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thegreenfairy13 · 6 years ago

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Dog Sitter - Part 3 Hand Over The Dog Then

A Gobblepot fanfic. When Oswald loses his dog Ed, Jim Gordon finds it and does an excellent job when it comes to taking care of the mobster’s furry friend. Read it on Ao3 here.

Five days have passed since Oswald’s unfortunate run-in with Jim and he honestly doesn’t expect to hear from the foul-tempered Captain anytime soon. Not after exchanging their latest unpleasantries that is. But here goes Gordon and surprises the gangster. Quite thoroughly.

Oswald spent the last five minutes staring at the inconspicuous box lying on his desk disbelievingly. He’s completely paralyzed. This can’t be happening, but yet it does: Jim Gordon has sent him a present. Well, not him personally but rather Edward.

The point still stands. After years of resentment, anger, rage, vengeance and playing all kinds of games, Jim Gordon has decided to something nice for the very first time. It’s the closest Oswald will ever come to receiving an apology from the impossible man.

The gangster treads carefully through the contents of the parcel: three dog-collars made of surprisingly soft leather, two more coats for Ed, two dog bowls, another doggie basket, and countless toys. Oswald can’t even fathom when and how the busy man had found the time to buy that insane amount of dog accessories. Did Jim just walk into the first store and grabbed anything and everything that struck his fancy?

Picking up one coat, he slides it over Ed’s head, and lo and behold, it fits perfectly. So Jim indeed put some care into his selection. Also, contrary to any prejudice he holds against the cop, all of these items are of immaculate quality. Of course, they aren’t as luxurious as Ed’s usual collection but they are no cheap crap either.

Zsasz saunters into the room and stares at the parcel with blunt curiosity. “Seems like the Captain went slightly overboard,” he states as his long, leather-clad fingers descend into the box. “Wow, is that a velvet frock ?” he asks while digging through the contents, eyes widening at the sight of a little black jacket complete with coattails.

“I’d prefer you wouldn’t go through my personal belongings,” the Penguin snaps, yanking the item impatiently from his minion’s hands.

“Technically, these aren’t yours,” the assassin points out, still itching to get a better look at the coat but knowing better than to test his employer's patience.

“Edward owns these, I own Edward,” Oswald retorts with a little huff while shoving the parcel underneath his desk.

“Well, that’s just the law and I can’t remember we ever cared much about that,” Victor decides, slurping his milk-shake loudly. “I very much assume dogs are able to own things,” Victor carries on, unfazed. “Don’t you think?” he asks. Raising his cup, he takes another sip while studying the mob-boss expectantly.

The Penguin only responds with an annoyed glare. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tries to remember why exactly it’s not an excellent idea to poison those god-awful milkshakes. Besides, he has no idea how he ended up discussing whether dogs are able to own things or not with his hitman. Oswald needs to change the topic.

Getting up from his seat, he pulls a face while tapping his cane impatiently on the floor. “Did you find me another caretaker for Edward yet?” he demands to know, aiming for his usual, imperious nature.

His change in demeanor has the desired effect as Zsasz returns to his professional self. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head. “None of the applicants meet your expectations. Honestly, I’m not even sure first-aid-courses specifically for Bulldogs are even available.”

When the kingpin doesn’t answer, the assassin sighs in exasperation. “Why do you even need a dog-sitter?” he demands to know, earning himself another scowl.

After all, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot didn’t rise to become a king to justify himself. It’s certainly none of his minion’s business why he can’t care for his puppy 24/7. He has other obligations too, and some of those need to stay a well-kept secret.

Like Martin. Martin, his little boy, his son, the light of his life.

None of his subordinates must ever know where his kid is being kept. Oswald went great lengths to ensure his child’s safety. And that includes absolutely nobody being able to guess his whereabouts.

The kid is currently visiting a private school in Connecticut where no one has a clue who and what his father truly is. To those people, he’s nothing but a wealthy businessman like so many others. Just another irresponsible parent who only visits their kid on the weekends.

Oswald never imagined being a father. And even if, he would have never guessed he’d be the kind of parent who can’t care for his child as his mother did.

Not being able to wrap his arms around the precious little thing whenever he seeks guidance, comfort, or just needs his dad’s presence, rips the criminal’s heart out on a daily basis. Yet, after Sofia’s attempt to take his son’s life, Oswald can’t take any risks.

