You May be Wondering What Happened to My Umbrella (alt.)
“This is for my mother!”
Words were spit like venom as the wooden bat came crashing down on Theodore Galavan’s body, ribs breaking and blood seeping out every orifice on the mayor’s face giving him crimson mask frozen in agony. Contrary to popular belief, Oswald Cobblepot was built like a terrier; small and weak looking but will fight to the death with every ounce of strength his body had. This showed in the swift and ruthless down-strokes of the weapon in gloved hands. Blue eyes were hazed over with an insatiable need for retribution against this man- he would had killed the only creature upon this planet that had truly loved Oswald and that he had truly loved back. He was now cold and yet there was a flame that reignited in him.
“That’s enough!”
He felt Gordon’s hand roughly shove him back a few steps and bright eyes gave the detective an incredulous look before following the length of an outstretched arm than ended in a gun. He stared down at Theo Galavan and watched as a single shot rang out through the night and the light died the monster’s eyes. Turning to Jim, sky met the sea as their gazes connected and something had disappeared in soft cyan orbs; something irreplaceable. Jim’s hand was shaking.
With a malicious expression, Oswald hobbled back to the trunk and unceremoniously dumped the bat; he only glanced at Jim’s form as the other quietly walked back to the car making a beeline for the passenger side. Seems as though yours truly would be driving home, that was fine. Giving the umbrella held in moss green gloves a good once over, a bright new anger flashed in his eyes. A year ago he held Fish Mooney’s umbrella and muttered “yes, Miss Mooney” over and over like a mantra. ‘Not anymore,’ he thought devilishly as he hobbled back over to Galavan’s cooling corpse, a brand new adrenaline flowing through icy, arctic veins. Umbrella gripped tight enough to make leather audibly crack under the pressure, his free hand grabbed Galavan’s limp jaw and widened the opening before letting out a heart-stopping screech as he pushed the end of the umbrella into his mouth. He swore every cursed word he knew in the English and then every cursed word in his mother tongue. His pain and fury was unquenchable and before he knew it his gloves were covered in blood and two thirds of the umbrella had been shoved down the dead man’s throat. Deep breaths rasped from a rising chest and as a final sendoff to the murderer of his mother, Oswald kicked Galavan’s body into the river, umbrella and all.
Letting out deep and shaky breaths, pale eyelids blinked as he watched the corpse, and his problems floated away into the dark waters. Turning over his shoulder, Oswald ripped off his gloves and tossed them into the trunk before slamming it shut. Heading towards the driver’s side, he slid in behind the wheel and quietly turned the key in the ignition, pale hands and even paler knuckles gripped the steering wheel as though his life depended on it.
“So where are we headed Jim?” He was only met by silence, “come on Ji-“
Eyes rolled as he turned in his seat only to freeze at the sight of the man before him. Dark eyes stared forward blankly and chestnut locks messily curled against a wide forehead; Oswald had to quell the sudden urge to push them back into back. His formerly enraged expression had softened considerably though, this was the second time Jim had outright put the law aside for the “greater good” for Oz and just like last time he looked drained. The detective leaned back in his seat as though he didn’t even have the strength to hold himself up properly, and his hands trembled as though electricity ran through his fingertips. Oswald felt his jaw clench tightly at what Galavan had done to the man sitting beside him; the righteous fire of justice that burned like a supernova was extinguished and there was only one other time he had seen that exact same expression; in the mirror after he had found out about his mother’s kidnapping.
Clearing his throat, he turned back to the steering wheel and was about to shift out of park when something tightly clamped around his wrist. He froze and wide eyes turned to see Jim’s hand wrapped around his right wrist.
“The corner of 10th and 86th, apartment 368,” was hoarsely whispered out, stormy blue eyes falling to his lap. Slowly releasing Oswald from his serpentine grip, Jim closed in on himself again, his mind leaving the car once more.
Giving his companion a wary look, Oz slowly gave a single nod before switching out of park and driving back into the city; their problems washing away into the river.
