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Dexter AU The moon was full in the black sky outside but it did little to make any dent in the darkness permeating Gotham. Gotham was a dark place to try to illuminate even for the sun, with so many dark corners, shadowy places light had not touched in years. That was Gotham, made up of shadows, tall old buildings from eras long past but stubbornly standing, and gargoyles poised to come to life and attack those unlucky enough to happen by at the wrong time. It was and had always been a city of monsters hiding under the bed; the city where bad things really did come out at night, or sometimes during the day.Gotham was a terrible place, really, yet it was home to so many who could not manage to get away, caught by it in a sort of Stockholm love of the place. It hurt and destroyed, changed even the best of people for the worst, yet if it gave back, the rewards were great before they crumbled away. It was a city for those who liked to gamble with their lives, where payouts happened enough to keep people coming back to gamble even more of their lives away on the chance they would be the lucky winner.Sometimes people, no, monsters, also got what they really, really deserved. But only if someone gave it to them. Vigilantism was actually rather common in the city, like the Balloon Man, but some were more artful about it than others.Oswald's bird-like features scrunched up in concentration, tumultuous ocean-green eyes scanning every surface, looking for evidence. As a specialist with the Gotham City Police Department, analysis was his job. Spending almost all his time in a laboratory was also why he was frequently compared to a vampire as he did not see the sun unless he was out at a crime scene. Each motion was methodical and efficient, not a move unaccounted for. Oswald Cobblepot knew his way around a crime scene and he knew what needed to be done, or avoided, in order to leave a scene clean. He moved with the surety that came with his job, with knowing blood spatter, trajectory, and trace evidence. The black latex gloves on his pale hands served a multitude of purposes, most particularly, hopefully preventing any potential stray prints from contaminating the scene. He was careful at every single scene. Looking over the blood pooled on the floor of the kitchen tile, red branching out like vines with the grove of the tile, he sometimes wished he had left their employ on his first day. Gotham had been a choice, not his only option. He used to want to be in the GCPD so he could make a difference in the city he grew up in. He could have worked in other places, yet he chose Gotham. He should have gone to Star City, or even Metropolis, for that matter. Any place would have been wiser than the crawling, crime-ridden, infestation of corruption bundled into a single city where mobsters popped up like cockroaches. With his typical focus, he clipped the fingernails of the corpse in case there was trace evidence and bagged those, utterly ruining the perfect manicure that likely cost the woman handsomely. He also bagged the knife and slid it into his satchel. He processed and bagged everything, even potential evidence that could likely never hold anything, even trace evidence or transfer, but he collected it all the same. Oswald was thorough, it was why the GCPD had been so desperate to hire him, offering him the sort of pay that should have made him suspicious. Had he been so careful about his choices as he was a crime scene, he would have found another job. He would have known about the curse before his first day, and he would have believed in its validity. He would have seen the statistics. He had lost everything now, everything that ever mattered to him. It had all been stolen out from under him, horribly, violently, and now he was just trying to... do something good with the ashes. He was trying to make something good come from the ruins, otherwise, what had he suffered it all for? If he could not turn it back around, how could he get up every morning? So he adapted, used the hand Gotham dealt him, and made it into something he could work with. His mother was in no way to blame for what happened, for what transpired, for the destruction that left his life in shambles.His mother had been wonderful, kind, gentle, and good. He had not always been the way he was now. He knew exactly when everything changed but that did not in any way make the results easier to control. He had not always been the way he was now; true, he killed a few birds in his time when children just kept comparing him to them, and yes, he thought about killing more than just birds; he had a lot of thoughts about killing his schoolyard tormentors. However, he stopped once his mother explained to him that it was wrong and that every life had value, including the birds she had found. He still believed her, but he also now believed there were exceptions, as there always were, to every rule.Oswald had begun to think the stories were right about it being a cursed position. How else could he explain everything that happened to his nice, normal life if not a curse? He didn't use to believe it, not when it was his first day and Harvey Bullock took him aside and told him about the curse like it was some Irish folk tale. He was told about the lab being cursed, about it driving people insane once it hooked its claws into them. One medical examiner, Dr. Guerra, had been caught selling body parts on the black market after years of being perfectly trustworthy. About the lab technician that had been strange, with a love of riddles and an enormous crush on one innocent young Ms. Kringle, but perfectly harmless. Until, also inexplicably, he too snapped, killing first his rival for love, then the woman he loved, and subsequently, setting off explosives, killing an officer, and framing homicide detective Gordon for it when his paranoia outweighed his genius. Harvey stopped his story the minute he saw his partner, the man Oswald learned a few minutes later on introduction, to be James Gordon. A war veteran, and for a time, less than lovingly termed, even by his colleagues, as the last honest man in Gotham. A man who narrowly avoided being assassinated not long after he got to town because he apparently faked the death of a snitch known as Barbara Kean. Oswald learned more about it after the encounter and he thought the tale sounded as wild as the curse. But another person picked up the story of the curse where Harvey left off. Telling him first more details about Nygma and his late girlfriend being, apparently, good friends of Dr. Thompkins and Dt. Gordon. That only made the story sadder, in Oswald's opinion, if he believed a word of it, of course. Then he heard about the former medical examiner's replacement; a lovely, sweet, kind young woman. Leslie Thompkins. A beauty with the patience of a saint, the sort anyone would easily get along with, and the lady upstanding James Gordon became engaged to; apparently, they nearly had a child, had it not been for the stress of his sudden false incarceration which caused it all to end in sorrow. Not long after Gordon was proven innocent, apparently, he got on the wrong side of a real psychopath worse than Nygma, which was normal for good cops in Gotham. The problem was, that Tetch got away only to return in order to inject the sweet, grieving woman with some sort of virus to get at the detective. Out of her mind from the virus, certifiably insane, she buried her former fiancee alive in a coffin. Apparently, everyone was waiting to see what turns of psychosis Lucius Fox, and now Oswald Cobblepot would display. He was told people were already speculating. Oswald had not believed a word of it. It was not as if he were unfamiliar with cruel jokes or hazing, as he so often had been the target for every group imaginable when he was young, and he knew they just wanted to frighten him and get him to leave. It was to be expected on his first day. Oswald sighed, slinging his work satchel over his shoulder as he made his way toward the exit, minding his steps. He took a final look around to be certain he had not missed any evidence, nothing obscure that might lead to the killer of the woman in the kitchen. It was not a typical kill, this one. At least