First, he tried staying apart from him completely - for Martin’s own good. But the little man wouldn’t listen. And one night, he broke into the mansion, alerting each and every security system in the process.

Of course, Oswald had tried to send him away again. But when Martin broke down in tears and spoke for the first time in his life, the gangster knew he stood no chance. Not after Martin had called him dad.

And since then, the mobster drives to New Haven every Friday evening, uncaring how much his bad leg would hurt, or much work still needs to be done, in order to spend the weekend with his kid.

Gabe is certain Oswald has an affair with some sweet, innocent girl who may never know he’s a gangster. Butch thinks more or less the same. Zsasz probably assumes he tortures his enemies in a dark cellar during his free time. And thank you very much, Oswald intends to keep it that way.

If only Ed would not puke the moment he enters a car, Oswald would take him along for the ride. But after countless failed attempts to get his pet used to driving, the mobster decided to hire a dog-sitter.

Sadly, neither Gabe nor Butch can be entrusted with the task at hand. Oswald doesn’t trust Gabe’s mental abilities enough to leave something as precious as Ed in his care. Butch, on the other hand, is still hopelessly devoted to Tabitha who in turn is still in a relationship with Barbara. And Oswald is pretty certain she wouldn’t hesitate to use his dog against him if given half a chance.

As for Zsasz… Well, keeping something alive outright contradicts his job description.

“Why don’t you ask Gordon?” The assassin’s voice pierces right through the kingpin’s musings, startling him in the process. “He owes you, right?” Zsasz continues. “And you haven’t been exactly collecting your debts lately. I mean, I’d rather torture him for a couple of days but as you seem to have a soft spot for Gordon….”

Holding up a hand, Oswald interrupts his subordinate. “I decidedly do not have a soft spot for the good Captain,” he states, pulling a face and Zsasz retreats with a soft smile playing around his lips.

Oh no, the Penguin definitely does not have a soft spot for anyone except his kid and dog. And certainly not for some deceitful cop. Sure, he should kill the man who brought him to Arkham twice, and who robbed him of his position of power in the process, but killing is just too mundane.

After all, revenge is a form of art. And Jim Gordon deserves something special. A special kind of revenge. The very moment Oswald has figured out what to do with him, he definitely will. Absolutely. That’s a promise. Until then, he can still be useful.

And maybe, just maybe, he admires Jim - just a bit. In a city full of corrupt politicians and crooked cops Gordon is a refreshing exception. He still refuses to adapt to the rules of Gotham City, still believes in fighting against all evil and still only compromises if absolutely necessary.

Jim Gordon is the closest thing to a dragon-slaying knight Oswald has ever encountered. In a way, he reminds him of the heroes from his childhood fairy-tales.

Deep down, he can’t even blame Jim for his desire to put him behind bars. The mobster is well-aware of the blood on his hands. In Jim Gordon’s eyes, he is a murderer. One who will continue to kill in the future and according to the cop, he needs to be stopped. So yes, maybe he has a soft spot for Gordon.

If he only understood that in a city like Gotham some deaths are absolutely necessary, mere casualties!

But then, Jim wouldn’t be Jim if he started understanding why Oswald does what he does. In this rotten city, he’s still a shining light, a man striving to bring back law and order, blind to the fact that only the king of all crime can guarantee some form of order. That’s just the way Gotham works and nothing will ever be able to change that. This city is simply rancid to its core.

Admitted, Jim’s attempts to save the city are a tad bit endearing. Or would be if they wouldn’t cost Oswald dearly time and time again.

Heaving a deep sigh, the kingpin takes another look at the box beneath his desk. Despite all his flaws, Jim cared quite nicely for Ed. Zsasz has a point there. The question is, would Jim accept to look after the pet? After what he said to him? Would he put up a fight again when it came to returning Ed?

Oswald doubts Jim would have really refused to give him his pet back. Sometimes the Captain simply acts like a stubborn child in his determination to keep what he loves safe and sound. A trait the mobster understands better than most people. In truth, Oswald wouldn’t have acted differently if their roles had been reversed.