At a stoplight, Oz took the moment to flip on the radio and turn to the classical station, the pair deserved something soothing after the day they had. Pressing on the gas again, Clair de Lune softly reverberated through the cabin of the car and the mob boss could have sworn he saw James Gordon smile for just a second at the comforting melody as he rounds the corner heading towards 10th Street.
He sees the approaching apartment complex on his left and takes note of the exterior before pulling into the attached parking garage. He cut the engine and sat in silence, the only sounds disturbing the peace were the two men’s breathing and the buzz of fluorescent lights shining down on them from above. Stealing a glance Jim’s way, he found him just as shut out as before, though this time there was a single sitting in his open palms on his lap. Leaning over, pale digits against a calloused palm and he takes the keys from Jim, his index finger tracing the lines of a rough hand. Pulling away from his friend, Oswald slowly pulled himself out of the car before closing the door behind him. Slowly gazing around the rather empty parking garage, the Penguin of Gotham stood with a raised chin and straight, broad shoulders as he waited for James to join him at his side. At the thought of the other, a taller shadow joined his own at Oswald glanced right to meet the tired eyes of Jim Gordon and felt something warm and protective swell in his chest at such an empty gaze. Breaking away from the small staring contest for just a moment, Oz stiffened in surprise at the feeling of something warm but rough grab onto his small hand and the weight of the other pull him towards the elevator. He glanced down at Jim’s loose grip on him and couldn’t help but smile quietly at the gesture; that warm swelling in his chest rose into his throat and had to quench the need to say something, fearful this trance would be broken and James Gordon would return to his rough and tough detective exterior. It was humbling and startling and terrifying to see Jim so quiet and closed off from the rest of reality and glancing back at their now intertwined fingers as the elevator gently rose, Oz had a pretty good idea as to why he seemed to be gently clinging to the mobster; the only consistent thing in his life for the past year.
The soft ding of the elevator alerted the pair and as the doors opened, Jim gingerly pulled Oz behind him towards apartment 368; the place he called home when he wasn’t staying at his current girlfriend’s place. As Oswald pulled the key from his pocket and opened the door, soft blue walls, decent furnishings and a comforting smell that let him know this place was Jim’s met him at the threshold. He pulled Jim inside and closed the door behind them and the moment it clicked shut Oswald found his knees nearly buckling as a sudden weight wrapped around his forearms followed by chestnut locks tickling his jaw line as Jim buried his face in the shorter man’s neck. Smaller arms snaked around the detective’s waist and pale digits bury themselves in mussed up chestnut locks, pressing the broken man as close to him as possible as they both fall to their knees. A sudden wetness on Oswald’s shoulder makes it all click and that suppressed warmth his feels around Jim and is suddenly let out and thin lips as gentle as butterfly wings press against the crown of the other’s head.
“Everything is okay now,” is promised over and over again to the man in Oswald’s arms who is so broken and so vulnerable that the mob boss fears moving an inch will be enough for Jim to finally fall apart after everything he’s experienced.
Sitting there for who knows how long, legs numb and foot cramping, a small movement from Jim gives Oswald the unspoken permission to move; they can read each other like books with a single glance at this point. Slowly standing, Oswald held Jim as they slowly relocated, the farthest they got was the couch before Jim collapsed on the leather couch and pulled Oz with him, protectively curl around the smaller man as though he were the most important thing in the world to Jim. The latter hadn’t realized how tired he was until dark locks connected with his companion’s shoulder and his eyes immediately shut, the presence of the detective enough to lull him to sleep.
Calloused digits found themselves wound around dark locks and Jim finally let his eyelids shut, the sight of a pale face the last thing he saw. Before the safety of sleep could consume his conscious, chapped lips parted as he murmured softly to the figure sound asleep in his arms.
His rubbed his hands on his slacks, the detective pointlessly attempting to remove the invisible gunshot residue that marked him as a murderer; again. Jim ignored the trembling in his hands and the sound of Penguin doing God knows what to Galavan’s body. The last he’d seen before turning and heading back to the driver’s seat was his criminal companion reaching for an umbrella from the trunk. Calloused digits ran through mussed up chestnut locks and he closed his eyes and waited for the deed to be done. He wanted to go home, he wanted to shower, he wanted to sleep; he needed this day to be over. To be in the past, where it belonged.