for the killer equally cursed and revered by nearly every detective in Gotham. Most people said he was a hired killer, someone very likely in the service of the mob. He was efficient, clean, and in and out swiftly. Most bodies were killed at unknown locations and either never were found or were found only because there was a reason, a story to go along with their placement. The victims never seemed to stand a chance against him and no one ever quite knew how he got hold of them all. Most of the victims had money and could afford alarm systems, which should have meant they were safe. Yet the killer gained access. It was never a gun, instead, it was always a knife. The kills looked messy and chaotic, but to a crime scene analyst, they were artful. It was almost always a nice, long, drawn-out death, but if it was swift, the killing blow was always a clean stab directly to the main artery. Death was achieved as the victim exsanguinated. Other tools were always used but the final blow always was delivered by the same knife. No one outside the task force knew that; it was a detail the killer did not even have to let them know, but there was a story he wanted the select few to hear even if they could not understand.No one would be able to connect the killings at all, even the ones where they found a body, if not for the killer's calling card marked out in the victim's own blood. This particular body had not been moved, was killed where she would be found. Many of Gotham's finest would assume that meant it was a copykiller, but those who really knew the case would know better. They would not know why she had been killed in her own home, but they would know there had been a reason behind it. They would go crazy trying to figure it out and find the hidden message.Once again, James Gordon would be furious with the lack of evidence. It always put him into a dark, brooding mood. This would be no different. He would often be irrationally upset and at times, when Jim would step into the morgue, dissecting the bodies with his eyes when he thought no one was around, Oswald occasionally wondered just how much he really knew. Did he know more about the deceased than he let on? More about the killer? With a click and a beep from the alarm, Oswald closed the door behind him and made his way down the hallway and through the house. He exited without a second glance at the lush, extravagant surroundings provided to the very rich, and the now equally dead woman. As they said, 'you can't take it with you' and Kathryn Monroe surely lamented the futility of her kingdom being all for nothing now, or she would if she weren't dead. He wondered what Jim would say about all of it. Or Harvey, for that matter, with his inevitable, tasteless puns at the expense of the dead. Oswald had not known this woman, only having personally met her once at a public function where she had been a little too intent on him for comfort, but he knew her by reputation, by her actions. The woman was a spider. Her webs left nothing but dead or dying carcasses encased in the strings.It was for that reason he had taken care to leave the owl mask she kept in her room out on display. He hung the mask right on the chandelier in the kitchen for all to see. It might not make it into evidence, not if any of her associates saw it before police photos were taken, but the fact of it being displayed was clear enough. Those connected to her would know! They would see the message for what it was and they would understand.He wondered what Jim would think of seeing it perched over the body. He knew something few people knew about those masks, but so did Jim. Sometimes, after learning about some of the things Jim had been through, he wondered if Jim was just as cursed as the lab. Back when he started, Oswald wasn't prepared for what the job would eventually cost him. The first chance he'd been afforded, he'd casually dropped an inquiry to the other new hire in the department; though Lucius Fox had been there far longer than Oswald; about the stories, thinking the man would laugh at the joke. He had not struck Oswald as the type to be petty or participate in such foolishness, he seemed perfectly nice. Lucius was quiet, even-tempered, and friendly. This was why he began to wonder about the validity of the stories when the expression offered was not a laugh but a sad, distant look. It was proof that something in the story had been true. "Don't bring up Lee Tompkins around here, not if Jim is in earshot. That's still... very much an open wound." Lucius told him solemnly. Oswald followed that advice religiously, particularly after he met the man in more than a simple "nice to have you join the team" sort of way. James Gordon, a man who had built a castle around himself, dug a mote and filled it with acid.Jim was not openly cruel, or overtly rude any more than his gruff partner was, but he was closed off and impenetrable, fearful of letting others close. After being betrayed too many times by those closest, he was understandably intent on keeping others from hitting him again, and Harvey seemed to be the only person he let in.Even with that, the new employee had seen the sad, despondent look Gordon had in his eyes each time he ventured into the labs, even in the beginning. He looked around as if expecting to see someone else. Whenever he arrived alone and did not immediately see Oswald or Lucius, his searching eyes grew glassy and utterly lost; he looked alone and vulnerable. Gordon was a sad, wounded man, Oswald had always seen that even before he knew him. The streets were as quiet as they ever got. Gotham was a city that never slept, not even late into the night. People scurried to get gone before dark, but dark was when the monsters came out. His shoes were an insistent tap, tap against the pavement. He allowed himself to walk through the puddles from the rain the previous day the same way he had carefully avoided them before. He knew what to avoid when entering a crime scene, and leaving muddy tracks was one of those very important things. He was always very careful about his feet and, obviously, he took care not to leave home without gloves. Oswald drove back to the GCPD even though it was long past when he should have been on the clock. He went directly to the lab and set about preparing his usual array of cleaning solutions before he unpacked his satchel, took out everything he'd bagged at the scene, and dropped it all into the strong cleansing solutions. No one ever looked inside his large work bag, not once. Even if they had, they would not have questioned the contents much considering his occupation. No one ever suspected him of anything, they underestimated him, and everyone did, which made his life considerably easier.The rest of the items, he brought down and tossed into the ancient old furnace that still heated a good portion of the building. The furnace, he speculated, had been kept even after the renovation for purposes exactly like his own; to dispose of things anyone in the department wanted to hide. The GCPD was still more than a little corrupt no matter how hard Jim tried to change that. But that was why Oswald stayed. "Good morning, Jim!" Oswald stepped up to the man's overladen desk with a bright smile as he held out a box of fresh donuts, lifting the lid to entice him.Jim's eyes lifted slowly from the stack of papers he had been reading with a brow cocked, "Morning, Oswald." He waved the box away with a, "no thanks," the way he always did every time.Oswald always offered, offered whatever confection he brought in to him first, in fact, but he never accepted. He always accepted things from Harvey, not that Oswald was bitter about that, of course. He often wondered if it was just an example of the man's trust issues at work, though, really, after all this time, all they had gone through, he could accept one of the donuts. He owed Jim a debt, one he could never pay but wanted to try, he was not exactly likely to poison him.Oswald's smile became just a little more strained as he shut the lid on the flimsy box, "What are you working on? Anything I can help with?"Jim sighed, long and tired, "Just another case. It's already passed your table, I'm just... you know. It just feels... off."Oswald huffed a laugh, letting himself sound