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

[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.]