PSL 02: Fresh Air

[theansweris]

It took Ed four days, and most of that seemed to be waiting for approval from one office to go to the next office and get approved further along the line. Then they had to give appropriate notice and argue among themselves until it was agreed that it had to proceed, even with the objections from the DA and the GCPD.

The allowed clothing was restricted, but for the court appearance, Oswald was given some of his own clothes back, even if just his shirt, pants and jacket.

The session was mostly reading a list of the charges Oswald had been convicted of and the lawyer using Ed's neatly produced list to cite off why each of those was unsound and would require, at minimum, re-trial with due consideration to the burden of proof and threshold of prosecution.

It was a long, long session. But it ended with the conclusion that the state could not hold Oswald at this interval and thus

"-Mr Cobblepot, it is the finding of this court that your conviction was unsound and thus, you are free to leave this court. This is not a finding of not guilty, nor an absolution of charges, but a legal determination that the burden of proof has not been met."

There were reporters outside, of course. There were also several men in suits by a limo that was ready and waiting to whisk Oswald and his lawyer off.

From there, it was a drive. Out and to the Van Dahl manor, past the gates to keep out intruders and press and there, waiting on the stoop, was Ed, hands laced and a smile on his face as the car pulled up.

Comments

[hobblepot]

[He snorts softly and stares into his lap, still waiting for the knife.]

You're my only friend.

[He says, in a frayed voice, shrugging after a moment as if it's a silly thing to say, a silly thing to want to cry over.] And I'd do it again, in a heartbeat - no regrets.

[theansweris]

Ed reaches over, still not looking, so it takes a couple of goes, and wraps his hand over Oswald's again. "Likewise. For both."

The idea of being interested in men, even just romantically, had panicked Ed for a long time. There was a reason Riddler had hoarded that trait for himself, like the anger, like the pride.

"When you were- When I thought I killed you. I grieved. We grieved. I took up drug use just to hallucinate and have a chance to see you, even if it meant risking seeing others."

[hobblepot]

[He lifts his head, taking in the face that haunted him for years, the gentle, dreamy glow of the fire softening the cut of Ed's cheekbone and jaw.

It has been his dream to rise above being a mere footnote in the city's history to leave an indelible mark, commanding the respect of others if he couldn't be loved by them. But for everything he's done, the good he thinks he has tried to do for Gotham, he has been cursed and challenged at every turn by would-be usurpers to his throne, the thought of his death met with relief, triumph, celebration.

And then there's Ed.

Ed mourning his loss. Ed drugging himself.

It's hard to know what to say to that.

It's a little troubling, how far over the edge Ed had gone. But it's gratifying, too, being missed. Having some power over Ed in the way Ed did over him, his heart so full, so sick with wanting.

Calmly, he holds up a hand to stop him.]

All that is in the past now. There's no need for any of it ever again. [He pauses, trying to gauge Ed's expression. Wondering if he can feel his gaze on his face and if that alone can compel him to look back.] I'm here now... and I have no intentions of leaving, not for a very long time.

[theansweris]

Ed who murdered him unable to let go of the chance to have him.

"That was why I flicked you in the head in the Court. I'd been hallucinating you, a lot. I thought-" He shrugs slightly. It's clear what he thought.

There's another pause and then Ed looks back to Oswald, giving a small, tight smile. He doesn't say anything, because the anxiety is churning so high that he feels sick, the anxiety of saying as much as he has, of being convinced that if he tries anything more than this friendship from them, Oswald will leave, or die, or leave and then die. The anxiety of losing what he has. That he'll kill Oswald without meaning to.

[hobblepot]

[With the hand he hasn't left for Ed to hold onto, a hand that has opened throats and pulled triggers, he reaches for him. It hovers, hesitating, before framing Ed's face like he's glass.]

Shhh. [Stroking his cheek with his thumb, fond.] I get it. [It's not true, not entirely; everyone has their own struggles, their own demons to overcome, and pieces of themselves that stay hidden, sometimes forever. But he hopes to offer some comfort, if nothing else. To help Ed sort out whatever needs sorting out in this moment so all can be made right again, or as close to right as they will ever know.] But I think it's time we try to leave the scars of our past where they belong.

[Smiling faintly.]

We're free men... and together, nothing will stand in our way.

[He says it like a promise, meaning to seal it with a kiss pressed to Ed's forehead, if he'll have it; no precision needed.]

[theansweris]

Ed's gone very pale with the anxiety and encroaching panic attack. Oswald's words draw a vaguely hysterical giggle, but the kiss to his forehead stops that.

He shudders and gives a small huff. "I'm sorry. He was going to meltdown." Riddler looks up and presses his face shamelessly into Oswald's hand on his cheek. "Do it again. For me."

[hobblepot]

[Oswald draws back, his smile falling.]

