My buddy for the @gothambuddyexchange was @hididdleriddler, and I’m serving up some noir nygmobblepot, just for you! It’s inspired by a scene in the film Brief Encounter, and it was soooo much fun to work on this. Enjoy, love ^u^
A commotion outside of Oswald's office ruined the more or less peaceful negotiation he'd had. Fortunately they hadn't breached a sensitive topic yet, just some minor details about the licenses, but Oswald was annoyed nonetheless. What good was being the king of Gotham's underworld once again when his security couldn't even handle keeping the unnecessary noise out?? It wasn't like it was always perfectly silent in his office, with it being inside a club and all, but this was just excessive.
Annoyed, Oswald excused himself from the room. As soon as he reached the main room of the Iceberg Lounge, the source of the noise was apparent.
There was gas all across the room. A green-ish brown gas that was spreading quickly towards the place Oswald stood.
Panicked, Oswald ran for the exit, but before he could even come close to reaching the door, a hand on his shoulder stopped him from moving any further.
"Oh no, Mister Penguin, you won't leave this easily. I made a special batch just for you."
Oswald spun around to see who was talking, but the only thing he could see was the gas that was being sprayed into his face.
Oswald raised his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself, but the gas already clouded his vision and he could smell its sweet odor.
Suddenly everything went quiet.
Oswald slowly dropped his arms and looked around, cautiously grabbing the gun hidden in his pocket.
The room, that had been filled with screams and panic just seconds ago was quiet, the air deathly still. Instead of a hundred people with varying levels of intoxication dancing or talking, the room was empty. The exit, the entrance to his office and even the bar with his most priced possession was gone. The walls were wooden and encased a much smaller room than they should.
Oswald wasn't at the Iceberg Lounge anymore. But where was he?
Cautious not to make any sound that might aggravate his attacker, Oswald took a few uncertain steps further into the room.
A fireplace bathed the walls in soft, warm light. There was an old, but not ancient wooden table full of luxurious food in the middle of the room.
Oswald knew where he was.
Despite the imminent danger and the fear of being attacked, Oswald couldn't help but feel at home. How could he not, he had lived in the mansion for months after all.
"Hello, Oswald."
Oswald spun around, instantly recognising the familiar voice. How could he not remember his one love's and worst enemy's voice?
Just as he expected he was met with the familiarly wide smile of Edward Nygma. What had once let his heart flutter pleasantly and what had once been a source of trust and friendship now only let him feel terror and betrayal accompanied by an agonising unease.
Oswald raised his gun and aimed it at his enemy's chest. Ed didn't react. He just kept smiling.
The view was disconcerting but at the same time oddly reassuring. Like he could tell this man all his secrets, open his heart to him and not have it ripped apart, but met with the same love and trust he couldn't help but feel.
Ed's smile was so warm, so full of kindness. Oswald had almost forgotten what it looked like.
"I cooked dinner for us. I know you don't want me to, but I thought for this special occasion it would be nice." Ed gestured towards the table and pulled one of the two chairs back for Oswald to sit on.
Oswald was still wary, but something about Ed's smile, his words, the athmosphere in the room and the orange light from the fireplace loosened the tension in Oswald's body and mind.
He let himself be guided to the chair and sat down, one hand still tightly gripping his gun.
Ed sat down across from him. Despite the length of the table, somehow Ed sat close enough to reach out for Oswald's hand, the one that wasn't holding the gun, and gently take it. There was something metallic on Ed's hand but Oswald couldn't look down, or away from Ed's smile. He hadn't looked at him like that since that night at the sirens, when Butch had almost killed him.
"Oswald, I know we had our.. differences in the past, but I want you to know that the past two years, especially this last one" -Ed chuckled and Oswald felt his insides burn at the sound- "have been the best of my life. Living with you, spending my life with you.. there's nothing that could ever make me happier."
Oswald's breath hitched and his heart started fluttering violently. Ed couldn't possibly mean- "I love you, Oswald, more than anyone else in my life. When you proposed to me that day, you made me the happiest man in all of Gotham. I'm so glad we managed to settle our senseless fight."
Oswald's heart ached with want. What wouldn't he do to have this? Ed's love, having a life with him? He would do anything to be with Ed again, even just as friends. He was ready to give up his empire, his dignity, even his life.
But he couldn't. Ed hated him, had been ever since he had made the mistake of killing someone Ed had deemed worth living.
It was no use to want something he could never have.
