PSL 03: tact from me is like blood from a stone

[theansweris]

Riddler takes them out to try and calm Ed down.

Away from the house and temptation and messy emotions, Ed does start to settle again, until he's quieted down and able to function again. Riddler's relieved and lets Ed pick the lock on the framing shop, letting himself in and acquiring what he needs and letting himself back out again with no sign of robbery. It's possible it might take them months to realise it ever happened.

Ed, being the sentimental one, is satisfied with this.

Riddler is not.

He spends a while acquiring his present. It's not as valuable as it could be, but he's satisfied. And that's enough for them to go home and get changed into more casual clothes and settle on the bedclothes with a book. He might sleep. He might not. Either way, he could be quiet until morning.

Comments

[hobblepot]

[Oswald doesn't answer right away. His heart swells inside him, bright and full and too big for his chest, and it hurts - but a good hurt. They are who they are, the city's castaways, as kind to each other as they could be effortlessly cruel. But their falling out - and his struggle picking himself back up - has helped him understand that love can be a big and bittersweet and imperfect experience, and that's what makes it real. For them, it's this or nothing, and he'll take it, wanting it no other way.]

Last night, when you withdrew, I thought you weren't... well. [He gives a breathless laugh, swiping at his cheek.] I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?

[Finally, he squeezes back.]

I'm yours. [He says, testing the words. He glances to Ed again, expectant, hopeful. More unguarded than a ruthless king has any a right to look.] And you are mine. ...And now, you are going to help me eat this lovely breakfast before it goes cold. [With a gentle nudge in the ribs:] What do you say?

[theansweris]

Ed pushes his glasses up again. It's on his list to do, he needs new glasses and new clothes, though the latter can wait until his weight had stabilised again.

"I wasn't well. I'm not well. In so many ways. I've lost pounds again, I'm not sleeping, I'm actually on anti-psychotics because they do actually help the outbursts, to a degree, but there's so very much not well about me. Why do you think I always pick totally unsuitable mates or sabotage the hell out of my relationships?" See, for example, Oswald.

He gives a small huff and looks to Oswald finally, managing a smile. "I suppose I could manage some toast."

[hobblepot]

[While he meant his answer in a different way than Ed has taken it, he stays quiet, letting Ed talk.]

I confess, I am not entirely sure how to approach this... [he crisply splits into some toast, supposing Ed is less likely to eat a whole slice in one go] ...much less when I suffer from demons of my own. But I want to help. [A beat.] I want you to be happy. [He adds, wistfully, his brow wrinkling, as though he had really counted on such deep-seated pain being soothed and healed by simple hand holding and a shared meal.]

...Butter? Jam?

[He might as well dress up Ed's toast, if desired, while he has the butter knife in hand.]

[theansweris]

"Jam, thank you." Ed watches Oswald's hands move. "You have lovely hands. I used to watch you do your cufflinks and it was... Hypnotic."

Erotic.

"Shh. I'm not good at happy. Or relationships. I don't want to talk about it now but I didn't have any examples growing up. The best I had was a teacher when I was thirteen who recognised that I needed more mental stimulation than I was getting." That was about the highlight.

"What are your plans for the day?"

[hobblepot]

[He wipes crumbs off the knife and dips it in jam, pausing slightly in the middle of spreading it to flick Ed a look that is surprise and curiosity and pleasure folded into one.]

Oh? I wasn't aware you were looking so closely. [He feels a pang of self-consciousness over his nail-biting and chuckles.] But colour me flattered. More so when I've always thought of yours as graceful and well-wrought - truly the envy of any pianist.

[He hands Ed's toast on a napkin, sucking the sweetness off his fingertips unthinkingly. He halves his egg next, moaning through his nose as he relishes every bite of soft yolk and softer whites and chases it all with a sip of hot tea. Perfect.]

As for plans... besides freshening up, I can't say I've commit to anything in particular. Considering I found myself waking up every half hour or so until about, I don't know, six in the morning? I feel like my skull has made contact with the front bumper of a truck. [Smiling tightly.] Several times.

[He crunches into a piece of buttered toast.]

So I could go back to sleep. Or... we could do something else. I'm open to suggestion, as long as I'm not required to move or to think very hard.

[theansweris]

"And I can cover over an octave." Which could be very important for a pianist.

Ed accepts the piece of toast and nibbles at it. The sweetness settles his stomach a bit, the toast itself will help him in the longer term.

"Well, if you like, you can sleep more, and I can make any arrangements you want for later in the week. Your lawyer will want to speak to you within the next day or two. We can go and visit the GCPD if you like, or maybe run into Gordon on the street... Will you want to see a tailor, barber, actual doctor?"

[hobblepot]

Doctor? [There's a flicker of something approaching fear in his eye. His face scrunches up.] ...I'll pass.

[He finishes off his toast, leaving Ed's remaining piece and some boiled egg for him. Dabbing buttery crumbs off his chin (and not missing any jam this time around,) he's satisfied to watch Ed eat a little.]