The mobster regrets his harsh words deeply. He really crossed a line that day he shouldn’t have, despite his emotional turmoil. Yet, what better way to apologize than giving someone exactly what he wants? Self-satisfied with his train of thought, Oswald orders Gabe to take him to Gordon’s apartment.

When arriving at Jim’s place, the cop succeeds to surprise the mobster a second time.

Oswald remembers the place being a grimy, untidy mess. Yet when arriving, he finds Jim standing in his door frame, wearing sweatpants, holding a paint-brush and currently renovating his entrance area.

His face drops when the mobster limps closer. Clenching his jaw, he spits out his usual greeting. “Cobblepot.” Oswald wonders how he never fails to make his name sound like an insult.

“Old friend,” he taunts in return, knowing full well how much he despises the phrase.

Dropping the brush, Jim walks into his tiny flat, sure the gangster will follow. When looking around, Oswald notes a couple of major changes. The once almost gray walls are all painted white, the cheap linoleum covering the floor has been ripped out, revealing a rather nice parquet. The biggest improvement though is a big, very comfortable looking, light blue sofa in the living room. The kingpin takes all these changes in at lightning speed, keeping his face politely indifferent the entire time.

Jim follows his gaze towards the sofa. Being the good cop he is, it’s hard to deceive him. “Had to throw the old sofa out after Chester drooling all over it,” he growls but there’s no real heat behind his words.

“Right,” Oswald agrees, wondering what the real reason might be. It’s not like Ed has ever destroyed any furniture at his own home.

Walking into the kitchen, Jim pours himself a glass of water. “Want something?” he grumbles from behind the counter and the mobster wonders if he means some refreshments or the reason for his visit.

Trying his luck, he decides to ask for a cup of tea, almost certain Jim won’t have any at home. Moments later, he hears the sound of water heating up.

“Black tea or fruit tea?” comes the next question, sounding not less hostile. Oswald has to bite his tongue else he’d start lecturing Jim how fruit tea isn’t really tea but an infusion.

“Black,” he answers instead, playing absent-mindedly with his cane. “Two sugars and a dash of milk please.”

The Captain nods, jaw set so tight the mobster fears for him to get a cramp.

“What do you want from me?” Jim asks harshly and once he’s done, he pushes a cup into Oswald’s hands big enough to water an entire palm tree with its contents.

“Why thank you,” he replies smiling brightly. “I can’t recall you ever being so hospitable before.”

The cop grits his teeth. “Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, downing his own glass of water. “I’m only worried you lost your dog again.”

“I really don’t intend letting Ed roam freely a habit,” Oswald chuckles, deciding to try out Jim’s new sofa.

“I only wish that was true,” Jim retorts, rolling his eyes and clearly meaning the human Edward.

“Jim Gordon making a joke, that’s one for the books!” he exclaims, pleased the irritable man is in a somewhat good mood. Of course, Jim doesn’t respond. “Really an improvement,” he praises once he’s settled on the couch.

Heaving a sigh, the cop takes a seat opposite the gangster. “So, what made you decide my first day off in two weeks should be interrupted by your visit?” Jim asks, tapping his foot impatiently, clearly itching to throw the gangster out already.

Oswald’s polite smile never falters despite being slightly irritated by the Captain’s behavior. Can Jim not once be civil? “I simply wanted to thank you for your well-chosen presents. Ed was delighted to have his little frock back. Are you still certain you didn’t name him after me?” The kingpin could bite his tongue. Somehow he has serious troubles not turning everything he says into a jab too.

“He ruined my sofa and turned my life upside down,” Jim scoffs. “Might have reminded me subconsciously about you,” he admits with the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.

“But unlike me, the dog didn’t ruin it?” Oswald scoffs in return.

“Never said you did,” Jim retorts, rendering the gangster speechless for a second.

Hiding his face behind the mug, the Penguin takes another sip from his tea. Trying to decide how to spring his idea at Jim, he finally goes for bluntness. So far, all his attempts to be diplomatic have been an utter waste anyway. “I need a dog-sitter,” he simply admits, trying to assess the other man’s reaction.

As usual, Jim stays stoic before his face gives away his emotions. For whatever reason, he’s utterly unable to control his expressions in front of the mobster. Within seconds, he goes from incredulousness to his usual anger to something Oswald can’t really assess. It might be hope but he isn’t certain.

