Warning for homophobic jerks at the end.

When Jim walked into his latest watering hole and saw Mayor Cobblepot sitting at one of the booths he skidded, almost tripped over his own feet and banged his knee against the door.

Cobblepot and several other people in the bar looked up at the racket.

This was too much. Where could a guy go to find some peace and quiet in this town? He couldn't visit any of the bars he actually liked because too many cops drank there, and he didn't want to run into Harvey or anyone else he knew.

Jim hesitated, leaning against the door, ready to push out again into the freezing wind.

Oswald stared, holding the shot glass in a pale hand. For a moment the air hung heavy with tension.

Then Oswald turned away, deliberately directing his gaze to the wall, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

Jim clenched his teeth and the old familiar roiling of guilt soured his stomach along with an irrational dose of resentment. So easily dismissed? Why should he care? Just because Oswald used to practically worship the ground he walked on.

Just because maybe Oswald was one of the few people who actually did care about him. Or used to care, before Jim turned his back on him in a misguided attempt to cleanse his own soul.

Just because he didn't want to go back to that dreary apartment, especially since Valerie wouldn't be dropping by anymore.

Just because...

Jim stepped back into the bar and walked across the room.

Oswald watched him, warily. His infamous bird-headed cane lay on the table, and his hand twitched, as if he was thinking about getting up and walking out.

Or, Jim reminded himself, Oswald might be thinking about drawing the knife hidden in the handle.

Harvey sometimes bitched about that, how Jim never seemed to worry Oswald might go berserk and attack him if he didn't watch it.

Certainly Oswald had little reason to like him these days, but Jim wasn't getting that kind of vibe, not even now, despite all that had passed between them.

Oswald's face fell, and he shrunk a little more into his seat. He drew his hand back under the table.

Jim was pretty sure Oswald had a gun hidden on him somewhere, too, but at least it looked like possible stabbings were on hold.

Maybe Jim was too cavalier about his own safety, or maybe he really did have a big old blind spot in regards to Oswald like Harvey said, but he felt more determined than ever to sit for a spell.

Jim paused by the bar to order a scotch, neat, before covering the remaining distance to Oswald's booth. "Mind if I sit down?"

Several emotions flickered over Oswald's face until he managed to settle on a mask of indifference. He shrugged, such an obvious attempt at casualness Jim almost smiled. "It's a free country."

Jim slid into the opposite seat and there was a little silence. "No offense, but this doesn't seem like the kind of place the mayor would hang out in."

Especially a mayor who'd recently landed an enormous family fortune. That piece of news hadn't escaped Jim's notice, but it didn't seem very tactful to point that out, seeing how his newly discovered father died in order for him to inherit.

Oswald wore an old black suit that must have been from his days as Fish Mooney's lackey, but he wasn't wearing a tie, Jim noticed with mild shock. For Oswald this was downright sloppy, for all that his hair was slicked back and behaving itself, just like it was in the election posters still littering some of the streets and alleys.

Oswald's lips stretched back in a brief, humorless smile. "I refer you back to my earlier statement about the freedoms we enjoy as citizens of this fine land." He knocked back the rest of his drink, exposing the long lines of his neck, which probably thrilled Jim a little too much, and poured out another from the bottle at his elbow.

Jim lifted his glass and watched him over the rim. He wondered how long it would take for that fake tan to wear off. Oswald looked okay with it, it must have been applied professionally, but Jim found he missed the freckles.

Oswald lifted his hand and let it fall again. "If you must know, I used to come here back in the day when I needed to get away from the club for a while. Good place to sit and be left alone."

He raised his voice ever so slightly to emphasize the last word.

Jim refused to take the hint. If Oswald really wanted him to go, he better come out and say it. "Yep," he said, nodding. "That's why I come here. Something on your mind?"

Oswald studied him as if calculating his next move. Then, reaching a decision, he leaned his arms on the table. "You first."

Jim told him about Lee's new beau, whoever the hell he was, and after some hesitation, talked about Valerie Vale.

Oswald propped his chin in his hand. "Poor Jim. Must be so tiresome, having all these gorgeous women littering the landscape."

"Only one," Jim muttered. "And she's always in a hurry to leave." It was a little disconcerting, the speed with which Valerie got dressed in the morning, smiling brightly the entire time as if nothing they'd done the night before mattered any more than sharing a drink.

He flicked his hand. "Anyway. We had a fight. Something stupid. I don't think she's coming back."

Maybe it was for the best. It was a dumb argument over where they'd get take-out which escalated, and she stormed out. If the relationship was so shaky it couldn't survive that, what was the point? Relationship was probably too strong a word for what amounted to a series of one night stands.

Jim tapped a finger on the table, wondering about Oswald's moroseness. He was a lot less talkative than usual. Beyond occasional mildly sarcastic comments about Jim's love life, he hadn't said very much.

Jim was seized with an urge to reach over and ruffle up his hair, just to see what he would do.

He restrained himself, barely. That would be bad. Maybe Oswald didn't even feel that way about him anymore. Jim wasn't so vain as to think Oswald would pine after him forever.

But maybe he was still pining. Jim wondered if he should find out.

