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

[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.

[theansweris]

"Mm." Ed neatens himself up a little, feeling a little odd. "I can make you appointment with an appropriate opthamologist if you'd like. Maybe arrange for us to have lunch- oh. Time. Dinner out tonight?"

[hobblepot]

Why not? ...I am craving a medium-rare steak grilled to perfection, with a side of Lyonnaise potatoes and mushrooms drizzled in a herb-infused garlic butter.

[The stuff dreams are made of - and more than enough motivation to wash and get dressed, if he had no other reason.]

How about Lorenzo's, at eight? My treat, of course. [It's one of the few places he'll dine in where reservations don't need to be made at least a few days in advance.]

[theansweris]

"I can call and get us booked in. There's another place we should try for lunch tomorrow, Cafe Repliqué, it's a French bistro that is apparently incredibly authentic." Ed stands up again, stepping back into his shoes. "I'll call, make reservations, appointments, tomorrow with the opthamologist if possible?"

He's already slipping back into PA mode. Riddler might chafe at not getting attention, but Ed is, for now, more than satisfied with having Oswald's attention to soak in.

"Should I start a bath running before I leave?"

[hobblepot]

[The corner of his mouth goes up.]

Thanks, but I'll take care of it. So! [Holding up a finger.] Yes to lunch... and the ophthalmologist. And if it gets me out of having to submit to a half hour-long marathon of being poked and prodded in a claustrophobic doctor's office, then... [he shakes his head, sighing] ...fine. You can conduct your examination, or whatever it is you want to call it, and then we can all breathe a little easier.

[Oswald shifts and swings his legs over the side of his bed, a spasm of pain twisting his face when he touches down. He tucks his feet into his slippers, shuffling to slide open the doors to his walk-in closet.]

Not that I expect too much of a difference. It is what it is, after all. [Pausing.] But at least it's you, and not some... club-fingered brute.

[theansweris]

"Yes to dinner, lunch, opthamologist and eventual examination, no to the bath- oh, right. I should get out." He turns on his heel for the door. "I'll- check in on you. In half an hour?"

He needs to neaten up himself after his impromptu nap on Oswald.

/insert Spongebob time card here

[hobblepot]

[Lorenzo's lack of strictly formal dress code doesn't keep Oswald from going all in, turning a few heads in a three-piece tailcoat with cufflinks and a gold-accented tie and pocket square to match. Cleaned up and coiffed to perfection, he feels a little more settled in his own skin, a little more like himself for the first time in a long time, and he's thrilled to have someone to share his happiness with; he's already grinning and giggly before he's even had a proper sip of his wine.

Is it a date or not? Oswald is reluctant to label it as anything other than a nice dinner with between friends, not meaning to spoil their first night out in town with any pressures and expectations. Of course, nothing quite says friendship like lingering looks and nervous chuckling when he catches himself, and the urge to touch his fingers to Ed's from across the table, the latter of which he can barely resist.]

To us... [he says, raising his glass in a salute] ... need I say more?

[theansweris]

Ed is less comfortable going out, so it's not Ed who comes with Oswald. Riddler dresses up, with some acknowledgement that they're allegedly integrated and cured so nothing too outlandish, in pinstripes in grey with emerald green tie but amethyst tie pin and cufflinks.

(They were Oswald's, but who cares? He wanted to wear them so he borrowed them.)

He watches the wine being opened and poured and accepts a glass, smiling at the toast. "To us." He sips and sets it down and glances at Oswald's hand. "The next thing I would ask... Mm. Held by one, I'm whole and intact. Held by two, I'm binding. Anymore, and I become nothing. What am I?"

[hobblepot]

[Sighing softly, he considers Ed through dreamy-hazy candlelight.] ...I don't know, a secret? [He gives a careless shrug and lifts his glass to his lips again.] The funds in a multimillion dollar savings account with the world's most obvious PIN?

[Is a throwaway guess an improvement over Oswald scoffing off a riddle, declaring that it's a waste of time? Probably not. ]

[theansweris]

"A secret," Riddler agrees softly. "Is this? Are we?"