I didn't-- I thought-- [He stumbles over words, the thought left dangling, unfinished, between them; he scrubs a hand down his face, keeping it clasped over his mouth a moment. There's the stab he was expecting, at last, with a bitter twist of regret. He huffs a sick little laugh and nods to himself, pushing his tongue up against the inside of his cheek.

It isn't Ed's fault. It's not his fault Oswald can't seem to shake all his broken expectations, let them go, even if all they ever do is cut him open again.]

It doesn't matter.

[He musters a brittle smile, unsure who between them he's trying harder to convince.]

I should probably be getting to bed anyway... and there's that music box of yours you wanted to work on.

[theansweris]

Riddler looks vaguely outraged that Ed got a kiss, but he didn't. "What, he gets affection and I don't? I've done everything I can for you, every step of the way, and just because he has a minor meltdown about the fact that our scars from the past include literal scars and a split personality disorder among other things, you're going to cut me out?! Oh no, no, this does not happen again, Oswald!"

Fast, fast than even he expects, he snatches up the knife on the carving board, but he doesn't point it at Oswald. He slides it so the point is digging into his own knee.

"You don't get to pick and choose between us. You don't get to care about him and not me or I will carve him up, Oswald! You don't get to only love him!"

[hobblepot]

[A flash of metal floods him with terror-fueled adrenaline and he scoots backwards, jerking both his hands up in surrender.]

Wait -- [Unconsciously ducking his head.] Don't.

[Squeezing his eye shut, he dares to give his mind a moment to catch up with the vicious turn their exchange has taken, grasping for the right thing to tell an equally desperate man wielding a knife.]

You're right. [He says, finally, air rattling softly in his throat.] You and Ed are inseparable, two faces of the same coin, and I accept that. Yes, I'll admit it, perhaps I wasn't fully aware of the circumstances when I first had feelings for you - how could I be? But in spite of everything we have seen and we have been through, I'm still here. I am letting you stay in my home.

[With an edge in his voice:] I'm the only one who sees you and appreciates you for who you truly are, and you know it!

[His chest heaves, a muscle working in his jaw. He wills himself to keep his gaze locked on him, fighting to keep it from shifting, from seeking an out he seldom found in prison.]

I know I am guilty of many things. [He continues, softer.] I have hurt him. Both of you. And the truth is, I cannot promise that it'll never happen again. But right now, I do have a choice. And in light of Ed's... [his lashes flicker] trauma and obvious discomfort, I cannot... [He straightens up. Tries again.] ...I will not take advantage of him.

[A tic pulls at the corner of his mouth, his face screwing up before he's able to rein himself in and school his expression back into something only slightly more neutral.]

For years - years, Ed! - the question of what my life might have been like had you never met that airheaded honeypot and come home to me instead has eaten me alive! All I wanted was for someone to hold me like you held her, and to know what it was like to feel wanted.

[Beat.]

And then, for Sofia to humiliate me, and to watch you find something in Lee I clearly couldn't give you --

[A shudder runs through his lungs, cuts him off. His eye stings wet.]

...I don't even know what I was expecting, from anyone. [Riddler becomes a blurry smudge of colours in his vision.] I don't know why I bothered. But it doesn't matter; nothing I wanted matters if Ed wants nothing to do with it. If he cannot or does not consent to something we are doing with you at the helm, then what are we doing? After where I just came from, I don't need to tell you what that sounds like.

[His jaw aches. He tastes salt, but he resists wiping aside the tickly-wetness crawling down his face and holds his pose.]

I refuse to pit you against each other, more than you already are, over a kiss. I want you both on the same page; a full commitment. But unless Ed is seeking more than my friendship - which, clearly, he is not - then you and I are just going have to make room for disappointment.

[Slowly, he starts to lower his hands, his brow pinching.]

But I am still your friend -- [his voice cracks around the word] -- that doesn't change. And if you still care for me at all, then I am begging you, please: put the knife down.

[A beat passes, and he opens his arms just as slowly, feeling a sharp swooping in his belly as he holds them out, placing his faith in the idea that a hug is all that he's inviting.]

[theansweris]

Riddler's fury and frustration simmers down as quickly as it flares, listening to Oswald and the knife lowering from his knee. "No! Not me, him. Every stupid decision he made about those women was nothing to do with me- Shut up, Ed, I'm not going to hurt him, that's your specialty!"

The more agitated either of them gets, the worse the schizophrenia aspect of their illness shows and neither of them is really particularly calm right now.

But-

The knife is relinquished to fall to the thick rug and after another moment of hesitation, they slide forward and into the embrace, using the advantage of leaning and being seated to tuck in against Oswald, rather than letting him tuck in against them.