jollier than he really felt in order to seem less tense, probably coming off as awkward, "Can't ever let it go huh? Typical James Gordon."That teased a crooked smile from the other man, "So they tell me.""Well, it's an admirable trait. You're a good man. More people have gotten justice because of your efforts." He reached out and patted Jim on the arm, "Just don't wear yourself out, my friend."Jim nodded solemnly, but they both knew he would ignore the advice."I could take a look at it again if you like?"Jim's eyes opened up, somehow less distant than normal, but the hesitation was clear, "Would you? I mean, it's not too much trouble?"Oswald was quick to assure him, probably smiling too brightly, "No trouble at all! I'd be glad to help! Just send me the files after you've finished and I'll dig up what I can."Jim smiled, and it was happy and honest, making it all the way to his eyes the way it often didn't, "I'll owe you one!"Oswald rolled his eyes and shooed away the notion, "Friends don't owe friends, silly!" Of course, that was not strictly true, he owed Jim the moon.For his part, Jim gave him the look he usually did when Oswald was too free with his words, the one that said he was not at all sure what to do with Oswald. Jim was never free with his emotions, he held them in a vice and drowned them. Jim simply closed the folder, still eying him, and handed it over with a quiet word of gratitude.Deeming it a good time to do so, he spun away with his donuts and files, bypassing Harvey's empty desk as the other man still had not arrived. He hoped to goodness there would not be any stories of "The Duchess" following his eventual arrival as there too often were.Oswald handed out more of the sugary confections, exchanging minor niceties. His dear mother taught him a few tricks about charming people, and one of the key ways was with baked goods along with questions about their well-being. She taught him to laugh with cruel jokes, always be polite, and always give an enemy gifts. The bullies liked people who gave them things without being prompted. A few months after Oswald had come home with a bloody nose, his main tormentor was his best friend ten pounds heavier from the home baking sent with him every day. To date, Gabe still liked him and loved Gertrude Kapleput.Oswald was a believer in the power of baked goods. It decidedly won Alvarez over, turning him into Oswald's biggest fan. He frequently told him how much better he was than Nygma."Well," Harvey Bullock shouted as he entered the bullpen from the huge arch entry, "looks like 'Penguin' has struck again!" The impromptu announcement gained a groan from every officer present. Several slumped over their desks in an open signal of their general feelings. Others in the multiple lines of desks threw papers down in general disgust and offered Harvey dark glares.The dome structure likely crafted in times when high ceilings in cathedrals were particularly popular made everything so much louder; also, it was hard to heat when all the heat just rose up into the high rafters where it was no good to anyone; the building was aesthetic rather than functional. There was even a balcony and then another raised section clearly intended for whatever fearless leader was in charge at the time to speak down to their subjects, and the structure's built-in acoustics lent their aid to the likely angry or self-righteous voice of the leader.Things went silent for less than a minute, the inhabitants collectively holding their breaths before the typical buzz of motion, rustle of papers, and hum of life resumed to the usual drone of constant sound at the precinct. The name Penguin could silence them all for seconds at a time, like an incantation that only lasted briefly. "Who did he get now?" Alvarez crowed, amused, almost more eager than anything. Oswald clutched his files to his chest, wide, haunting eyes already fixed on the man seated at his desk surrounded by manila folders. The wary blue eyes of the detective were fixed on Bullock, dirty blond hair slightly out of its usual perfect, smoothed-back form after he had roughly run a hand through it in frustration at the unwanted announcement. Though, oddly enough, Harvey usually was the first to know, thus the first to call out the crime when Penguin struck.Still, it was Jim Gordon's reaction he was waiting to see. After all, Jim was of particular interest to the Penguin, and this case particularly."Prissy dame, pearl-clutching harpy named Kathryn Monroe," Harvey informed the entirety of the room in his usual, overloud voice, acting as if he'd announced the winner of a horse race instead of a murder. With how easily Harvey blurted it all out, clearly, Jim had kept this current matter a secret. His partner very obviously knew nothing about Jim's connection to that woman and thus had no reservations at all about shouting it to the literal rafters.Jim's face darkened, a look passing over him like the name had been a physical attack to his senses, and then he lost some of his color as he stared blankly at his partner. He sat there as if the chair itself could protect him from the news. Oswald knew why too. Knew exactly why Jim might be loud about his upset over the newest case, but privately, he would not be shedding any tears. It probably shook him, possibly frightened him, but it would not sadden him. Eventually, he stood, slowly, as if there was inexplicable weight added to his shoulders, but Jim never was one to stay down even when he should. He ambled over to Harvey, dragging his feet like he would much rather be headed for the coffee machine. "What is this I hear?" A timid voice spoke up from directly behind Oswald, making the younger man jump as Mr. Penn's bespectacled, watery blue eyes filled most of Oswald's vision. "The Penguin's struck again?"Oswald nodded jerkily, "Yes, yes, it would seem so!"Of course, quiet, mousey, Mr. Penn had replaced poor Kristen Kringle in the records room, so Oswald saw the man with great frequency. He had been there a considerable amount of time, and he seemed suited to it as he had a nervous personality and the quiet of the records room fit him better than the usual hustle of the rest of the building."Will you be going to the crime scene then?" Penn asked nervously, fidgeting with something in his hand. Oswald smiled kindly, "Of course, it's what I do."He left the man there with the almost empty box of donuts, shoving the files into his hands with a request to put them on his desk for later, and followed after Jim and Harvey, dashing out on their heels as Captain Barnes rounded the corner, throwing the doors of his office open. They quickened their pace as they heard the man shouting orders even as they exited the front door. Oswald did not even ask as he jumped into the back of Harvey's car while Jim took the passenger's seat."Nice of you to come along, Oswald." Harvey offered over his shoulder once he climbed in, the sarcasm ripe.Oswald smiled anyway, tuning his voice to something sweet and unassuming, "Just wanted to get a jump on it. There is a killer to catch, after all."