“Last time I looked I was still a cop,” Jim remarks drily, “not one of your minions.”

“Very true, old friend,” the Penguin acknowledges with a lopsided grin. “Yet one who owes me one or two or maybe thirty-five favors. Not that I keep count,” he finishes, leaning back against the soft cushions.

Mirroring his movement, Jim contradicts him. “If you kept counting, old friend,” he starts, narrowing his eyes at him, “you would have noticed how that isn’t quite true.”

Jim Gordon’s usual self-denial was to be expected yet Oswald can’t help pulling a face. After everything he did, after bringing Sofia to Gotham, after putting him behind bars for crimes he didn’t even commit, after flying a blimp in circles for hours to save their beloved city, he would have expected at least something .

“May I jog your memory then?” he offers, the amiable facade again firmly in place.

“There’s really no need,” the other man growls. “I know what you did for me but clearly you have no concept of what I did in return.”

“So you think taking care of my dog for a week makes us even?” the mobster snaps back incredulously.

Tilting his head, Jim considers the man sitting in front of him. The silence stretches between them for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before the cop speaks again. This time, he’s barely audible.

“I was rather referring to all these times I didn’t put you behind bars when I had the opportunity,” Jim tells him in a gentle voice.

And isn’t that just the height of insolence? Wasn’t the other man happy to send him off to Arkham and throw the keys away for his own benefit? Didn’t he allow for him to get tortured without even batting an eye?

Before Oswald can so much as take a proper breath, Jim already holds up a hand. “I know what you must think,” he says. “But how many times did you stab, shot, or threaten to torture someone directly under my nose? Hmm?”

“You sent me to Arkham!” the mobster blurts out. “Twice! For crimes, I never committed! And you knew !”

“Exactly,” Jim concedes. “You were never insane, though. You would have never been released from Blackgate. And I never claimed otherwise in court.”

Slightly taken aback, the Penguin tries processing the given information. Could it be true? Was sending him to Arkham an act of mercy in Jim’s eyes? Did he rather let him go to this hellish place because he knew he would be released at some point?

Shaking himself mentally, he snaps out of it. Jim has never been soft on him. He set out to destroy his empire and only when realizing that the alternatives were much worse, he let him reign somewhat freely. Only since that ordeal with Sofia, Jim has toned his efforts to drag him to the ground a notch down.

“You ruined my empire,” Penguin accuses. “You ruined the Pax Penguina when it just worked perfectly fine,” he concludes.

“Worked just fine?!” Jim’s voice practically booms through the tiny apartment. Getting up he starts pacing the tiny place, body shaking from barely contained rage.

“You practically declared yourself a God who decides who lives and who dies in Gotham and who becomes the victim of a crime and who doesn’t. Nobody should be allowed to wield that amount of power. Not you, not me, nobody.”

By the end of Jim’s speech, the Penguin is almost certain he’ll grab his lapels and shake him again. Yet he doesn’t. Instead, the cop just looks slightly defeated despite all his anger.

“Why would you need a dog-sitter?” Jim then asks out of nowhere, effectively changing the topic. “Don’t you have an entire army of goons at your disposal to look after Ches-, I mean Edward?”

Turning the cane thoughtfully between his fingers the Penguin nods silently.

“So why come to me?” Jim urges and again Oswald decided honestly would be the best course of action.

“I like knowing who and what I love is safe when I’m away from Gotham,” he sighs. “I don’t need a repetition of what happened to my mother.”

Gordon doesn’t answer right away, just frowns slightly. “I won’t become a co-perpetrator to murder,” he finally decides. “If you want to place Ed into my care only so you can go and stab someone….”

Oswald scoffs. “Please stop painting me as some lunatic serial-killer. That’s frankly insulting.”

The Captain merely rolls his eyes.

“I now and then have to leave Gotham to take care of someone very important to me,” he admits. “And I would rather do so knowing Ed is being well cared for. But I completely understand now that going to you had been a stupid idea.”

Picking up his coat, Oswald turns to leave. “Thank you for your time, Jim,” he tells him, already reaching for the doorknob, cursing when some of the fresh paint stains his sleeve.

“Wait!” the cop mutters. “I never said I wouldn’t do it.”

#Gobblepot #fanfiction

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