PSL: Visiting Hours

[theansweris]

Ed is a little insulted at the fact that they sent another sub par psychiatrist to oversee Arkham. He had toyed with the idea of just causing trouble and mayhem for the idiot, but decided that it wasn't as much fun without Oswald around to admire it.

Instead, he played along. Feigned breakthroughs about watching a neighbour hurt animals and being touched in places children shouldn't be. A tearful argument with a mirror about being abandoned by women and killing to stop people leaving like his mother, another a sobbing show of accepting that he was split and needed help and wanted to be normal and whole and healed and accept himself.

It wasn't as much fun as regular riots, but on the sly he entertained himself by instigating fights in the other inmates, in planting suggestions in the wardens in the guise of being helpful, hapless Ed Nygma who had troubles with people.

It took eight months, but they escorted him to the gates and gave him his belongings and another certificate that said 'Cured'. From there, he went to one of his safe houses, changed into something that suited his 'cured' status for now and made a detour past the GCPD to get a photo of Gordon's face when he saw him.

Then he turned up at Blackgate for visiting hours. Dressed in a pinstripe, three pieces suit with just a green tie as a nod to his past and a pair of cufflinks set with tiny emeralds in the shape of question marks.

He's virtually bouncing on the spot with excitement. He can't wait to see Oswald's face when he sees him sitting there, waiting.

Comments

[hobblepot]

[Eight months in Blackgate.

It's long enough to feel like years. Long enough for Oswald Cobblepot to have learned the lay of the land and of the apex predators in the penitentiary food chain, schooled on when to open his mouth and when to keep his head down, hunching his shoulders. And yet, not long enough for him to have numbed to the looks shot his way in the chow-hall - the words rat and snitch curling others' lips - or to all the talk of what his socket would feel like around their cocks, or to the sharp twist in his guts every time he's herded into the shower with the others, fearing what lurks in his bloodspot at any given moment. In a fucked up way, it's a little like being back in the schoolyard all over again, ducking around bigger, stronger kids and buying short-lived protection with snacks. But it's hard making plays - and making progress - when his reputation precedes him here, and in no way that commands respect. And at the end of the day, there's no home to go back to, no mother to soothe his bruises and press kisses to his forehead and make him feel like all is right with the world, at least for a little while. Just a six by eight concrete box to sleep in - or to try to, until the next time his door flew open and he'd be dragged to his feet in the dark, guards flipping his mattress and shaking out his pillow and then forcing him to remake his bed over and over until tears pressed behind his eye and it'd take everything he had just to bite down on a scream.

It sure is a funny way for James Gordon to have thanked him for fighting in a bid to save his city. But Oswald isn't laughing, and he wouldn't be - not until he was a free man and Jim suffered for his betrayal. For what he did to him and to Ed.

When he's told one day that he has a visitor, he feels his body bristle, half-expecting to see Jim on the other side of the glass, because Oswald knows he'd have the gall to show up. Unapologetic and self-righteous too, regardless of whatever desperate reasons he had for showing his face. But what awaits Oswald when he's lead into the room takes all the fight out of him, sob of a laugh punching out of his lungs. The scar splitting his upper lip pulls tight as he breaks into his first smile in what feels like forever, big and crumply and bright, Ed swimming in his vision.]

Yes! [Clapping his hands together, letting out a giddy-happy giggle.] You did it, you rascal! I knew you would!

[He stumbles for Ed, wobblier without his leg brace but no less determined to close the distance. He stops short of the table and chair and the wide glass panel greased with fingerprints and just looks Ed over long, suit and cuffs and all, drinking him in. His eye crinkles at the corner.]

My dear Ed... you look splendid. [He's aware that he must look terrible in comparison, sallow-faced and messy-haired, in a dingy two piece uniform missing a button at the collar.] You were kind of overdue for a new suit.

[theansweris]

Ed sees Oswald and he smiles.

It's not because of the state Oswald is in. The basic standard of care that's required is not being met and even if it was, it wouldn't be enough, wouldn't be what Oswald is entitled to, for all the blood he's shed for this sorry, pathetic city.