"He knows he's going to kill you. Or you'll leave him. Or die. Or all of that. Shut up, Ed, you're an idiot, I'm fixing your mess again. He's not unwilling. He's a basketcase. There's a difference." All mumbled into Oswald's collarbones before Riddler lifts his head, brushing their cheeks together and trying to steal a light kiss from Oswald's mouth.

[hobblepot]

[He stares, stricken, his heart still trying to punch its way out of his chest when the knife drops and Ed leans into him. He blinks wet, already circling an arm around him as he pulls himself into Oswald's trembling body. But it's too soon to feel more than a trickle of relief, to relax again - and he's still reeling from the emotional whiplash when Ed's mouth presses to his, jacking a fresh wave of adrenaline through him. He makes a little noise in his throat - a sort of mewling, half-hearted protest - and locks up, too stunned to move or to breathe, to make this something they're doing together rather than something done to him. And then, it's over. A warm tingliness on his lips when he pulls back and searches Ed's face like he's someone else, someone he doesn't recognize.

It takes him a moment to get his voice to work.]

Ed...? [He rasps, cautiously.]

[theansweris]

"... still freaking out," Riddler admits after a breath. "Probably knows more about kissing, as well. He doesn't object to this. Us. Anyway, I never got a say about his terrible women, why can't I have this with you even if he is a useless headjob about life?"

Riddler shuffles in, kissing Oswald's lower lip softly, pleadingly. "Anyway, he got a kiss. Why shouldn't I?"

[hobblepot]

[His hands find their way over his lap, back to clutching his robe in his tightening fingers as slick and pressure and the heat of Ed's breath ghosts his lip. He can feel himself already going weak, falling apart, as pure need, as everything he has ever tamped down and redirected, even forgotten about for years at a time, crashes over him, wave after wave threatening to suck him under and drown him.

He closes his eye, desperately wanting to believe that it's as simple as Riddler's making it out to be. That Ed really doesn't mind and nothing is wrong and everything is as it should be, the way he always wanted it to be. That he can just surrender to the crazy pull of a force so much bigger than himself, bigger than both of them, even if it terrifies him, and wouldn't pay for it.]

I need to know that this -- whatever this is -- is what he wants. I need to hear him say it. [He sneaks in a breath through the tightness in his chest.] Please.

[theansweris]

Riddler whines, a low, petulant sound and then rests his head on Oswald's shoulder. "I don't know if I can get him to come out. He shuts down during panic attacks. I've always taken over. When he killed Miss Kringle, he shut down for a good eighteen hours. Gave me total and whole control."

It's not Riddler saying 'No'. But when Ed freaks out, that can be it.

"He knows he's going to kill you. Or you'll leave him and then he'll kill you. He can't cope with that. I don't know if I can get him out."

[hobblepot]

[He lets out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a mirthless huff of a laugh, slouching. His heart may be the biggest target on him, but he knows who he is, what he is, and even love can never defang and declaw him. He'll always have his edges, cutting Ed on them too easily, accidentally and willingly.]

No; he won't. Kill me. Because Ed, of all people, should know by now that I don't go down easily. I am not the milquetoast, pathetic shell of a man I was after suffering weeks of Hugo Strange's therapy. [The word twists his lips into a snarl, nearly spat out like a hot piece of food.] A man who even Ed turned away out of sheer embarrassment when he could still count his murders on one hand and have fingers to spare.

[Oswald remembers everything he wishes he couldn't. The leathers straps pulling tight around his neck and wrists and the wired headset sliding over his head, his eyes. Lying there, shaking, his breath coming short and fast through the gag clamped between his teeth, until someone teased the dial of the machine up a notch or five and pain ripped through him for hours or minutes until he broke, his face wet with drool and snot and tears.

He wonders if Ed has been in that chair. If they had tortured him so badly, sometimes, that he pissed himself, too.

He looks up after a minute, solemn and determined. His eye shimmers with emotion.]

...I do know my way around a knife. [His Adam's apple bobs.] And should it ever come to that, I promise him, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will put it through his heart first.

[theansweris]

Any normal person would be horrified, frightened, alarmed maybe. But Riddler looks... besotted. Enchanted, enthralled and doting with the declaration of attempted murder should Ed prove weak to some compulsion to kill those he cares for.

"Well, I would've preferred something less fatal, but it'll make Ed feel better." Riddler wriggles up again, pushing his glasses up to look at Oswald. "Can I have just one kiss? You have no idea how sexy you are when you're promising to rain down hellfire and violence."

[hobblepot]

[Just one feels like a slippery slope.

Sighing, he presses his palms to his eyes and keeps them there a while, unequipped to deal with Ed's persistence when his fingers itch and his nerves hum, his body more on Ed's side than his own.

