11:44am, March 10; The Iceburg Lounge; Oswald Cobblepot

Ed was a blur of energy as he barreled up the stairs, already talking long before he got within earshot, starting in right as his eyes settled on Oswald. He moved with long, purposeful strides towards him, then stopped and began pacing, before coming back and standing an arms length away. His words becoming understandable in the last few sentences:

"-and while I think there might have been an overstatement of my own enthusiasm for the sport, I certainly find the mechanics and innovation the travel industries come up with to be fascinating and I do have an interest in keeping up with those technical ends. So in that manner, choosing a trade show was definitely the better call and what I'm trying to say is," Ed took a deep breath and forced himself to slow down, grinning ear to ear as he met his eyes, "Thank you, Oswald. I had an amazing time.

"Wren and Rockhopper, they said you thought I might be over-stressing between work and the move and that i could use the break. And you were absolutely right. I did need it." He dropped his gaze, his grin splitting his face, "And you picked... It was a perfect choice to get my mind off of things and even... give me a new perspective on others."

He adjusted his glasses, then held up something he'd brought, that Oswald hadn't noticed in all the hurry, "This is for you. I wanted to show my thanks for the gift with a gift of my own. It's really not nearly equal to what you managed to do in just a couple short days. But you seemed really interested in it when we were talking... and with the downsizing I'm having to do right now, I exactly don't have the space for my record player at the moment."

Ed held his arms out so the album cover was visible, "I know you said you weren't bothered by the B-Side being damaged, so I hope that... wasn't just you being polite."

"Oh... Ed," Oswald breathed out, barely audible as he reached forward to touch the edges of the album with reverence. "This is..." He gave a soft, breathy chuckle and pretenses he usually maintained dropped away. He was, for the moment, as easy to read as a book. His expression open, relaxed... giddy with surprise. Overwhelmed entirely. "This is... you really didn't have to." The way his fingers caressed the cover, as if it would fall to dust should his hands be more than feather-light upon it said otherwise. Ed couldn't know what the record meant to the other man. Oswald had been careful not to make a big deal out of it when they were talking, though he had shown more than a passing interest in it. One collector to another sort of thing.

"I insist," he answered, his voice softer now. "Please. I want you to have it."

Oswald took a long time to finally let his fingers close around it and take it from Ed's grasp. He kept shaking his head, opening his mouth as if to say something and stopping, like the words were stuck. They were. Just a bit. He felt like he was choking on them, grasping for breath, but breathing more deeply than he had in a long time. As though a weight had been tied around his heart, pulling him down. And now it was gone. The lock that held it in place broken open by a simple gesture.

He'd been thinking, until then, that perhaps Edward's attempts to befriend him had been more calculated than first estimated. Everything they spoke about as he went over his mental notes seemed to be perfectly selected to keep his interest or amuse him in some way. An intellectual equal with just enough of an interest in things society at large would find intolerable.

But this. There was no way he could have pre-meditated it. No way he could have known to choose this particular album. No one knew what that song meant to him. Or how deeply it would strike his heart to be able to play it at his leisure. Ed hadn't even brought it over that night when they'd listened to a few of the other, even rarer albums in his collection. Sure, he'd mentioned how he wouldn't care about the the B-side damage, the same as Ed hadn't cared enough not to get it. But he couldn't have known.

"I... thank you, Edward," he eventually managed, looking up at him. Exposing the tears glistening at the corners of his eyes and not caring at all that they were seen. Not by the man in front of him. "Do you... would you like to listen to it? With me?"

The answer spilled out of Ed without hesitation, "I'd love to."

1:23pm. March 10; The Iceburg Lounge; Edward Nygma

He couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty as they listened to the single in Oswald's office. Each time the song ended, the man would take some time to control his breathing, then stand up and slowly move across the room to reset it. Shutting his eyes as the notes began again. Smiling and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes as went back to sit down. Then lean his chin on one hand and hum along to it softly.

Clearly, Oswald appreciated the gift. Far, far more than anticipated. And Ed felt guilty, because he'd picked the record out as the one to give him because it was the most damaged in his collection. He figured that as a collector and connoisseur of music, or at least someone who'd expressed an interest in his own collection, that one of the records in it would be a decent way of thanking the man for his day out with Diedre and Nina. And Ed would, personally, feel the least put out by giving up one that was damaged.

But this was... he was seeing a side of Oswald that he was certain no one else had gotten to see in a very long time. He was... soft. Human. Unguarded.