But he presses his fingertips to the bottom of the glass, mostly unseen to everyone else but invitation to Oswald. "I'm all cured now. Which means that I can turn my attentions to things other than my own recovery." Can focus on getting Oswald out. "I'll need you to contact your solicitor, tell them to give me access to everything."

Small talk has never been his strong suit. And he isn't good at letting his personal side out with so many witnesses he knows he can't trust. "And it's not new. It was one of the ones you had tailored for me."

[hobblepot]

[Oswald's expression sobers, softens. Despite all the loneliness and the fear, the shame in having been forced to surrender his dignity at the door, it's Ed's choice to dress in an old suit that hits him hardest.]

Oh-- [He says lamely, after a beat.

It takes a few bobs of his throat to get his voice to work again - and then he huffs a self-deprecating laugh, all too aware that they aren't alone. Always feeling someone's gaze on him, judging, his bruised body threatening to fold under its weight. He sucks down a breath, offering his thanks in the fragile smile he musters up.] - Duh. You'll have to forgive my less than stellar memory. It has been a while, and I admit I could do with a few more hours of sleep.

[He considers Ed's hand for a while and lifts his own to meet it, palm and pads of his fingers whitening against the glass. And turning his weary gaze on Ed again, searching his face for changes time have wrought and all the stories left untold, Oswald can only wonder if Ed had ached just as fiercely for him in Arkham as he does for Ed.]

Well, I must say, I am very happy for you.

[He sniffs and nods, smiling still. There's hope now. No need to consider to committing to a long-term act hoping that the prison psychiatrists would deem him severely ill and move him to Arkham, allowing him to bail with Ed. And thank god for that - from what he has overheard, it could very well have taken years for any transfer request to be processed. He's done with just scraping by in this place, always one step forward and two steps back, at best.]

All your hard work and your unstinting pursuit of self-betterment have certainly paid off. [Oswald slowly peels his hand from the glass.] Congratulations.

[theansweris]

Ed gives a small, worn smile.

He hasn't had a chance to actually look for any different clothes and frankly, it doesn't really interest him. He has far more pressing issues than his clothing; unlike Oswald, he doesn't need it as armour, just as a bullseye when he feels unappreciated.

He drops his hand down again, neatening his cuff with more attention than it deserves. The little emeralds catch the light briefly. "Yes, yes it has. I fear your needs aren't being met, Oswald, and by that I meant the basic rights guaranteed under the constitution and human rights' conventions. I'll have something sent to you immediately, maybe some sealed food? Perhaps a word in someone's ear to have your leg brace returned."

He knew that might be hard to wrangle. Oswald was renowned for his violence with improvised weapons. "You are not alone in this, not now. I know we all find that reassuring."

Both of him and Oswald, however well they faked an integration they had no interest in.

[hobblepot]

[His eye crinkles at the corner.]

Yes - thank you, friend.

[Pausing, he briefly glances over his shoulder to the guard.]

This has been a difficult time for me. I've filed another grievance the other month, to no effect. Or, perhaps, I should say, no good effect. I imagine you might have a little more success on your side of the glass; if all goes well, you can expect a phone call from my lawyer within the week. ...In the meantime, if you're thinking of sending a care package, I wouldn't be opposed to you tossing in a few packs of instant noodles-- they're something of a currency around here and can be quite hard, at times, to get a hold of with the pittance I earn.

[He pulls a long breath and sighs, sagging.]

...I'd ask you what I've missed, but I suppose the juicy details will have to wait.

[theansweris]

"Honestly? I only got out this morning. I'm not fully caught up yet."

Ed wasted no time at all in getting in on the afternoon visiting hours. He didn't have the Van Dahl fortune, but he had managed to hide a large amount of his stolen riches when he had been busted. Some would need fencing before he could get his hands on cash, but he could make do for now.

But, he could manage instant noodles.

"I'll try to arrange for you to call your lawyer in the morning, have a word with one of the guards to make it happen. The sooner I can get hold of the legal files, the sooner we can get you out of this pit." And really, that was what mattered. Getting Oswald out.

[hobblepot]

[Hope and excitement trill in his chest, feelings he has all but forgotten. He can believe that Ed sought him out without giving himself so much as a day to rest, and a proper thank you is in order back at the Van Dahl mansion, after he bathed and had got some real food in him.]