Of course he won't object if he's losing his mind in the middle of a panic attack, he mumbles to himself, actually barking out a laugh at the compliment he gets. Sexy - there's a novel idea, sitting here stripped of all his finery, still-damp hair lying flat over his skull and his eye raw, cheeks sticky with tears. A Penguin less shaken and vulnerable and a touch more familiar with this sort of attention, these sort of winks and nods and sly, sidelong looks, could've teased Ed without missing a beat, insisting that flattery will get him nowhere. But Oswald only passes a hand over his face and levels Ed a look, feeling like so much of their friendship now hinges on whether or not he's able to dig in his heels while Ed is pulling at him, willing him over the edge with him.]

Right. [Pinching the bridge of his nose. It has been a day.] ...Ed, I haven't even-- [He cuts himself off with a weary shake of his head. He imagines Ed can guess, anyway, that he has only ever kissed his mom.]

[theansweris]

"I'm not Ed," Riddler whispers again, hand coming up to brush those silk fine strands away from Oswald's forehead and his fingertips lingering over his skin. "And I've not either. Won't that be a nice thing to share?"

His fingertip moves to drag down Oswald's nose, tapping the tip lightly and smiling at him. "Would it make you feel better if I settled for a kiss like Ed got?"

[hobblepot]

[He tries to track Ed's hand until he can't and jerks slightly at the playful nose-tap, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. It's obvious they aren't quite talking about the same thing -- and it's little funny that after all the chasing he's done, the scheming and yearning to have Edward Nygma all to himself, something more intimate than the joining of hands and lips never figured into his daydreams.]

Fine. [He's not sure what to do with his hands and tucks them under his arms, jiggling his knee as he thinks things over.] One kiss. Then balance is restored, stars shift back into alignment, and everyone lives happily ever after.

[theansweris]

"One, and then if you want to go to bed, you can, neither of us will stop you, but you promise to listen when I tell you we both want more than... we have. With you." Riddler's very insistent on this, because he wants more. And so does Ed, even if the idea sends him into a melt down.

[hobblepot]

[He chews the inside of his cheek, then finally tips up his chin to meet his eyes almost challengingly, his bouncy leg settling. He could agree to listen, but believing, that would take a little more time. It's strange, intimidating, being desired, being wanted by anyone for more than the favours he can provide; the amazement and the gut-deep, shivery thrill it inspires can only be at odds with the ideas a childhood full of giggling classmates and pointing fingers and bloody noses have bludgeoned into his head. What Ed and Riddler see in him, a tired, bleary-eyed wreck, when they look at him now, is a riddle he thinks he may never be able to crack. But maybe Ed's attraction is not for him to understand, but to accept. To greedily embrace and run with, until Ed changed his mind.

He never much cared for riddles anyway.

His gaze flickers to Ed's mouth, his heart thudding fast in his throat when he works himself up to it and finally leans in to make good on his word. His nose pokes Ed's cheek, lips touching down at the corner of Ed's with a boyish clumsiness. When he adjusts his angle and tries again, their mouths pressing together, it's still with none of the fierceness and sureness with which he stakes his claim on the city. It's too gentle for that, as if it's permission he's seeking, forgiveness.]

[theansweris]

Riddler waits.

It's not a natural thing for him, not like with Ed, but he waits until Oswald indicates that this is something he's going to allow and then he tries to tilt into it. It's no less awkward, even with the memory from Ed, it's not the same at all, not being tender and not freaking out Oswald more.

He genuinely does not care that it's not perfect. It's theirs. It's his.

He draws back slowly and looks back to Oswald's eye, to see what his expression is. And not stealing another one immediately.

[hobblepot]

[It's a rare thing when words fail him, and not for lack of grasping for them. But now is one is those times, his head still whirling while they sit and take measure of each other and while he tries hopelessly to read Ed's silence, to understand what it's saying about him. Maybe this isn't Riddler but Ed now, having clawed his way back to the surface and left to grapple with the aftermath.]

...was it that bad? [He manages, fingers absently fretting his robe.

There's a half-hearted attempt at levity somewhere in there, completely crushed under worries and doubts.]

[theansweris]

Riddlers gives a nervous bout of laughter. "I was about to ask the same thing. Or kiss you again. One of those things."

Nervous doesn't suit him. He doesn't like it. "But I'm not. Kissing you again. You said one. At least until you get to speak with Ed, which might not be until tomorrow, because of the meltdown, because he's an idiot." He sighs and ducks his head, eyes closing and removing some of the temptation to ignore it.

[hobblepot]

[Something shifts inside Oswald and he can breathe again, more deeply than he has in hours. There's some relief in that even while he hives with nervous energy and he aches a gnawing ache, not knowing what to do with himself. Somehow, Riddler honouring his end of the agreement has been less helpful than expected, but he appreciates have one less complication to deal with.]

Perhaps... we should think of pacing ourselves as more a blessing in disguise. I don't know about you, but I'm done with regrets. [Fisting his hands:] I have wanted this -- I have wanted you -- for so long... and I will not let this become one of them. I refuse.