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Jim was tense, almost shaky, posture straight as a plank, reverting back to his military stance as they climbed the front steps into the house. The ornate iron and glass storm door creaked when Oswald touched it as if in protest to his entry, like the old house remembered him. It was the only witness to the crime, after all, and it probably was not pleased with what Penguin did inside. It made no move to stop him, to bar him entry, so that might be good enough. The crystal chandelier above their heads glittered and shone rainbows over the floor in front of them, making colors dance over their bodies until they were past the entryway. The vaulted ceiling and open structure of huge old house made it seem like an old theater, placing them center stage as went in the front door. The real set was in the kitchen but Oswald pretended not to know, a feigned ignorance, letting the flashes of a camera lens draw him forward rather than memory. Jim too, he noticed, was pretending to have less familiarity with the house than he actually had. He might not know where the body was, but he knew his way around the house more than any of the other officers milling about. Oswald trailed a half step behind the detectives, staying close to Jim, bumping shoulders with him occasionally to try to offer a modicum of wordless assurance that things would be fine. Even Harvey cast his partner a few side glances, picking up on his general discomfort. The place was already crawling with uniforms and technicians. Lucius being among them, busy at work already, had that focused look in his eyes that could melt through anything that got in the way of his analysis.No one so much as looked twice at Oswald, used to his presence at these sorts of scenes, oblivious to the truth. They had all been oblivious to Nygma too, including Jim and Barnes, which was something considering they fancied themselves detectives. Though he had never met the former analyst personally, he rather assumed that, though he was insane, he was good at covering it. He might have been to multiple crime scenes he himself committed without anyone knowing the truth.Killers usually returned to the scene of the crime, after all. It was too easy to do so when you worked for the people who would have a legitimate reason to snoop around it. He could really see how easy it must have been for Edward Nygma to manipulate evidence, twist it, and change the meaning to suit him. Any one of the responding officers could do the very same thing, which was a bit frightening for anyone other than those actively covering up a crime. The first thing Oswald noticed when he walked in was the chandelier, or specifically, what was no longer hanging from it. There was no owl mask perched there now and he wondered when it had been removed. Had anyone seen it before the staff took it or had it been there long enough for someone to snap a photo before it was spirited away? Who had taken it down? An officer on the payroll? Staff? Or someone else still? It killed him not to know for sure but he could not exactly ask anyone about it without giving away a particularly vital bit about his prior knowledge. "Holy Cannolis!" Harvey yelped when he fully entered the kitchen.Lucius glanced up at them, a near smile on his lips, "Indeed." He turned his eyes right back to the body, "This was a message for someone. He wanted everyone to see this. It's a drama, a still life... his version of edgy modern art.""If I want art, I'll go to a museum, thanks!" Harvey quipped. Lucius might not approve of nor like Penguin's work, but he did understand the meaning behind most things. Oswald loved that about him, loved that he could follow along with the logic and the staging of the production! What else could he expect from a man they said could rival Nygma in intelligence? Lucius looked at Penguin's work and understood what he was saying. An artist appreciated people who understood their work, so he was fond of his partner in the lab.With a sigh, Jim crouched down beside the severed head poised a few feet away from the rest of the body. He took out a pen from his rumpled suit pocket and shifted a few curled strands of hair out of the dead woman's eyes as if to be absolutely certain it really was Kathryn, as if he simply had to stare into her face, discolored as it was, and be sure. He examined the cut to the neck, clearly noting how neat it was before his eyes drifted toward the posed body. His eyes traced the pattern of the blood as Penguin had directed it, the flow of it around her shoulders, branching out on both sides to create wings, and her legs twisted and broken to form a tail."He cut off the head of a dragon," Jim announced his verdict and Oswald nearly beamed at him as he pretended to be going about his work."Seems to be the message he was going for." Lucius agreed as Oswald took a quick swab of the neck area and snapped the evidence into a clear plastic tube.Harvey threw up his hands with a curse, "Does this guy ever just shoot someone like a normal person? Why's it always gotta be a big production? Why's it always gotta be a symbol?" His frustration mounted, "We're gonna start having more crazies offing people for 'modern art' purposes if he doesn't cut it out!""He's making a point." Jim hedged carefully, back to staring at the head, "He wants to send someone a message. He has a target audience he's playing for.""Kill the rich!" Harvey scoffed, "That's exactly what we need getting out into circulation.""It's not about money." Jim, surprisingly, almost seemed to be defending Penguin, or just his own theory "He never steals anything.""That we know of!" Harvey insisted, "It's not like any of these rich types honestly know how much cash they have floating around or what little trinket goes missing.""If he did steal anything from the victims, he hasn't sold any of it, or we would have found out." Lucius stepped out of the way for one of the other technicians bagging something Oswald knew for a fact had nothing to do with the case, but they could have at it."Maybe he wants us, or someone else, to know that he kills monsters?" Oswald ventured, trying very hard to be careful of his wording and seem more curious than sure, "He could be another vigilante." "Great, just great..." Harvey grumbled, "Just what we need.""It could, somehow or other, be linked to birds." Lucius offered, and Oswald did not imagine the way Jim's shoulders tightened."Birds?" Harvey arched a brow, "What, penguins? He's a zoologist now too?""No..." Lucius pointed up without even looking at the chandelier, "When I arrived there was some sort of mask up there. It was a bird mask. More specifically, an owl. It seems like it could be some kind of connection. Penguins, owls... birds, more or less, of prey, just different kinds."Jim sounded slightly strangled when he asked, "Where is this mask now?"Lucius shrugged, "No idea. I never saw anyone take it down, I just noticed it up there when I came in and it seemed very deliberately placed... looking down on the body." He cocked his head as if to concede his own far-fetched idea could be wrong, "I just thought it could mean something, be some kind of odd connection. Another hidden message."Jim nodded in a jerky motion, already jittery.Oswald, however, was almost ecstatic! Inwardly, of course. That meant someone had seen the mask, several people, actually. There might even be a photo of it being present. Not that he thought said photo, if it existed, would stay in evidence long, but it would be a triumph all the same. "Penguin's and owls huh? I knew artists were crazy. Like that one that cut off his own ear." Harvey drew a circle around his own ear. "Van Gogh." Oswald and Lucius answered in unison, much to the other's amusement. "You two spend too much time locked in the lab together," Jim teased. Oswald glanced between the three and grinned impishly, "It is hardly our fault you Philippines don't know basic art history.""Excuse you!" Harvey waved a finger at him, "I knew who he was, I just didn't say it. Don't go assuming I don't know stuff just because I didn't say it.""So, what have you got for me?" Jim asked, leaning over the seated fugue as if to see in the microscope even though Oswald was currently looking through it and Jim had not developed supervision that let him see through skulls so far as Oswald knew. If it were anyone else standing that close behind him, he would have been annoyed, but he always made exceptions when it was him. "Nothing yet, I'm afraid. Everything is clean, as always, so far.""They can't always be clean! Everyone makes mistakes eventually. One of these days he'll slip." Jim asserted confidently. "He's good though..." Oswald prodded the dangerous waters, "never leaves anything, even if he leaves the body.""But he will slip!" Jim settled his hands on his hips, asserting his point with a shake of his head, "They always slip if you give them enough rope to hang themselves.""Do they though?" Oswald ventured even further onto the ice, "Sometimes we don't catch them. That's what cold cases are. We've got cabinets full of those."Jim scoffed, "They go cold because the investigators didn't care, or they were bribed. This is Gotham and we all know how things used to be when Loeb was in charge.""Jim..." Oswald locked eyes with him, speaking softly, "You can't always get them. No one can. If you don't catch Penguin, it's not-"Jim put a hand up to stop him, "I can't afford to think like