And not a moment too soon. [He lets the thought sit a while, his brow knitting in a look of childish worry.] ...I'm aware you've only known freedom for the past several hours, but I don't suppose you have heard anything about Edward, have you?

[He has come to terms with the fact he's hoping against hope, at this point - but had their submarine really been stolen with his dog on board?]

[theansweris]

Ed's eyes twitches slightly at the name, but it matters to Oswald so...

"I haven't, but I'll investigate. While a treacherous and murderous cow, I can't see her deliberately harming your dog." It was a level of pettiness against something that wouldn't understand. "If anyone knows anything, I'll find out. But I'm not prioritising the dog over getting you out."

[hobblepot]

[His eye flutters shut a moment and he sighs through his nose, a muscle working restlessly in his jaw. For something that comes as no surprise, it manages to be disappointing all the same; just one more hurt he has to make room for.

He wills himself to nod, shifting his focus.]

Of course. First thing's first... [He taps his knuckle lightly against the glass.] Know that I anxiously await your triumphant return, preferably with the two of us meeting outside this room the next time around.

[theansweris]

Ed doesn't want to give Oswald false hope that he can get him out that fast, so instead he masks it as a different statement. "Well, since I was planning on visiting again in two days, maybe you'll have to tolerate a few more visits with this."

He raps back in return and then his fingers fall to absent drumming on the table.

"You know, we should have considered the merits of getting married. Spousal immunity, clearer communication lines even during incarceration, legal rights to act on each other's behalf... We should consider the legal benefits once we get you out. Also, I think it might give Jim an aneurysm and I would pay to see that."

[hobblepot]

I would gladly take your company in this place ten times over that of my fellow inmates in some cushy hotel. But I figure that goes without saying.

[Despite the frazzled state Ed has found him in, Oswald takes the idea of waiting patiently surprisingly well -- no shaking and frothing or shouts barely bitten back; he has survived this long and going forward, it would help immensely knowing Ed was free and working tirelessly in the backdrop. It's what Ed says next, his casual suggestion, that hits him like a slap. His face goes blank, mouth opening uselessly, closing. Pulse sharpening in his throat.

Ed raises some good points - a marriage of convenience certainly wouldn't hurt them. Although he can already tell, from the sudden tightness in his chest, that he might come to want just a little more out of a decision based on cold, hard logic; he can't help himself.]

I'll admit... this isn't what I was expecting to hear when I woke up this morning. [He says, finally, blinking. His ears grow hot.] But I have to say - [his eyebrows go up] ...it is a tempting proposition. Kinda worth it for the last part alone, really.

[The corner of his mouth goes up, a brief hint of his old conspiratorial smirk, his spirited self.]

But we'll have plenty of time to discuss future plans [--and the prenup, too, should the idea of marrying stick--] over a homecooked meal and a bottle of vintage wine from my father's collection.

[Saliva pools in his mouth at the thought. Fuck.]

[theansweris]

It doesn't go without saying. Ed can't assume his place or position in Oswald's interested and affections because despite his ability to dissect people's actions, he can't read them. Can't work out their emotions unless they're laid bare.

So he's pleased at Oswald's statement, rating this place as better than a high rated hotel simply with the addition of his own presence.

"I'll see what I can manage on the home cooked front. I know I won't be able to stay much longer, but I'll be back the day after tomorrow for visiting time. And I'll send a care package in this afternoon." Ed can feel the back of his neck prickling, already feeling like they won't let him leave, that this morning was a ruse to lure him here instead. "The sooner I leave, the sooner we get you out." It's a gentle suggestion that they end this now.

[hobblepot]

Well... it has been a pleasure catching up, short-lived as it was. [Understandably. He braces the table while pushing to his feet.]

Now get some rest; you'll need it.

[With another smile - this one more tired and frayed around the edges - Oswald turns, his expression closing as a guard moves to see him out and back into his cell. There, he'll spend the next little while gnawing down what's left of his nails, thinking over how to best survive his time in the recreation yard.]

[theansweris]

Ed gives a nod and leaves the prison with as much dignity and not fleeing the place as he can.