The sound of a cold splash caught the detective’s attention and dark eyes stared forward blankly. The passenger door opening, a new weight shifting, and the slamming shut of said door followed the sound of a familiar limp dragging through sand.
There was silence. Then, soft sniffling.
James Gordon dared not turn his head to look upon the tear-stained face of Oswald Cobblepot, king of Gotham, and instead started the car and headed home. It was about a fifteen-minute drive back to Nygma’s place, Oswald’s current residence, when Jim stole a quick glance to his right and nearly plowed through a red light as he did a double take to take in the Penguin’s entire being.
Bright, sky blue eyes were now red and puffy and trails of tears shined bright red on his normally pallid, gaunt face. Dark locks were a mess, unlike their usual wing-like feathering wisping around his pale forehead. His shoulders slumped as he leaned back into the seat, as though a burden had been lifted from him finally. Blood splattered all across his small figure; from the smallest droplets gracing his face like crimson freckles to dark blotches staining his ragged and creased clothes. A tear in his sleeve led dark eyes down a slightly trembling arm to find a pale hand and even paler knuckles gripping the center console between the front seats. An ignored green glow from the “go” light reflected off of blue eyes that flickered left; blue met brown. The silence was suffocating.
Something in Jim pulled suddenly, an explainable tightness in his chest that, at the moment, he chocked up to being completely exhausted. Little did he know, a similar feeling forced Oswald to take in a sharp breath, eyes widening just the slightest. Without a sound of warning, weathered fingers curled around pale ones and gingerly pulled them off of the leather console before giving a gentle squeeze. Blue eyes widened further at the gesture yet Oswald gave no sign of jerking his hand away and instead squeezed back, fresh tears beginning to form in those sad, blue eyes.
Slowly turning to face forward in the seat again, Jim made sure to keep his right hand curled protectively around Oz’s as he focused back on the road. The small warmth shared between the men kept them both from trembling like leaves in an autumn breeze. Instead, they found an unspoken solace in one another’s presence; it had been them since the very beginning after all. They were connected, their paths twining together like red threads. A year ago Oswald had been carrying Fish Mooney’s umbrella while had finally crawled out of his police officer uniform, and now look at them; reigning mob boss of the city and president of the police’s union, both having gained plenty of blood on their hands that would never wash away.
Black tires slowed to a halt in front of the now familiar building, the green neon lights giving off a surreal glow. Starting to pull away his hand, Jim found it in an iron grip. Turning in curiosity, almond irises widened slightly to find Oswald fast asleep in the passenger seat, Gordon’s hand tightly enclosed in his own.
A ghost of a smile played at Jim Gordon’s lips at that moment. Shifting back out of park, pulled back onto the street and headed to the first place that popped into his mind; his own home.
Even though he was usually known to be found at his current girlfriend’s place, a key to apartment 368 still clinked quietly in his pocket.
Pulling into the parking garage of his apartment building, the moment he turned the engine off a soft groan from Oz broke the eternal silence that had befallen them. Realizing Oswald was waking up, slowly but surely, Jim took the opportunity to quickly slip his hand out of the mob boss’ grip before slipping out of the car itself and quietly closing the driver side door behind him. The sound of the passenger door opening and then quickly closing barely caught the detective’s attention, he hadn’t realized he was so damn tired until he stood and a dizziness nearly brought him to his knees. He glanced over his shoulder to see Oswald looking at him expectantly with wide, hollow eyes that asked a thousand questions that none could answer. Letting out a soft breath, Jim motioned for the other to follow him as he headed towards the elevator; the familiar, shuffling sound of Oswald’s limp being the only sign the smaller man had yet to pass out from exhaustion, which was probably a miracle.