that. It's a long way from over. I'll catch him one of these days."Oswald dearly hoped he was wrong, but it really was his own fault. Had he never left his mark, had he left every scene totally clean, had he let silence be its own warning to those he hunted, no one would honestly know what happened to the people that vanished. He could have stayed silent the way he knew he should, not tainted the police or anyone else. He just had to leave the occasional hint, the hook, the taunt, the warning! It was all his fault! If he eventually got caught, that would be his own stupidity. Legally, if there was no body and no evidence, nothing happened. They could not definitively prove anything. No prosecutor could make a case from nothing, no matter who they were. Not even Harvey Dent could accomplish that. From now on, he did things the way he knew he should. No more marks, no more bodies left, no more clues! He was swearing off the theatrics! If he didn't, Jim might just come for him one day. And even if Jim didn't let him close the way he did Harvey, he knew they were friends. The last thing he wanted to do was betray Jim and be another Edward Nygma. He deflected the morbid thought, "So, what's your take on motive? What's Penguin after, what's he doing this for?" Jim visibly shifted into analytical mode, "Well, it's obvious he's... punishing these people. He sees them as monsters he's effectively slaying.""Are they bad people, Jim? Is he... you know, serving justice?"Jim's eyes grew wary, very wary, the muscles in his shoulder and chest visibly tightening, "Punishment is up to the law. Whether they deserved it or not... has nothing to do with it.""So they were bad people!" Oswald drummed his fingers excitedly, feeling that swell of pride, "You would have denied it otherwise. You agree with me, he's a vigilante!""Or maybe he's just out for revenge!" Jim snapped, his ire clearly rising, "Maybe they wronged him, or he believes they did, so he's taking revenge!"Oswald couldn't stop himself even though he knew he should stop, he almost felt desperate, "Maybe he's taking revenge for someone else? Righting a wrong done to someone.""It doesn't make it right!" Jim grumbled harshly. Oswald rolled his eyes, "Oh, please!" He lowered his voice to a quiet hiss even though they were alone, "We both know, sometimes, some people had it coming! Some people were so evil, they had to be stopped!"Jim's eyes were so huge, round as plates, frightened and guilty at once when he grabbed Oswald by the shoulders, "The law is what they should account to, not any one person. No one has the right to be judge, jury, and executioner."They locked eyes and Oswald knew they were thinking of the same thing. Jim looked so desperate, so taken apart, and Oswald had known this was the reason Jim sometimes had trouble meeting his eyes, he knew all along. Jim was not cut out to be a murderer, did not let enough of his own monster free, or genuinely didn't have the heart. What he did have in spades was guilt. Oswald knew his own voice was burned into Jim's memory, the sight of a shotgun pointed in his direction; "Step aside, Jim!" He wouldn't have shot Jim, even then, he owed him too much, had been pulled out of the line of fire by those powerful arms more than once. "He killed my mother..." Even now, he could taste the salt of his own tears and feel the need to pull the trigger on Theo Galavan. He had not been entirely in his right mind then, crazed with grief. Even before he'd been forced to watch his mother die he'd been running low on sleep and high on stress. Others had noticed the change in him in the weeks after Galavan kidnapped his mother and forced him to start tainting, fabricating, or misplacing evidence. Lucius had been concerned, mothering, and constantly trying to get him to eat and sleep. It had been Jim who caught him out though. All that righteous indignation mixed in with actual concern, "Oswald! You never misplace evidence! It's you!""Well I'm so very sorry I'm not as perfect as you, James Gordon!" Oswald snarled, almost frothing at the mouth, strung out on fear over discovery and at finally being found out. "I happen to be human! Sorry to disappoint!"Jim had softened then, looking entirely too close at the lack of color in his skin and the dark circles under his eyes, "You don't make mistake." He said it without accusation, gentle and soft, "You haven't been yourself for a while. You never go home.""Don't analyze me! It was an honest mistake! What do you want from me?" The more unhinged he felt, the louder he became, "What do you want?!"Jim looked so sympathetic, so understanding, and he touched Oswald's shoulder, curling his fingers to squeeze lightly at the flesh, "If... something is wrong... if someone - if you're being threatened, you can come to me. You know that, don't you?"Oswald crumple then, would have been on the floor if Jim hadn't caught him, and he sobbed like a child. He babbled, frantic and incoherent, holding onto enough sense not to tell Jim everything, but telling him enough the detective figured it out anyway. And Jim did try, he did. He kept quiet about the lost evidence, not even telling Lucius or Harvey. He let Oswald continue following orders while he snooped around behind the current mayor's back. He did try, and he came very close; one more day and everything would have been perfect. It just wasn't soon enough. Galavan ran out of uses for Oswald, and that was the end. Even now, Oswald can't be sure how he escaped. Something unlocked inside him, maybe that part of him that used to want to kill the school bullies, but the hate had been so much stronger. He only knew he had the knife they used to kill his mother once he was away and he survived with a singular purpose; get revenge. After the law failed, after Galavan walked out of every trap Jim set; after the man tried to kill yet another innocent person as well as Jim himself... they did what needed to be done. They had no choice, no recourse against someone so powerful. That is until they evened things out in a different show of power. He was unstoppable, the law was ineffective until someone decided to follow the man's own example and cheat the system to stop him.That was when the lab curse really took hold, and when Penguin was really born. He had not always been the way he was now, but at the exact moment the bullet entered Galavan's brain, he understood. Every life had value, but some held more value dead than alive; some had to die to protect those that were most valuable. Life was valuable, it was certain, but there were exceptions, as there always were, to every rule. He owed it to his mother to make something good come from the ruins.No one ever knew who killed Mayor Galavan, and they never would. It was a secret he shared with Jim. Oswald reached out, eyes still locked with those frightened ones of Jim's, and he took hold of the lapels of the suit jacket, "You can't tell me some people don't deserve whatever they get!"Jim only stared at him like a deer in headlights, unable to move or respond. Oswald whispered, nothing more than a breath of sound, "You can't tell me you regret it!""I do," Jim backed away on unsteady legs, "it was the wrong choice."Oswald advanced, following Jim's retreat, "No, it wasn't! We did what had to be done, and we were right." He whispered right in Jim's ear just to be sure no one could hear, "We killed a monster and there isn't anything wrong with that. Maybe Monroe was a monster too, and maybe Penguin did us all a favor. If he did, it's not wrong to be glad."Jim closed his eyes, pulling away, he always pulled away when things became too much for him. He liked to be invulnerable and hold his emotions in, but if he began to slip, he ran. Challenging his core beliefs was certainly one of those things that could shake him. He looked at Oswald one last time, still frightened, but conflicted now too, before he turned and fled the room. Oswald tried to see it as something of a victory.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