The first thing is arranging a care package. Plenty of the noodles as requested, two origami penguins with information hidden inside them, some cigarettes for trade and, hidden inside a thick pair of warm socks, a bar of Oswald's favourite chocolate.

The information in the first penguin is guard names, numbers and brief details about their loved ones. Enough for leverage should it be needed, to encourage guards to do the right thing.

The second one is much less useful, but it's a morale booster, not practical information.

Cost = n/a
Five finger discount
1 = $00.00
2= $∞

It's a riddle of a riddle. But how else can Ed say it?

~*~*~

When Ed arrives on Wednesday, he's made a few arrangements. First of all, that they be allowed access to the more relaxed visiting area, no glass, just them at a table. Ed allows his gifts to be properly searched and scanned and tested, but he's playing by all the rules as far as they can see.

Lastly, when Oswald is shown into the visitor's room, Ed is sitting there with Oswald's ankle brace sitting on the table between them. It's a new one, one that can't easily be disassembled or warped, which is why it's been permitted. That and Ed's threats to approach the human rights' commission about denying medical treatment to prisoners.

He beams at Oswald when he appears at the door, dressed once again in an understated, well tailored suit from his time as Chief of Staff. "My dear, dear friend. I promised to be back."

[hobblepot]

[From the other side of the table, Oswald beams, brimming with pride, like a child whose finest crayon drawing has just been stuck to the front of the fridge. It's thanks to Ed that Oswald has been able to breathe a little easier, feeling safer armed with sensitive personal details he's been saving for the right opportunity; it's thanks to him that there's no glass walling them off and no noise to contend with and that they can sit with their hands almost touching, if they want. His bitten fingers instead skim the sleek, athletic brace appreciatively - not quite his style, but exactly what is needed to take the edge off the jagged pain on every step.]

What can I say? You didn't disappoint. [He huffs a laugh. And then, after a beat:] I can't be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance...I'm worthless to one, but priceless to two...

[He wonders if Ed means what it means -- but that's a rabbit hole he's afraid of falling into one more time. There has been nothing but hurt at the bottom, and he reminds himself that having Ed at his side, fighting for him, is already more than anyone still alive has done for him, and that is enough. It has to be.]

One of your better riddles, I'd say. Or perhaps I'm just feeling a little sentimental.

[theansweris]

"I rarely disappoint," Riddler states boldly, even as they both know that it's far from true. Ed and Riddler have both disappointed people, and Oswald in particular, a lot. But the bluster is comfortable. He just gives a small, tight smile at the riddle echoed back to him, but he finds himself reflexively making the same gestures, one finger, two, tracing a heart.

"You're feeling sentimental. That's allowed, I always said you were a sentimental creature, Oswald. Now, despite the variety of crimes and implications involved, the actual conviction was for Martin's death and that... that we can have overturned very easily with one move. It's simply a matter of if you have the desire to make that move. They declined to pursue other charges at the time because they had you dead to rights on that."

Ed can produce Martin, if Oswald allows. If not... he'll have to work out something else to get the conviction overturned.

[hobblepot]

[His grin folds in on itself, his face scrunching up in a sort of wince. Of course it comes back to this, to choosing between an easy out and an innocent boy's safety. A nagging little voice in the back of his mind reminds him that he's already paid for Martin's protection in the six weeks he languished in Arkham and, god, is it tempting, more tempting than it should be, to give into selfishness and want and have Martin dragged out in the open, clearing his name. They could live happily together - or as close to happy as Gotham allowed, at least - with him providing the boy a room of his own and nice clothes and good food, nearly the entire mansion open to him to explore. But if Oswald couldn't even keep Edward safe, then what of Martin, and of every enemy who would eventually seek him out like sharks to blood?

He may be desperate to escape, but not that desperate.]

I can't. [Oswald says with a shake of his head, resigned. He looks to his hands over the table.] I cannot, in good conscience, expose him to danger - the boy has been through enough.

[A sentimental creature, indeed. His heart may very well be what kills him, someday, one what or another. But before it does, he's determined to have lived a rich, full life, the best life he could hope for in a pressure-cooker of a city.]

[theansweris]

Edward does a fine job of putting himself in danger, often by running head first at it, cackling and demanding it answer his questions and riddles.