During the last months, he had successfully suppressed all the guilt and regret he felt and burried it underneath his gloat over his success and his hate for what Ed did. But now, seeing what he could have had if only he hadn't killed that woman, or even if he had attempted in any way to repair what he had broken.. it was a new kind of torture, one that ripped Oswald apart from the inside.
Oswald opened his mouth, to say... what he wanted to say he wasn't sure.
I love you, I'm sorry, forgive me, we can't, I hate you for what you did, I love you.
Before Oswald could even finish forming the words, the scene shifted dramatically. The flames in the fireplace flared up, all domestic feeling to them lost to violence and anger. The food on the table was rotting rapidly, a white pelt slowly covering the meat.
The hand on Oswald's own became cold, ice cold, too cold to touch, but Oswald couldn't move away. His whole body was frozen in place, albeit in a very different way than Ed was.
Tiny blue spots started appearing on Ed's face and hands. Ice crystals were building on his skin, snowflakes covering his lashes. Tiny tremors moved through his hands, like his body was trying to warm itself up, but he didn't move away.
All Ed did was smile warmly, in stark contrast to the ice slowly engulfing his body. "I love you so much Oswald. I would do anything for you, and I know you would do the same."
Oswald wanted to scream, to tell Ed he was wrong, that Oswald had done every possible thing he could wrong, but he couldn't move, not even blink.
Even as tiny cracks in the ice of Ed's skin started to appear, he could do nothing but stare in horror.
"We could have had everything. We could have been happy. Now all that's left is just the cold." A disembodied voice was taunting Oswald and he couldn't do anything about it. With a start he realised it was his own.
The cracks became bigger. Ed's voice, still repeating his confessions of love and devotion, became hoarse and faded out.
After an eternity of slow torture, the last warmth and light in Ed was wiped out. His eyes now glinted like beautiful pieces of painted glass. Beautiful, made to sustain as long as Oswald desired, but without any life or warmth behind them.
Finally the scream that had been building up at the back of Oswald's throat ever since Ed had first started to freeze was set free. A blood curdling scream ripped through the freezing cold air and echoed against the empty walls of the mansion.
Panicked, Oswald stood up and tried to run, but Ed's once gentle grip on his arm was now vice-like. Grinding his teeth, Oswald pulled as hard as he could, hoping he could pry the fingers holding him loose.
He stumbled backwards and fell with the shock of his success. One look at his arm immediately ruined the tiny shred of satisfaction and relief in him.
Ed's hand was still on his arm. The bone and skin was shattered like glass, Ed's veins too frozen to let loose any blood.
Oswald screamed again but it soon turned into an agonised sob.
You keep hurting him, no matter what you do.
The voice was right. He had snapped at Ed when he had barely known him, he had only brought him pain and danger when Ed had saved him and his "lessons" had only led to his imprisonment at Arkham. He had freed him from that horrible place simply for his own gain and when Ed had finally found happiness he had ripped it from him. And now he didn't even allow him his rightful revenge. What kind of man was he that he even imagined Ed would ever forgive him, not to mention love him?
Tears were falling from Oswald's eyelids. They ruined his carefully applied makeup and turned into ice as soon as they touched his cheek, their ice-cold surface burning through his skin, but Oswald didn't care.
He was in the wrong. Not Ed. How had he ever thought his own feelings even mattered? How had he ever thought he himself ever mattered? All he did was cause pain and destruction to those he loved, first his mother, then his father and now even Ed.
He didn't deserve all the success the Lounge had brought him. He didn't even deserve his own life. Without his parents, without Ed, he would be long dead. And how had he repaid them?
Violent sobs shook Oswald's body as he cradled the broken and frozen hand to his chest.
He was so invested in his grief and terror, he didn't even notice the scene had shifted again.
The screams in the Lounge had died down. Whoever was still in the room now was either dead or unconscious.
The attacker frowned underneath his mask. A curious smile was tugging at his lip.
"Interesting... Your biggest fear, Mr. Penguin, isn't losing your success or your empire... I was so sure that would be it." He mumbled to himself. Penguin was too terrified to hear him anyway.
"Terrified of their own actions.. you're not the first one I met with that fear, but I never expected it from you of all people. Why are you, a man that has everything, more scared of losing what you already lost than of losing what you have now?"
The Scarecrow walked away, mumbling to himself. He would have to do a little more research before testing his formula again.
He smiled underneath his mask as he took in all the unconscious and dead bodies across the room. What a spectacle. No one would ever doubt true fear still existed anymore, now that he had shown so many people what it truly meant to be scared.
For some reason, Penguin's reaction to the gas stayed with him. What would he do now? Would he change his ways? The Scarecrow doubted it, but he was dying to see it.