One of the great and powerful dragons of Gotham had been slain but there were so many more to go. They could wear the mask of an owl all they wished but they were what they were and there was no changing that. Dragons in Gotham could put on many skins but it did not change what they were at the core, they were monsters. Monsters with sharp teeth, powerful claws, fire breath, and lashing tails. And what had to be done with monsters to balance the world? They had to be destroyed, of course, it was the only clear option as dragons could not be rehabilitated from their own dark nature.People often called James Gordon a dragon slayer but he was more prone to lock them away than to actually slay them. Locking them away, if you could do so at all, was a temporary fix at best. The problem lay in the strength of the dragons; the powerful ones could not be locked away for long, they broke their chains inevitably. At one time, after Jim helped Oswald both capture and kill Theo Galavan, he believed Jim had come to the same understanding he had. "Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed." Oswald muttered to himself as he scribbled his notes on the pages he was bent over."G.K. Chesterton." Lucius piped up from his own workspace, very nearly making Oswald jump.Oswald recollected his mind, glad he had said nothing more incriminating, "A wise man.""Indeed! There are many wise words that originated from him!" Lucius agreed with a wide grin, "Such as; 'I am not absentminded. It is the presence of mind that makes me unaware of everything else.'"Oswald chuckled, "Of course that would be your favorite!"Lucius smirked, "I'm also partial to; 'Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.'" Oswald shook his head, mystified, "Whatever are we to do with you? That is the one you picked?""Would you feel better if I said; 'Without education, we are in a horrible and deadly danger of taking educated people seriously.'""Are you quoting or simply observing?" Oswald arched a brow at him and cocked his head to one side, "Though that one is considerably more acceptable."Lucius shifted in his chair, reclining a bit. He tapped a finger to his own stack of readouts, "How is your end of things coming? Have you found anything usable?"Oswald straightened his spine further, more edgy than before, "No, unfortunately."Of course, even if he did find anything, he would make sure that went away. If Lucius found anything, which he dearly hoped he never did on any of the Penguin cases, that could be explained away by transfer. He was in the lab and at the scenes and so mistakes did happen. He spent a great deal of time thinking about and rehearsing what he would say and do should Lucius ever find a stray hair on a body or a fingerprint where it should not have been. He could not say exactly what he might do if one of them ever got a bite out of him, not that such a thing was likely with how he handled things, but anything of a nature he could not explain away. He would not be able to escape detection if it was something like that as his DNA was in the database for working there already.There would only be so much he could explain away if ever he was caught between evidence he could not cover up and a carefully crafted lie.He did have one contingency plan, of course. He would swear it was self-defense. He could confess to the crime but claim he was terrified, swear that he was framing it on Penguin out of desperation. They might believe it if the scenario was right. He knew the scenes well enough that he could feasibly have faked it in order to seemingly escape detection by pinning it on someone they could not catch. But then, this was exactly the reason he was making the resolution never to let them find a body again. The stress, frankly, was too much! He was sleeping poorly again since he had left the body for them to find this time, waiting to pull out those excuses. Leaving no evidence was so much better! It was the safer way to go while this was risky.Oswald adored Lucius and admired his work ethic, but he was the last person it was at all safe to leave a body with if he did not want to be caught. He so rarely left a body, it had been months since he left a body! He had forgotten just how stressful it was to be on pins and needles every day while Lucius worked. He was confident in his own ability to clean a scene but he was not really so confident that it did not cause him endless worry. While he left the body to send a message he was starting to doubt the wisdom in that. He would be so desperately glad when this case was pushed from the spotlight.Maybe he should go out and kill someone else? Someone important but more or less random to throw attention elsewhere. No, no! He always killed for a reason, a better one than that! He also did not kill randomly, he picked his kills with extreme care! It was never something he did at random. That was a fundamental part of Penguin that could not be changed. Penguin killed monsters and only monsters! It was only the guilty, those he had evidence against, that were slain. No, he would not change that simply because he was under pressure."Are you alright, Oswald?" Lucius' worried voice cut into his musing.He realized he had been cradling his head in his hands for an unknown amount of time, "I'm fine, thank you! It's only a headache." He lied.Lucius got up in order to look him over a bit better, "Are you coming down with something?""No, no, it's nothing! Really!" Oswald smiled one of his happier smiles, and it was real because it was nice to know someone was worried about his well-being. "Do you think you should go home?" Lucius pressed the issue, though gently.Oswald shook his head and patted the other man on the arm, "I assure you, I'm quite well." He would not trade Lucius for anything, even if the man was too smart.It turned out that Oswald did not need to worry and decidedly did not need to go out and do something unspeakable like kill at random. Gotham and its general violence took care of that for him in the form of a rather violent bank robbery. A group called the Red Hoods was up to nothing good. Two innocent people had been shot and one bank robber had been killed in their first job. The GCPD rushed to the scene and took particular interest in the dead robber as they all knew he might lead them to his friends. With the bank and their general constituents, mainly the mayor who banked there, pressure to put an end to things meant that the case was moved higher in priority.Politics and money always moved what would normally be impossible. Normally, the death of the rich and famous was elevated, but if someone messed with the actual safeguards of the money the rich and famous held so dear, suddenly that was of higher interest. It was not as if they did not all know that the mayor did not care in the slightest about those who died in the robbery. Mayor James was far from caring.Lucius and Oswald found that precious evidence to offer up searchable locations from the dead criminal and a few hours later had the city's finest storming the hideout only to find another dead bank robber. It was less than ideal, to say the least, and that body offered no clues about where the group might have relocated. The rest would simply be a matter of tracking any and all possible properties the dead men might have in common in order to triangulate more potential on either a hideaway or associates. It could really have been any location next.The car repair shop was owned by the dead robber, so there was nothing he or Lucius could offer after the first location find. There were too many other cars in and out of the establishment to really narrow anything down or determine what evidence was from innocent patrons and what belonged to the criminals. The rest was left up to Jim and Harvey. They could only tell them what was on the man's shoes and match the debris to possible alternate locations, which had turned up nothing so far. Sadly, the dead man might not even be in any relation to the new hideout. Regardless, it had been a very long day! One that consisted of being yelled at by the Mayor and Barnes. Not that Barnes was a bad guy, or particularly unreasonable, but the more people yelled at the Captain, the more his mood soured. Barnes was a just, honest man who had the respect and fear of the entire staff. Once, Oswald had even seen things much the way the Captain did. Things changed when you saw things firsthand rather than simply looking at them through the lens of an investigator. After his mother was stolen from