I'd much rather book a consultation with one of Gotham's finest oculists, which I was in the process of doing prior to my arrest. I want to look my best for when we pay James Gordon a visit. [He flashes a knife-sharp smirk over the rim of his mug.] A fresh cut and a new suit for a new lease on life.

[theansweris]

"Mm." Ed isn't going to push on the doctor front. He's not a big fan himself. "Then, would you let me check your leg and basic health? I might not have qualifications, but I've been performing medical treatments on myself since I was a child and I have a good grounding in anatomy. It doesn't have to be now, or even today, I'd just like to reassure myself."

Ed looks up at Oswald and shifts to get a better look at his injured side. "Get measurements and I'll make you something. Something good. Something that matches your real eye, such a lovely green." He gives an impish smile. "Or I can steal a gemstone big enough to carve into a replacement eye for special occasions."

[hobblepot]

[He turns his head to keep more of Ed out of his blindspot, his grin quietly folding in on itself as Ed lavishes him with more support and generosity than he has seen from the entire city. He touches a knuckle to the corner of his good eye, a tinge embarrassed at how raw and easily moved to tears he still is on a morning where everything has gone his way. How lucky it is, to have a friend in a true renaissance man.]

While the enthusiasm is appreciated, I think it's best I start small and work my way up.

[He sniffs, his gaze turning inward.]

This check up that you're proposing... [he begins after a while, looking away] ...how long would it take?

[The idea of being looked over by someone he trusted - someone who had proved himself more than capable of nursing him back to health after finding him in the woods, drenched in blood and shock-sweat - is only marginally less uncomfortable than submitting to an actual doctor's poking and prodding.

But he'll take it.]

[theansweris]

"Well, the gemstone offer stands," Ed states, making sure Oswald knows it's open ended. He wants a honking giant emerald for an eye? Riddler will get one. Hell, he wants a diamond? They'll work out how to steal the crown jewels for it.

"The- oh. As long as you can tolerate, basically. I'd like to check your baselines, temperature, pulse, breathing, blood pressure, so I know what's normal and can tell if anything changes or is changed for you. Your leg? I'd like a good fifteen minutes to check the joints and movement and see if it can be improved, but I won't push for anything more than you're comfortable with. If that's just letting me check there's no hidden infections or bone splinters, I'll take it."

He wants to do more. He wants to learn all her can and get Oswald into a minimal amount of pain, where he can walk without ending the day in miserable agony from it, maybe even to the point that the brace would remove the pain of standing. But he knows Oswald probably can't and won't tolerate that long.

[hobblepot]

[He lifts his head in the midst of chewing a ragged edge of a fingernail, attentive. By now he's so used to throwing pills at his pain and pushing through it, determined never to let it slow him to a stop, that he never considered - or hadn't wanted to - that his injuries could be worse than he suspects, with new complications to contend with. The possibility of bone splinters wakes a cold, ugly throbbing inside him. He wonders how Ed would be able to properly tell what's happening without x-rays -- but this is why Ed is the expert.]

I'll think about it. [He says at last, gripped by a sudden urge to pour himself a drink. Or several. Licking his lips, he changes the subject to something more comfortable.] But first, I think I'm gonna get dressed.

[Laying the tray beside him, he continues:]

I must thank you again for the gifts and the room service - couldn't have asked for a more pleasant surprise to wake up to after a notable dearth of them.

[He opens his arms but doesn't lean in.]

Care for a hug?

[theansweris]

"All right." Think about it will be enough for Ed for now. Riddler wants to push, because that's his nature, but Ed doesn't want to scare Oswald or send him into a tantrum rage. Not while they're having a nice breakfast.

he finishes the bit of toast, licking his fingers clean on crumbs while Oswald moves the tray and is surprised by the offer. "I- yes." But then he pauses, not really sure the right way to do this. He knows how he wants to do it. He knows how Riddler wants to do it. "What if I do it wrong?"

Riddler spits something venomous, making Ed wince a little. "I mean, over step, or the like."

[hobblepot]

[Slowly, he lowers his arms to his sides.] After some of the company I have had the misfortunate of sharing? [He makes a face.] Not really seeing it.

[Spreading his hands in a sort of shrug, he presses on.]

It's just a hug, not a test. And for what it's worth, you've gotten much better at them compared to when we started - no contest.

[theansweris]

Ed hesitates and then shifts so he's facing Oswald, leaning in and hugging him slowly. The position leaves him sort of draping into Oswald's chest, head able to fit under Oswald's chin. It's less 'hug' and more 'cuddle to sleep' sort of positioning but it was easiest with how Oswald was propped up.

And Ed is so very, very weary.

[hobblepot]

Oh...

[It's always something of a surprise when Ed's the one to slump into him; he's always heavier than Oswald expects for a man of his build, easily shifting his flimsy balance this time around. Tipping back, he puts a hand out to slow his fall, easing onto his elbow with his other arm still loosely slung around Ed, instinctively holding on while he puzzles over what is happening.]