Well, why not? Wasn't like he was with the GCPD anymore, and here Oswald went and got to be an elected public official, which, when not looked at too closely, was fairly respectable. Harvey wasn't there to criticize.

Jim wiped his mouth with his hand reached for the bottle. "Your turn. Anybody special?" he asked, trying to sound casual and gruff, but secretly he was hoping there wasn't. Maybe there wasn't anybody. Maybe...maybe Jim could be that somebody...

Oswald's gaze sharpened on Jim in alarm before sliding away again. He worked his jaw, pursed his lips, rubbed his neck, gritted his teeth, and gave an overall impression of invisible forces rampaging through his soul.

He exhaled heavily and, having put a lid on his inner demons, gave Jim a thin smile. He turned his glass in a little circle. "There...is somebody. But he doesn't know."

Yeah, right. Like I didn't notice the way your eyes lit up whenever you saw me. "Sure about that?"

Oswald shrugged in a helpless way that made Jim want to hug him. "He likes women, I know that much."

"Maybe he's bi." He downed the rest of his drink too quickly. The alcohol was buzzing in his brain pretty strong now. "You should talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Who knows?"

"I suppose," Oswald murmured.

Jim's heart beat faster as he watched Oswald out of the corner of his eyes, but the other man didn't seem to be in any hurry to pour out his heart and confess.

Disappointing, but Jim understood. I've ignored him and pushed him away so much he doesn't dare make the first move.

Oswald knocked back another shot and pulled his face into a grimace. Jim wondered how many he'd had and where the hell he was putting it all.

"And then the whole Red Hood fiasco makes it even more complicated," Oswald said, sounding more like his old bitchy self.

Jim nodded, mystified by the sudden change in topic. He heard about the 'hit,' if it could even be called that, on the statue of Oswald's mother, though what it had to do with Oswald's continuing crush on him, he couldn't say. Cleary it upset Oswald, though, so best let him talk.

The whole story came pouring out, although Oswald had to explain it several times before Jim's increasingly sauced brain was able to latch onto the key concepts.

"So. Hold it." Jim swayed and grabbed onto the table. "Butch was really the...the ringleader of the Red Hoods. And told them to shoot it up."

"Correct." Oswald dipped his head. "It was a... a watchmacallit. A thingy." His forehead wrinkled with the effort of thinking. "A ploy. That's the word." He tried to snap his fingers but missed. The booze was finally starting to have an effect. "Butch was trying to get back into my good graces. By manufacturing a threat so he could rush in to save the day."

"And Ed found out."

"Again, bingo."

"Only he didn't tell you. He went to Zsasz. And then...he..." Jim struggled to remember what came next. He waved an unsteady hand in the air. Screw Ed Nygma anyway, that murdering son of a bitch.

"What happened again?" Some kind of incredibly complicated series of double-crosses occurred, with Zsasz getting involved somehow, and Ed came out on top. In his current state, Jim was finding it difficult to follow the twists and turns.

"Oh, I don't know. I can't remember." Oswald lay his head on his arms. "The upshot is ever'body stabs me in the back. Ever'body."

Jim, awash in sympathy, patted him on the shoulder. "But, you figured it out, right?"

"Yeah," Oswald muttered into the table. He sniffled.

"Hard to put one over on the Penguin," Jim said, feeling a little frantic. He patted him again. Was he crying? He couldn't stand it if Oswald started crying.

"I guess." Oswald lifted his head and quickly wiped his eyes. "Something just...just... didn't smell right. It was too neat. So I made my own inquiries." His mouth twisted. "Ed's cleverness, impressive. I was so... stupidly grateful. And he played me. Turned Butch against me. The best henchman I ever had, now he's gone. Drove him back to that skank Tabitha."

He shook his head vigorously, and squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. "Ow. Isn't the hangover supposed to start tomorrow? I can't trust Ed anymore. I don't know what I..." His face scrunched up. "No one's on my side."

Jim almost felt like crying, too. He got up unsteadily and flopped into the seat next to him, putting his arms around his shoulders. "I'm on your side. Look, right here. By your side."

Oswald stared at him, tears making tracks down his cheeks, and began to shake with laughter. "Right next to me," he said.

Jim grinned and gave him a little shake. "Yep, by your side. That is known as a pun, or play on words."

Oswald hiccuped and laughed some more. "You wouldn't happen to have a handkerchief on you, perchance?"

This close, Oswald's scent was a pleasant mix of cologne and hair gel. There was something pleasing about the way he fitted against Jim's side, too, the way Oswald sort of leaned into him, as if soaking up warmth.

Jim made a show of patting at his own pockets with one hand. His other hand slid down Oswald's arm and came to rest on his waist. Real casual-like.

"Must've left it in my other suit." He rummaged around the debris on the table, and found a mostly intact napkin.

Oswald wiped at his eyes with it and took a shuddering breath. "Other suit, huh? So this," he said, poking Jim's black shirt with his finger, "you call this a suit?"

"Standard issue for bounty hunters. Yeah." He let his hand tighten on Oswald's waist, just a little, and his fingertips moved a little lower to find the top of Oswald's hip, right at the curve of the hipbone.