The pair clambered into the tiled elevator as Jim hit the “3” button before leaning against the left wall, forcing his eyes to stay open long enough to reach a bed. His mind was so hazy he barely acknowledged the small warmth in his right hand that hadn’t previously been there, and instead found himself gently dragging a barely conscious Oswald out of the elevator and into the room down the hall and on the right.
It wasn’t as nice as Barb’s apartment, nor was it as eclectic as Nygma’s. The small apartment found itself a happy medium with decent furnishings and soft, baby blue walls to greet the pair. Still pulling along Oswald, Jim nearly walked out of his shoes, as did his companion, and opened the bedroom door as his eyes began to close. He remembered the motions of taking off his clothes, but to what level of coverage he was at he knew not, and crawling under the covers. He remembered the sounds of someone else in the room stripping down before letting their weight sink down the other side of the mattress and a soft sigh pass thin lips.
The familiarity of a second weight in bed had Jim instinctively role over, eyes still closed from utter exhaustion, and curl around whoever else was there. Oswald, the other occupant, stiffened as he suddenly felt trapped under a large forearm and only pulled him closer. He felt an old feeling pool in his chest, like lava bubbling up to the surface. He felt safe for the first in months probably; James Gordon, detective of the GCPD, had his arm wrapped around the small man as though Oswald Cobblepot were a security blanket that pushed away the nightmares.
Perhaps that feeling of safety was a mutual one. The small thought crossed Oswald’s mind before silence and darkness lulled him away to sleep.
❛ we’re not garbage, we’re human beings ! ❜
❛ i’m pretty but tough like a diamond. or beef jerky in a ball gown. ❜
❛ this isn’t the chinatown bus you can’t just choke someone who’s sleeping ! ❜
❛ straight guys can be vegetarians. hitler was a vegetarian. ❜
❛ is that a dolphin with a bow on it ? ❜
❛ i’m having candy for dinner ! ❜
❛ look at yourself, girlfrienemy. ❜
❛ but i survived, because that’s what women do. ❜
❛ i’ll be here … with my kissing hole. ❜
❛ can’t the world be my noodles and butter ? ❜
❛ so far all i’ve learned is that the olsen twins are actually four people. ❜
❛ that was like listening to a mirror ! ❜
❛ i trusted you, tv. you’ve seen me naked. ❜
❛ high heels were invented by a man, [ name ], because no woman ever invented anything. ❜
❛ i’m a drug lookout and a process server. that way, when business is bad, business is good. ❜
❛ come on, spirit gum. if you can keep obama’s human mask on over his lizard face, hashtag lizard truth, surely you can do this. ❜
❛ i know how sarcasm works ! ❜
❛ what is up, society ? ❜
❛ delivering chinese food all day can be depressing. like, when people yell out ‘ food’s here ! ’ as if they have a family, but i know they are alone. ❜
❛ barbie shoes aren’t weird ! ❜
❛ but i already did something today ! ❜
❛ 1996 called. it wants its clothes back. ❜
❛ 2090 called. you’re dead and you wasted your time on earth. ❜
❛ age doesn’t matter ! you can die at any time ! ❜
❛ i’ll keep the crowd away like a greenpeace volunteer. ❜
❛ i still believe the world is good, that bunnies are nice, and snakes are mean, and that one day sandra bullock will find someone who deserves her. ❜
❛ you’re kind, and you’re funny, and both of our names mean penis. ❜
❛ this is gettin’ a real thelma and louise vibe … i like it. ❜
❛ i was trying to have fun and then i made everything weird ‘cause i’m weird. ❜
❛ [ they’re ] gay as a penguin. ❜
❛ be you. be what you want. and then become unbreakable. ❜
❛ it’s a photo of a man’s penis. i read that people text them to each other. ❜
❛ my parents are blimping into town tomorrow. ❜
❛ somebody needs to put food on my barbie themed tv trays ! ❜
❛ your experiences are not universal ! ❜
❛ the last time i had two men fighting over me i was a table at a fire island wrestling match. ❜
❛ what white nonsense is this ? ❜
❛ i’m not running a charity here, except the one where i donate my old towels to poor people with the same initials as me. ❜
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