him, he saw things in a new light and could no longer entirely subscribe to Barnes' way of thinking, not when the law could be manipulated by anyone with enough power or money.Oswald stumbled through his door at two in the morning, dropping his keys loudly on the table, toeing off his shoes on the welcome mat, and letting his bag fall off his shoulder to hit the floor. Edward lifted his big, wrinkled face, short, floppy ears lifted as he made sure it was indeed the correct person coming in the door. His stalky, pudgy, stubby bulldog body lifted up off the dog bed Oswald kept settled in the corner where he could rest comfortably and see everything, and he waddled over. The nub of a tail wagged, moving his entire hind end more than simply the tail as he smiled up at Oswald with a long tongue lolling out.Sagging to the floor, Oswald scooped the dog up to hug him, "Who's a good boy, Edward? Who did I miss all day, hmm?" He cooed at the dog and received an answer in the form of wet, sloppy licks.Once full apologies for being very late were given and graciously accepted, Oswald pried himself from the carpeted floor and fixed the dog a nice meal to make up for the lateness. Once that was done, he began on his own food as he had not been offered a chance to eat since two in the afternoon. While he was hungry he was nearly to the point of not wanting anything at all but he was fully aware of what he needed to do as far as health. Eggs and toast would have to suffice as he was simply too tired to be on his feet any longer than needed. Eggs were sufficient for his body anyway, which was why he kept them around for quick meals such as this.Plating his food, he trudged over to his couch, feet dragging until he flopped down without much care in the world. He had a table, he did, and he usually used it in order to be a civilized human being, but he was too tired for civility, he would take barbarity if it meant resting his tired muscles in comfort. The soft music he left on every time he left, music approved to soothe and ease dogs, was playing in the background, making him feel all the more sleepy.In allowance for his weariness, he swung his feet up, settling them nicely on one of the throw pillows at the end of the couch as he devoured his food. He already wished he made more than one egg but he had no intention of getting up to make another. As Edward had finished his own meal, he moved himself over to sit on Oswald's feet as was one of his usual habits if there were feet in his general vicinity to lay over. It was pleasant most of the time, a warm underbelly against the tops of his feet. Today it was less pleasant but not entirely terrible so Oswald did not put the effort into moving."Oh Edward," Oswald sighed, staring wearily at the pattern of brown in the short fur, "I'm sorry I was gone so long today."The dog grinned over at him, tongue flopping out the side of his mouth, round eyes adoring and content to assure his master that there were no hard feelings to be found. Still, perhaps he should get another dog, someone to keep Edward company while he was away. He did not like the idea of the bulldog being alone so much, deprived of attention and companionship. Another dog would at least assuage his loneliness. The knock on the door was unexpected and made Oswald nearly jump out of his skin while the dog jumped up, boofing with a mild effort to ward off unsavory visitors, if there were any. He waddled to the door, dropped low to his front, and sniffed under the door, butt in the air. The wagging of said butt after the loud sniffing told Oswald who the possible candidates were even before the voice did."Hi, Pupperoni," Jim greeted through the door, always refusing to use the dog's name, inserting horrible nicknames instead. It was hardly the dog's fault he had been named Edward, nor in fact, was it Oswald's. The name had already been attached. If anything, it was the animal shelter's fault considering they named him and plastered adorable pictures of him in a bowtie over their information center. Oswald fell in love the second he saw that wrinkly smile. Edward stared at the door eagerly, still waging his non-existent tail."It's me, Oswald." Jim informed him as if anyone else called Edward 'Pupperoni.' Lucius had the good grace to use Edward's proper name, and Ivy almost always used the fire escape and knocked on the window because she learned entirely too much from Selina. Anyone else was good enough not to visit this late, or early. "Hang on," Oswald held in a sigh and forced himself to wriggle off the couch and stand up.He padded to the door, remembering again that his feet were a bit tender from the long day, and he unbolted his three locks. Jim held up a bag of Chinese food like a gesture of peace, his typical offering unless he needed a big favor, in which case it became a bucket of fried chicken.Where on earth Jim found a place open at this time of night was too much trouble to puzzle out. Oswald stepped aside to allow him in and Jim went directly for the couch to drop onto it, seemingly just as tired as the lab technician, which begged the question of why he bothered to come.Edward trotted after their guest and jumped onto his lap the second he set to bag on the coffee table. The dog grabbed Jim's sleeve and shook his hand about and the man took it without resistance, letting the dog toss his arm back and forth. Edward was always rougher with Jim than with his owner and Oswald had never figured out why the dog was gentle with him and would freely gnaw on Jim. Edward adored Jim, so it was odd the man seemed to be his general chew toy as well. Jim patted the dog's big head and hugged him, putting an easy end to the chewing once Edward happily rolled onto his back to offer his belly for rubs. Jim placidly sat there and rubbed the dog while Oswald dropped down heavily beside them on the couch.It took a while for either one of them to get around to speaking, but Oswald ventured it after a jaw-cracking yawn, "So, what brings you here?""I..." Jim paused, seemingly unsure, mulling it over before he stretched his shoulders, "I needed your help. I'm chasing my tail with ideas on the case. I need to figure out how he selects them, the victims, so we can get ahead of him.""It could be random, you know. He may just come across them and decide from there. He could be in their circles somehow, another rich man, a caterer, a party planner, a janitor." Oswald settled his head back on the cushions. Jim leaned up around the dog to grab the bag of food and fish things out, "Who he is doesn't matter as much as how he picks them. Once we find the how we can get to the who." He handed a box of lemon chicken to Oswald. "What about the why?" Oswald asked. "The why could be anything, but we know at least parts of it is because he thinks they are monsters." Jim shrugged, "Whatever he defines as monsters, which, again, could be anything. None of the known victims had substantial records, no convictions for anything.""That doesn't mean anything. This is Gotham. I don't know if you've noticed, but there are a lot of monsters and freaks here, and a lot of them don't showcase it." Oswald was proud of keeping the venom from his voice. Jim's brows twitched, not lifting, but not frowning either. He looked ready to fall asleep. "Maybe we won't hear from him for a while?" Oswald offered a noncommittal shrug before taking a bite of his takeout, decidedly not interested in refusing something he could eat without having to get up. "No, serial killers escalate, they don't de-escalate." Jim shook his head crossing his long legs in a languid sprawl. "He's going to kill again, he'll be driven to seek out his next high. It's his compulsion, he's too far into his delusion, and he'll be driven to kill again like any addict."Was it? Did he get a high from the kills? Did he get a rush from taking their lives? Not exactly, he did not think. He felt vindicated, possibly relieved, but it wasn't... a high. Was it revenge? Justice? A high from knowing the monsters couldn't hurt anyone else? But was that a high? Or was it relief?"He gets off on it." Jim continued, and Oswald pursed his lips to keep from informing him that such assumptions were very much off the mark. "Gets off running us in circles and not getting caught. Knowing