[theansweris]

Ed is mostly bone and sinew and neither is particularly light. He rests his head in on Oswald's shoulder, hand laying awkwardly against his side. "Is this okay? Am I doing it wrong?"

[hobblepot]

Wrong?

[A dry, nervous chuckle rises into his throat.]

I wouldn't say so. Besides, if you were, I'm pretty sure you'd be on my floor right about now. Or even out on your ass.

[His heart pounds away, his body tense and unsure and crackling with adrenaline. But there's no danger here. Only Ed, warm and solid and real, the heat of his breath seeping through his robe. Oswald blinks at him, what he can see of him, afraid to move or to breathe too deeply, to do anything to upset the delicate balance of things allowing this moment to happen.]

...You can tuck yourself in if you want, by the way. It can get pretty drafty around here.

[theansweris]

"I'm not sure... how. I haven't done this before." Cuddling. It's clearly cuddling, and it's not something that Ed or Riddler has context for. Maybe, when he was very small, his mother had held him once, but it was before even his eidetic memory can recall and he can get back to around three years old and his parents screaming at each other in the kitchen while he watches them and doesn't understand.

He takes a slow breath. "I don't mind breezes. I don't like being cold with no wind, but with wind is okay." It reminds him he's not in the ice.

[hobblepot]

Okay... [It's something he thinks about only briefly before writing it off as just another one of Ed's quirks.] ...well, the blanket is there if you change your mind.

[Eventually, his nerves tire of keeping him wired and primed for something that never happens and he feels himself give, little by little, sinking into the mattress. And by the time his pulse slows and his eyelid falls shut on him, fluttering but too heavy to lift, Ed's touch - his hand pressed to his moving ribs, the weight of his head leaned into him - has already begun to feel familiar. Like it was always there, and something he can't imagine sleeping without.]

[theansweris]

Ed just plans on a small cuddle. To see what it's like.

Before Oswald starts dozing off, Ed has fallen asleep, glasses pressed into the side of his face and weight heavy against Oswald. The steady beat of Oswald's heart is lulling and it sends them both under quickly, into a peaceful, deep slumber.

At least, for a while.

Maybe an hour or two, he actually sleeps. And when the nightmares hit, sleep paralysis does its job and stops him from lashing out at his dreams in the real world. The only change in his sleeping self is his breaths speeding up, catching, small, trapped animal noises quietly whined out and his fingers twitching softly against Oswald.

[hobblepot]

[Sounds filter into his awareness - soft, restless noises - and it doesn't take much for Oswald to rouse to Edward the dog burrowing into his side. He pulls in a big breath, hearing a gentle popping of joints along his spine, and sighs, lazily feeling for Edward's head. How the bulldog managed to climb into bed with him is beyond him, but what becomes clearer is that it isn't looking to settle in for a nap. It won't keep still, needy and nuzzling, tickling him a little through layers of clothing until he mumbles and shifts and has to wake up.

Wincing, Oswald rubs at his face, wondering what dire situation demands his attention over anyone else's. But what he finds, when he cracks his eye open a slit, is Ed - Ed the human curled beside him. His heart clenches with emotion. But the happiness and hope rushing through him isn't there to stay as he watches and listens. Ed's eyes are closed but he's moving, keening, his breath coming shallow and fast - every sign pointing to a nightmare. No surprise considering the hellhole he left behind.

Oswald blinks, alert.]

Ed? [He tries, a hoarse whisper. He reaches to touch him, hesitating halfway.] Ed...

[theansweris]

The light calling of his name is more than enough to wake Ed up, too used to sleeping on high alert for so many years and especially in the last few months.

He startles, sits up sharply, glasses askew and bleary eyed. He stares blankly for a long moment and then reaches to rubs his eyes sleepily. "Oswald? Did I- I fell asleep." Not a question. "Sorry."

[hobblepot]

[While Ed does jerk awake like he was dreading he might, there isn't any shouting or thrashing at shadows, much to Oswald's relief. He isn't sure how well-equipped he is to deal with a full-fledged emotional crisis.]

What? [Staring at Ed fixedly.] ...No -- [He sits himself up with an effort, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows.] -- no need for apologies. You were obviously exhausted, and under a great deal of stress.

[Glancing around them, he realizes Olga must have done her rounds; the tray is gone.] Can I get you something? Some tea, perhaps?

[theansweris]

Ed pulls off his glasses entirely to rub at his face more. "I don't- remember what I was dreaming." He didn't always, though he often could. "I don't remember falling asleep either, so I suppose there's that."

I remember.

"Apparently he remembers it. I don't care. A cup of tea would be good. But I can go get it, let you, get up. Get ready." He shoves his glasses back on.

[hobblepot]

[He scratches an itch at his collarbone, slouched and muzzy-headed and in no real hurry to get himself into the tub.]

Well! At least this was nice while it lasted.