He had known what Oswald would say. He's still disappointed to hear it.

"All right. I can work around that. One way or another." What if he could get access to Gordon's gun and the Galavan bullet? Prove the connection and then force Gordon to help him overturn Oswald's conviction? Riskym maybe, but also delicious revenge.

"All right. A different type of vindication will be needed. I can work on that. At the least, I might be able to force a retrial and post bail until then." Something to get Oswald out Blackgate as soon as possible.

[hobblepot]

[Oswald says nothing for a while, gaze hazing over in thought and his lips pushing together a moment as if he might cry.]

I'm a hero! [He whines, thumping his fist lightly into the table.] I have fought tirelessly for this city, and what do I get? A one-way ticket to hell while James Gordon runs Gotham into the ground. How is it that a self-righteous hypocrite with more than a few murders under his belt is put on a pedestal while we are locked away like animals?! [His chest heaves.] If all it takes to become commissioner is a penchant for throwing others under the bus, some grandstanding speeches, and an itchy trigger finger, than nearly any moron off the street would be just as qualified!

[He sullenly juts his jaw.]

...He doesn't care about Gotham, not like I do. The Pax Penguina was near-flawless - it's thanks to me [he jabs a finger at himself] and my initiative that crime was once again brought to record-lows. But rather than appreciate my work, Jim couldn't stand that I was exposing the utter inefficiency and incompetence of the GCPD and went crawling to Don Falcone for help - may his soul rest in peace.

[He holds Ed's gaze with a fierce intensity.]

We both know it's Jim who deserves to brought to justice -- and that it has been a long time coming. No more slaps on the wrist and crooked schemes to spring him out -- he can't [another thump of his fist, his voice despairing] keep getting away with this!

[theansweris]

"Oswald." Riddler's voice was firm, smooth. Without breaking their locked gaze, he reached out a hand and curled it over Oswald's, holding firmly. He had paid the guard enough to allow some interactions, like this.

"Oswald. I know." He does know. He knows that Oswald loves Gotham like few people do and that he has been screwed again and again by it and by, mostly, Jim Gordon. "I will get you out of here. Legally out of here." Not necessarily legally get what he needs to make it happen. "And then we're going to do the unthinkable. We're going to use Gotham's own legal system to bring him down and see how he likes it."

He cants his head slightly. "Do you believe me?"

[hobblepot]

[A touch -- and Oswald stills, looking to Ed's hand and back to him, as though searching for an explanation. And he can feel himself threaten to crumble as his hand slowly goes soft all on its own, all of him wanting so badly to let go, to relax. To remember what it's like to feel safe.

His throat moves.]

Yes. [It's barely above a whisper.

A weak, belated attempt at a smile twitches his lips, there and gone.] And I believe that, together, we are destined to accomplish great things. More than we ever could on our own.

[theansweris]

Riddler nods slowly, smiles slightly and withdraws his hand again with a last squeeze. "I have a thought. If it works, I would expect a bail hearing within five week days. And you would not have to produce Martin as evidence."

He could prove that Martin had been alive after his alleged murder. A death post that point wouldn't matter, legally speaking.

"I hope so, Oswald."

[hobblepot]

[His fingers curl into a fist as the warmth and weight of Ed's hand leaves them. It's hard to keep from closing the gap and gently taking him by the wrist, seeking any and all reassurance Ed is able and willing to provide. He's missed them, the casual shoulder claps, a warm grip on his forearm, the press of their bodies together in a hug.]

If anyone can make this happen, it's you... [clearly] and if you're able to work some magic and pull this off, that would be...[he shakes his head incredulously] ...a tremendous relief, to say the least.

[He wets his lips and leans in conspiratorially.] Care to share with the rest of the class? Or am I just gonna have to wait and see?

[theansweris]

If anyone can and will pull this off, it's Ed. He has a thorough knowledge of the legal system and, as importantly, the burden of proof on the DA to achieve advance with prosecution. He knows how to manipulate the system and, to a degree, the GCPD.

"Well... I'll give you some clues. To prosecute for murder, a death must be proved to have occurred, yes? And that death must be proved beyond reasonable doubt to have been committed or orchestrated by the defendant. All you need is reasonable doubt and they must acquit you. With me?"