"My mother used to sing this to me at bed time," Oswald murmured, a good twelve repeats and two brandies in. His expression was that dreamy sort of nostalgia that came when remembering loved ones. "She'd tell me 'Oswald, don't listen to the other children. You're handsome... and clever... and someday you'll be a great man.'"

He brushed some tears to the side, going quiet.

Ed waited a few moments, to see if he'd continue. When he didn't, Ed spoke up, gentle, "And you have. So she was right."

Oswald laughed, a short burst with further tears he fought to keep from overwhelming him. He nodded, however, "I have. I just wish she were here to see it. I miss her so much, Ed. And I can't talk about it. It'll be seen as a weakness. And... it is. My heart has always been my weakness. If she were still here, she could be used against me, to control me..."

He said it like it was a given, almost like-

"Someone did that to you?"

Oswald's next laugh was bitter and he pressed his fist to his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut, "I think it's time you left, friend."

Ed stood, but didn't go to the door. He approached the desk, coming around the side of it. Then he sat on it's edge and reached out for Oswald's face. His fingers hovered just over his cheek before settling on his fist. He startled the man, but Oswald recovered quickly, looking up at him with wild and suddenly very dangerous eyes. Ed didn't move, but he did let his eyes drop.

Ed took a deep breath and rubbed his thumb over Oswald's knuckles, "I... I've had..." He gulped and forced himself to continue speaking, "I've had my heart used against me, too. Some people I thought were my friends... I don't have family or many people in my life, so when... when they said they were my friends, I took it as truth. And they repaid my trust by destroying everything. I want to..."

He took a deep breath and dropped his hand to his lap, looked away, toward the glazed window that let light in but hid all that happened in that room, "You're one of the first people I can think of as a real friend, Oswald. Wren and Rockhopper, too, but... they're only my friends because of you. They wouldn't have chosen to spend time with me like that, to get to know me, if you hadn't asked one of them to. So, you're really the first friend I've had in a long time that... I know you don't trust me. Your position doesn't let you. And that's... that's okay. You haven't lied to me about that, or led me on. You haven't let me think that I'm more to you than just... whatever interest I am to you. I still haven't figured that out. I'd like to, but... Maybe it's better if I don't."

Ed stood, walking away toward the door. He turned to face Oswald, hands folded in front of him, "I'm glad you like the record."

The emotional mask had returned to Oswald's face and he said nothing more as Ed took hold of the door handle and let himself out. He had hoped for something in response to that small barring of his soul. It had been difficult to admit aloud. But he supposed he should have known better. Small glimpses into the heart of the King of Gotham were all he was going to be allowed. All he could be, for the man to maintain his position.

Ed counted himself lucky to have gotten what he had so far. And unlike with Flass, he felt like he hadn't misjudged Oswald.

3:00pm, March 10; The Iceburg Lounge; Oswald Cobblepot

He held everything in long after Ed had left and long after the record had stopped. He understood, based on how much Ed tried to keep a happy face around him, that what he'd said had been a show of trust. But he hated seeming vulnerable in front of others and he'd exposed himself far too much because of the record. More than just what he'd shared about his mother. He'd... he'd trusted Edward.

And in letting him leave without threat of harm, he'd further shown trust that it wouldn't be shared.

He knew, on a basic level, he should nip whatever this was in the bud. Cut it out of his life. Be done with all the nonsense.

But he liked Ed. He liked having the illusion of a friend. He didn't have any, except Butch. And Butch wasn't someone he could confide in. Not in that way.

It was getting too personal. He still needed to have Nygma close, in case he was a plant or being used. So they could follow the lines back eventually, or even torture the man if needed. But Oswald had to step away from it. His heart was too confused and that could lead to poor decisions. He would need someone else to handle things with Edward when he was around. Help keep him at arms length without it looking like he was pushing him away.

Oswald took some time to get himself back under control and left his office. He sought out Mr. Penn and pulled him to the side, "Please inform Mr. Wesker that should Mr. Nygma request anything, I am leaving it up to him to determine if it is reasonable or not. And inform him, also, that he is to have access to the Lounge's discretionary funds to facilitate said requests."

"Of course, Mr. Cobblepot," Mr. Penn answered, making an immediate note. "And which discretionary fund should he have access to? The thousand dollar incidental?"

"The half million for overnight renovations and repairs."

Penn glanced up at him, blinked a couple times, then made another hasty note in his book, "Yes, sir. I'll have a new card issued right away."