pressing their lips together softly, in a chaste kiss.

Functioning entirely on instinct now, Jim’s hands fly up to pull Oswald closer, to deepen the kiss, chasing the lingering note of sweetness the marshmallows left.

The silky suit feels so good under his fingers, smooth and cool despite being entirely unsuited for the warm weather.

Body warmth is seeping through the layers, and feeling entirely too hot in his own shorts and shirt, (even more so right now), he can only imagine how it is for the other man right now.

He would be all too happy to help him with that, peel him out of the many layers until his searching hands find skin to caress.

But he can’t. He’s not allowed to, he isn’t a lover.

He is forced to be content with the hand on his cheek, a caress that sets his nerve endings on fire and leaves him craving more.

Too soon Oswald pulls back, letting go of his face in the process.

He is surprised by the intensity of his desire to pull him back, kiss him again and don’t stop until they both forget why this could never work.

Until he manages to forget that it’s not him Oswald wants to kiss, but anyone. That it’s all just because of another stupid trade. Although this time, he can’t deny that it was him that initiated it, and not Oswald.

Speaking of which, he seems a tad bit out of breath and deliciously disheveled, but otherwise annoyingly collected.

If it weren’t for the blush covering his cheeks and nose Jim might even have thought he was completely unaffected.

“That was certainly… interesting.”

Anytime, he wants to say. He doesn’t.

“Sure, you’re welcome.”

You’re welcome? What an astonishingly stupid thing to say after a kiss.

Oswald takes it in stride, as he always does, simply continuing the conversation as if Jim didn’t want to fold in on himself in embarrassment.

“Quite a surprising night it has been, hasn’t it?”

Hoping not to embarrass himself further, Jim settles on a noncommittal grunt.

“I’m afraid I have to go now though. Even though it has been so wonderful.”

“Trivial business?” He allows his voice to sound a tad bit taunting, pretty sure that Oswald is well aware he didn’t exactly buy into the story.

The crooked little smile he receives makes him want to punch a wall, because fuck. How could he do this to himself? How the absolute hell did he think it was a good idea?

He presses his fingernails into his palm with force, willing his hands not to reach out and pull Oswald in for another kiss, not to find out wether he can taste some lingering note of cherry too.

“No James. I’ve decided that my ”trivial business” might benefit from a little more careful strategic planning.”

“Good to hear.”

“I do appreciate you helping me realise that. And I appreciate you sharing this legendary rooftop hangout with me. It means a lot.”

Then stay the night, or at least another hour, he bites back, using up all his effort not to let it spill out.

Ignoring this line of thought, he jumps up, offering Oswald a hand.

It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to keep him here against his explicit wish to leave.

And if he doesn’t exactly let go of his hand after pulling Oswald up, who are these gentlemen anyway, to criticise his behaviour? They’re dead.

“You… need to get back to the club, huh?”

Another one of these soft, unguarded smiles Oswald seems to have only for him.

“A nightclub doesn’t run itself James.“

Then, after a moment of consideration, he adds: “Not even if I really want it to.”

“Maybe we could do it again sometime? I know some nice rooftops, and I’d love to introduce you to some of the snacks my mother used to make for me.”

That’s almost certainly a bad idea. But it seems to be a night filled with those anyway, so what is one more?

In fact, he has plenty of bad ideas on the back burner, and the night is temptingly long still.

“Sure, I’d love to.”

In a spur of the moment decision, he takes up the bag of marshmallows, pressing them into Oswald’s hand.

“Here, take these.”

“Don’t you want to eat them yourself? I can easily buy my own.”

“You have plenty of marshmallow eating to catch up on,” he says, before giving a lopsided grin and adding “besides, they taste better on you anyway.”

And if Oswald hadn’t been blushing before, now he definitely is.

“Careful Jim, lest I jump to conclusions.”

Even now, his tone is controlled and even. It drives him crazy. Just what would it take to shake up this insufferably irritating man?

“About that kiss earlier. I’m afraid I did it wrong..”

Another one of these calculating looks, carefully weighing the possibility he might be telling the truth, before breaking into a smirk.

“Really? We did have a deal though. So perhaps you should try again.”

“Perhaps.”

This time it’s him who makes the first step, pulling Oswald closer, and going in for a passionate kiss.

Oswald isn’t shy either, if anything, he gives as good as he gets, hands wandering up and slipping underneath Jim’s shirt, all too eager to explore.

“See James, I’ve just decided that for all I care the club can run itself for a night.”

Jim smiles into the kiss, finally letting his own hands roam freely.

“That’s great to hear.”

#GobblepotSummer2022 #gobblepot fanfic #gobblepot #jimwald #gotham #my writing

26 notes · View notes