He laces his fingers in front of him, to stop himself reaching out again. Not in this place.

[hobblepot]

There was reasonable doubt from the start, had anyone with a couple of brain cells to rub together [emphatically tapping the side of his head] had actually taken a look around the crime scene and done their job instead of subjecting me to a sham of a trial where eyewitness testimony was taken as gospel!

[He pauses, feeling his whole body bristle with rising fury, and barely manages to rein himself in on his own, breathing and breathing and letting his eye fall shut. The line of his jaw tenses.]

...Let's remind the GCPD and the good people of Gotham of what really matters - cold, hard facts. [He continues, quieter.] And they'd best get used to it, 'cause sooner than later, they're gonna put Jim Gordon exactly where he belongs.

[theansweris]

"Oswald. Breathe." Riddler's voice is firm, calm. "I will have you out of here, legally, in five working days. I'm sure of it. And... were I still unwell and of two minds about things, I would say that both of us are confident."

He pushes his glasses back up his nose with a finger. "And so, Oswald, trust me that all these issues will be raised, addressed and used to strike down this mockery of a conviction. When we next meet, I expect it to be with you out of cuffs and into more suitable attire."

[hobblepot]

[Five days will no doubt feel like five years to Oswald, more so with Ed so fiercely confident in the outcome. But he reminds himself that if he could stand to wait actual years for the most painful moment to rip Tabitha's heart from her chest and stomp it to the ground, then he could be good and hold out just a while longer, having no other choice anyway.]

Yes, please. I am dying to get out of this uniform and into anything I get to wash more than twice a week in my own washing machine, with actual detergent!

[Sure, the shirt and pants aren't nearly as awful as the grimy Arkham jumpsuit, but he can't imagine what would be short of going around wearing a scratchy potato sack. He is thoroughly disgusted every time he collects his laundry bag from among everyone else's, compelled to vigorously rewash each article of clothing in the sink just to be sure.]

[theansweris]

Ed gives an impish grin, that one that's pure delight and mischief. Hopefully for someone else. "I'll make sure that you have clothes ready for release. Five days, no more, maybe less. Once you start using words like "suing for unlawful arrest", wheels start turning a bit faster."

He reaches out a finger one last time. "I would stay, if I could face it longer, but I haven't slept in three days for fear of waking up back in Arkham, so I should probably leave and get things moving. Make sure you put on that brace on and stay strong."

[hobblepot]

[It's not long before Ed has him grinning a little despite himself, briefly, even as he realizes how well Ed has masked his own trauma to the point where Oswald has all but forgotten just how fresh he is out of Arkham, too deep in his own misery to see around it.

In the silence between Ed's response and his own, though, he's struck by a sudden, sick dread and the overwhelming urge to tell him that he's afraid something will happen in his absence. That he won't just be grabbed and shaken by the collar and snickered at, and that the inmates who know him too well to let him talk his way out of their bruising grips would decide that favours or ramen weren't enough. They'd smell hope on him and corner him, hold him down, break him inside and out. He knows he can't trust the guards to be watching all the time, to keep others in line. He also knows there's little Ed can do here that he hasn't already, and that now isn't the time or the place to spill his guts to him. But it might not ever be.

He swallows, muscles clicking in his throat.

These are just fears, he reminds himself. Not unfounded, but not guaranteed to come to pass, either.]

Don't worry about me, old friend. [He says, after taking in a steadying breath. The smile he wills is a small, frail thing, a pale imitation of the usual smirking confidence he put forward.]

I've survived this long, haven't I?

[He bobs a shoulder with a feigned ease, reaching for the brace. He doesn't put it on and instead slowly moves to stand, chair legs scraping the floor. Ed is only a few feet away and he thinks about limping over and clasping a hand around his shoulder, squeezing, as if Ed is the one who needs reassuring. But Oswald stays where he is, clutching the brace instead in his fingers. It seems it never gets any easier, saying goodbye to someone he cares about. Even if this goodbye isn't forever.]

...What's another few days with the brightest man I know at my back?

[He throws in a wink. Then gives a little nod and turns to leave, pretending it doesn't feel like the hardest thing he's had to do in longer than he can remember.]