we're chasing our tails and get nothing." Now he was just being spiteful. "Well," Oswald drew himself up a little, trying not to be annoyed, "I think it's more about his crusade than any rush he might get. He's been awfully clear about his reasoning even if he doesn't leave us memoirs."Jim eyed him, clearly taking it in, honestly listening as he bit into an egg roll. "'The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.'" Oswald added mildly, "That sort of idea. Doing it for a purpose and not for a thrill."Jim frowned, deep and brooding, "So he's a soldier now?""I didn't say that. I was merely saying that might be how he sees this.""Do you agree? Do you think he's doing-" Jim's jaw clenched and Oswald could read his thoughts, knew he was thinking about Galavan and what they talked about before, "what we couldn't? Bringing them down? Do you think he's right? That it's justice?"Oswald took his time to formulate an answer, taking a big bite of his food to give him an excuse before he looked Jim in the eye, "Jim, answer me something." He took a breath, and held it a beat, feeling Jim hold his own breath, "Did you know Katheryn Monroe?"The breath punched out of Jim and his eyes widened, muscles tensing. At first, he said nothing, but as his head lowered either in shame or the desire to hide, he let go a quiet, "Yes."Oswald nodded slowly, watching Jim carefully, "Was she a good woman? Or was she what Penguin said she was?"Jim's fingers shook just slightly on the white box he was holding, "No, she wasn't a good woman. She was manipulative and cruel."Oswald sighed and reached out, carefully squeezing Jim's shoulder, feeling the tightness there and hoping the touch would bring him away from dark memories he knew he harbored, "Then... maybe that's the answer on why Penguin targets them. A woman like her, and probably all the others... they never would have been tried for what they did."Jim studied the pattern of the box like it held the keys to everything, "So you think we should just let him do it? Do nothing?" He shook his head, steeling himself again, shaking away the vulnerability, "No, there are other ways."Oswald's heart hurt because he knew exactly what Jim's other way was. It was appointing himself to go in undercover to take apart the court all on his own. Slowly collecting evidence as the court slowly killed him, draining his life away in chunks. What they were doing to Jim wasn't fair! What they had already done to him was not right!Oswald intended to put a stop to it. They continued talking, theorizing, hashing things out. Oswald grew sleepy and so did Jim as they polished off the food. At some point, Jim fell asleep, and Oswald only had enough wit to realize it less than a minute before he fell asleep too. When he woke, it was to Jim stumbling in a disoriented, drunken walk to the door just about seven thirty in the morning. He was on the phone, looking like he wished he was dead or that the person who called was. The world must have been swimming for Jim too as tired as they both were. They really should have slept considerably more than they had to even begin to function. It took Jim a while to figure out the locks because his eyes visibly kept crossing for obvious exhaustion. Oswald tried to mumble out a question but it was hardly clear, the words slurred. That fact that it was a question seemed to penetrate the other man's mind because Jim muttered a husky answer about a lead on red somethings and half crawled out the door, almost forgetting to shut it. Oswald stretched, groaned at the pops that sent through his body, and got up himself. His neck felt like he needed to see a chiropractor in order to straighten it. He threw himself into a shower, which helped moderately, and crawled into new clothes. Miraculously, he remembered to make Edward something to eat as well as another egg for himself, then made it out the door too. Half the day and at least two energy drinks later, the Red Hoods were all either dead or in a cell. It was quite a dramatic ending, bloody and frightening, but it was over. A whirlwind like none of them was used to, or they were used to it, actually, they lived in Gotham; but at least it was over. It was over!Considering Jim and Harvey both nearly took a bullet for it, Oswald was just thankful it was finished. He was thankful they had all managed to survive and no one of their own had been brought to the morgue. A few officers had been injured but they did survive so that was the thing to focus on. He could hardly dare consider anything else when Harvey showed him the new nick in that fedora of his. Unfortunately, one day later than that everyone was back to normal; they were back to focusing on Penguin like nothing happened between them. Still, it worked in his favor, the break in between. Time was always helpful to separate them from the killer, which was why it was always such a push to get a case solved fast. Still, it was jarring to shift so suddenly, like several of them hadn't nearly died in a shower of bullets. There was yet another session, another brainstorming, information meeting entirely centered on catching Penguin. Oswald always hated this particular topic in a meeting of all these detectives in one place. They were not stupid and the more they focused the worse his chances were.Captain Barnes was addressing everyone, ever the fearless leader, standing up in front of them like a general, bald head gleaming in the overhead lights. He was an imposing, broad man who knew how to take and deliver a hit. He was far from a figurehead as far as a leader, no stranger to going out with his people on cases. Oswald admired his fiery passion even if he feared it being directed at the Penguin.Jim got up bedside the Captain, once he had the chance, looking like he belonged on the ledge of authority, like he was borne for it. He looked so confident like a hero leading the king's troops into some grand and glorious battle of old. There had never really been a question that Jim was a favorite of the Captain's. It remained that way even after Galavan, even when Barnes began to question whether or not Jim had been involved. Nathaniel Barnes looked at Jim differently now at times, with a shrewd eye rather than open trust, but he never voiced his thoughts in anything more than slight insinuations. Oswald hoped it remained that way. "So," Jim had on his commanding, leader voice, "Oswald had some very good ideas that he shared with me on how to approach this Penguin issue. Ways we might be able to catch him."Oswald's heart skipped several beats and he swallowed reflexively. He did? When on earth did he do that?"Penguin sees himself as a soldier. In his mind, he's doling out justice the law can't." Jim told his audience, "I think I've got a good place to start on his next targets."Jim proceeded to lay out a list of people that could be next. He had reasons, logical reasons, rumors, a case that couldn't be proven but made sense. Still, Oswald recognized every name. Jim had listed everyone, at least those he knew of, in the Court of Owls and Oswald felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him. The list was almost as long as Oswald's own and almost included everyone he intended to go after. What was he supposed to do now? What could be done? They would alert the people on the list, he knew they would. When that happened, the Talons would be on guard. Oswald knew he was not ready to take on those men, not even close. What was he going to do? How had Jim guessed? Was it the mask? How would Jim ever explain this to the court? What would they do to Jim? How could such a brilliant detective be so recklessly stupid? How? Oswald was shaking enough that it drew the attention of one of the boys who had come in, "Are you alright, Mr. Cobblepot?" The young voice asked. Oswald turned sharply to see Bruce Wayne, the poor young billionaire, company figurehead at only sixteen, his eyes so sincere. Bruce was so young and innocent, not someone he could tell the truth to. Bruce was very much Jim's young, impressionable friend with an eye for justice that rivaled even Gordon's. He could say nothing to such a boy, nor could he afford to speak freely with the redheaded new hire in the Wayne company who stood nervously beside Bruce, Jeremiah Valeska.