Gobblepot + 13 (Cuddling)
Jim’s not prepared for Oswald throwing himself at him. He’s just managed to slide his gun back into his holster when fingers start clawing desperately at his shirt as Oswald scrambles up off the ground, crying out. He catches him on instinct, arms coming around to take his weight as he collapses against him.
“Help me! Help me!” Oswald screams, almost shrieks it. His arms wrap around his waist almost crushingly tight, nails scratching frantically at his back.
Staring down at where Oswald is clinging to him, sobbing and desperately afraid, Jim can feel the stares of the room heavy on them. Merton is still laughing, and the repeated flashes of light tell Jim that the reporters Oswald invited are lapping it all up.
He has no clue what to do.
His hand has somehow found its way to the back of Oswald’s head, cradling it almost, and he can feel Oswald’s fingers move to his elbow, gripping his jacket. Jim’s bruised ribs are grateful for the change in position, but he’s still taking most of his weight, Oswald practically curling into him.
“Jim, please. Please.”
He can’t be sure what Oswald is seeing, but given where he’d been looking before he’d thrown himself at him, he could hazard a guess.
Jim doesn’t believe for a second that Ed is up there, frozen and on display, of his own volition. Even if he hadn’t, right before his disappearance, had an open vendetta against Oswald, it’s just not something Jim can imagine him ever doing. And Jim might not have solid proof, he might no longer even have the backing to investigate it, but he knows.
Oswald did this to Ed, and he’s afraid.
And he probably should be, whether or not Ed is dead or alive in there, whether justice, or comeuppance, will come from Ed himself, or someone else. Oswald has spent months hunting down and killing dozens of criminals, he’s attempting to legalise crime, has bought the mayor and the police commissioner, and not even an hour earlier Jim had gotten a beating from his own colleagues, either on Oswald’s direct orders, or simply because they knew he’d approve. Oswald is making enemies, even more-so than usual, and he’s not as invincible as he thinks, as the current situation proves.
But all the same, it’s hard to see, and impossible to ignore, especially when it’s his chest Oswald is sobbing into. Him he’s begging for help.
Jim presses his hand into Oswald’s back, and feels him shudder at the contact. He’s still pleading, hoarse and broken “please”s and “help me”s intercut by cries of fear. The camera lights are still flashing, and Jim looks around in search of…he’s not sure what. He feels awkward, hyper aware of everyone watching them, of how humiliated Oswald is going to be, and of how it’s been months since he’s been touched in any way that wasn’t violent.
He catches Alfred’s eye, and the man looks bemusedly back at him. Zsasz is standing near him, watching as well, though there is something rather more considering in his gaze. Jim looks away, looks back down.
“Oswald, it’s fine. You’re fine. You’re safe.”
He’s had to talk down people infected by Crane’s gas before, and he doesn’t know how much even got through, but it feels right to at least try. Oswald looked to him, knows it’s him he’s clinging to, and Jim can’t not try.
And maybe he does hear him, because he shudders again, clings to him tighter, fingers digging in, but somehow less frantic.
“Jim?” It’s more a question now.
“Yeah, I’m here, I’m here, Oswald. It’s fine, you’re fine.”
“He- He-” Oswald looks up at him, and the terror is still writ clear across his face. He’s shaking, pale and sweaty, but he knows he’s there, knows it’s him, and it’s like being thrust back years, back to the pier, Oswald looking at him desperately, begging him to hear him, pleading for mercy.
“Right, everybody out.”
No one moves, and Zsasz sighs before pointing his gun at the ceiling.
“Don’t-” Jim’s head snaps up and he tries to interject. The last thing they need is more gunfire.
“I said,” Zsasz cuts him off. “OUT!”
The crowd scrambles, rushing for the door. Jim looks to Alfred, who nods before turning to usher Bruce out too. Bruce lets himself be moved but turns to look over his should back at Jim, concern clear across his face. It eases a little when Jim shoots him an attempt at a smile, but he’s still looking back worriedly as Alfred guides him out of the room.
“Harvey?”
“Yeah, I got it.” He hears Harvey drag Merton to his feet. “Come on.”
Tabitha brushes past him too, until Jim, Oswald, and Zsasz are the only ones left.
“You got him?” Zsasz asks.
Jim nods, looking at him rather than down at where Oswald has now buried his face in his neck.
Zsasz jerks his head towards one of the doors at the back of the club. “Office is back there.”
He doesn’t offer to help, just watches and follows as Jim half supports, half carries a still shaking, still pleading Oswald back into the relative privacy of his office.