Blood pulsed in his ears. He felt good. Warmth pooled in his belly and he was seized with an increasingly powerful urge to cup Oswald's jaw and kiss those lips made rosy with drink.

Oswald glanced down, finally noticing where Jim's hand had strayed. His smile faded and he stopped laughing.

He turned his face to Jim, eyes wide and still shiny with tears.

Jim was pulled in, as if by magnets, and he put his mouth on Oswald's, as gently as...

Oswald put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "What're you doing?"

Jim blinked at him.

"I have to go," Oswald said in a strangled voice. "Ed must be worried about me."

"Who the fuck cares?" Jim snapped, too harsh, too belligerent. "Don't know why you made him campaign manager. Doesn't surprise me he played you, that backstabbing little..." Words failed him for a drunken moment. "Backstabber!"

Oswald's eyes were big as dinner plates. "You happen to be talking about the man I love," he said in a cold voice.

Jim gaped at him.

"Let me out." Oswald shoved at his shoulder.

Jim, bewildered, clumsy, began to slide out of the booth.

It wasn't fast enough for Oswald. He pushed Jim again and attempted to climb over him in his haste.

"Hey, wait," Jim said. "Let me stand up first, let me get out of the..."

There was a confused pile-up for a moment, and then Jim staggered upright while Oswald shot out of the seat and limped toward the door.

Jim stared after him, then caught up to him about halfway across the room, seizing him by the wrist. "Wait. Oswald. Give me a second. Please."

Oswald stood trembling, keeping his face set toward the door. "You're seriously doing this to me now. Really? Where were you six months ago?"

Jim's throat went dry, guilt over abandoning Oswald in Arkham almost overwhelming, but that wasn't the issue now. He could stand here stammering apologies, or he could warn Oswald.

He licked his lips, desperate to make Oswald understand. Edward Nygma was vile, murdering his girlfriend, framing Jim and sending him to Blackgate. Ed couldn't be trusted. Ed would hurt Oswald, he just knew it.

"You can't be in love with Ed," he said, knowing it was a mistake as soon as the words were out. "He's a killer."

Oswald's head snapped around and he glared at him. "So what's your point?"

Jim looked into his eyes, wanting him to understand.

"He'll hurt you," he said. "I would never hurt you."

Oswald tensed, the cords of his neck standing out. "Too late," he said hoarsely. Yanking his arm out of Jim's grasp, he slammed out the door.

Jim was left standing alone.

Through his drunken fog he became hyper aware of the rest of the bar.

People were either trying to ignore them or were watching them out of the corners of their eyes. Three men seated near the door stared openly, hostility in their faces. They'd turned to watch Oswald storm out.

This was a bad place for two men to be having that kind of argument.

Jim should have known better, should never have kissed Oswald here.

He shot a glare at the assholes by the door, and reached under his jacket, to let them know he was armed. "What're you lookin' at?" he growled.

He was laying it on too thick, and his tough guy stance didn't seem to impress them much, but it would have to do. Did they even recognize the mayor? They didn't look like they cared much about politics, but Oswald's face was all over town.

Jim hurried out.

At the very least he would make sure Oswald got home safely.

But...he said something about Ed being worried. Was Ed staying at the mansion? That wouldn't be safe, in Jim's opinion, but he couldn't very well kidnap Oswald to prevent him from going back to his own home.

Frustrated, he scanned the street, the chill wind cutting through his jacket. Several pedestrians walked or staggered by, but he didn't see Oswald anywhere.

Where the hell did he go? He could move pretty fast when he had to, even without his cane.

Oh crap. Oswald forgot it.

He lurched a few steps back to the bar, then turned to face the street again, going around in an unsteady circle. He ought to find Oswald first.

At last he spotted him getting into a taxi half a block away.

He ran toward it, calling out, but it sped off.

Jim leaned on his knees and hung his head. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

What did I expect, for Oswald to pine after me forever?

But Edward Nygma! That galled him, made him clench his fists, sent dread snaking through his body.

It was just wrong. It just was.

Jim was being irrational, greedy, hypocritical, and above all selfish, but he didn't care.

Despair welled up inside him. There was nothing he could do about it. If Oswald was over him, that was that.

The thing to do would be to get the cane and bring it to city hall tomorrow.

Jim straightened up, running his hands through his hair.

When he turned around, the three men from the bar were standing in front of him. And not in a friendly way. One of them held Oswald's cane.

"Your boyfriend forgot this," he said, grinning. "You want it?"

The others giggled nastily. "Yeah, he wants it. Wants it bad, don't he?"

"You heard him in there."

"Wants to suck it."

Oh, great. Jim scowled as they spread out to surround him.

"Giving you one chance to back off," he said in a low voice, reaching under his jacket for the gun. His hand might not be too steady, but sight of the gun would...

A movement out of the corner of his eye made him whirl, but, worse for drink, he was too slow.

The club of a fourth man caught him a sharp blow across his lower back and down he went, agony blossoming like an inferno.

He lost his grip on the gun. Someone kicked it away. Then kicked him in the ribs.

Where the fuck did the fourth one come from? Jim thought as he fought for breath and they closed in.