He's leaving it in Oswald's hands. After all, Oswald is also an actual business man. Ed... aside from being notorious for his criminal insanity, has little reputation to care about.

His hand rests near Oswald's, invitation but not demand.

[hobblepot]

[It's a nice idea, keeping their love pressed close between them in the hopes of protecting each other from harm. But even he can recognize that it's unrealistic, and that Ed's safety can never be fully guaranteed. That they associate with each other already makes them enough of a target and it's no secret that they're powerful together. He imagines it would come as little surprise for most to learn that their bond extends beyond a mere partnership.]

Will I engage in PDA on the job? [His face twists in thought.] Depends. ...But I will not hide my heart.

[He sees an opportunity and takes it, clasping Ed's hand with a self-assured, determined smile.]

Our enemies will do everything in their power to turn us against each other, and they will learn very quickly that those who dare to cross us will face my full and unbridled wrath. If one so much as harms a hair on your head, theirs will go rolling - I promise you that. And I would be just thrilled to have it packed in a box tied with a neat little bow and delivered to their loved ones.

[theansweris]

A lot of people have and do speculate about what's between them, now and in their past. They swing between murderously furious with one another to living in the same home and sharing meals and often with very little time or explanation of what's going on between them.

Riddler twists his hand to catch Oswald's, lacing their fingers. His own hands are larger, stronger, but then Oswald has always been deceptively fragile seeming, all fine bones and pale skin. "Let's be honest, Oswald. We've never needed anyone else's help to turn on each other." He lifts their joined hands and presses a light, mostly chaste kiss to Oswald's knuckles. "But you have no idea how hot under the collar I get when you threaten violence against people in my honour."

[hobblepot]

[Oswald neither can or will deny the truth in Ed's statement, his smile lingering, bittersweet, as he's kissed in a way that brings to mind a subject swearing loyalty to his king. He shifts in his seat a little, flushing. His skin is already tingling - more of it than what lies under Ed's lips.]

No - but I suspect I'll find out sooner than later. [A beat.] Shall weeee... skip dessert and consider taking this somewhere a little more intimate?

[He asks, eyebrows raised, with a daring he doesn't entirely feel.]

[theansweris]

"That's entirely up to you, Oswald." There's hear in Riddler's voice and eyes, but he doesn't make a move, not until Oswald does. He won't pressure him, won't conjure up memories of feeling pressured in any way by other people. "I would very much like to take this somewhere less exposed... if that would make you feel more comfortable."

Because at heart, Riddler genuinely wouldn't care about the people watching. He likes their attention and if not for the fact that he knows Oswald is still feeling shy about all of this and them, he would probably already be trying to convince him to do a lot more than simply hold hands in the restaurant.

Hope this works

[hobblepot]

I'd imagine that it's also what Ed would prefer... [He muses aloud, aware of how warm he's feeling, prickling with sweat under his waistcoat.] So I guess that settles it!

[Easing his hand free when the waiter comes by, he catches Ed's eye before declining dessert and requesting the bill. There is such thing as too much of a good thing and he doesn't want to stuff himself silly when there's so much evening left, so much potential. Leaving a generous tip, he steps away from clinking glasses and hushed conversations and out into the night. Their ride is just around the corner but he's in no particular hurry to get there, hooking his little finger around Ed's while they head down the sidewalk.]

A lovely night, isn't it? [He says cheerily, breathless and buzzing with giddy-anxious energy. The air is bracing and everything feels alive - different, somehow.] ...Drink it all in, 'cause someday soon, all this you see around you will be ours... more or less.

[theansweris]

"Well, yes, I suppose it is what he'd prefer," Riddler agrees softly, mostly just because he's not meant to talk about himself in the third person anymore.

He lets Oswald settle the bill and tip and helps him into his coat before sliding on his own, turning up the collar against the winds that whip along Gotham's streets at night. When Oswald hooks their pinkies, he squeezes back, glancing to him and smiling slightly. "Yours. I've never felt a need to rule anything, if I'm honest. I'll leave that in your far more capable hands."

Ed wants attention and admiration, respect. Riddler wants to never be forgotten, never be overlooked. Ruling anything has never been a focus for either of them.