[From a few feet and a world away, a hand falls on his shoulder. Oswald starts with a gasp and blinks up at him. Looking into those dark, tired eyes as if he’s only just realizing that he hasn’t been talking to himself all this time. His world tunnels tightly around Alfred, pulling him into sharp focus.]
Ed deserved the revenge you took from me!! [He spits the words at him, viciously shrugging Alfred off. Pain splits his side and he winces, angrier for it.]
Did you really think that by [he brusquely waves a hand around the bedroom] dragging me here and playing doctor, you would be making amends? That I would thank you for the tea and sympathy and call it even?!
[A harsh, broken laugh punches out of him. He's so sick with grief, with futile rage. So sick of feeling sick. Fresh tears well up in his eye, his chin wobbling helplessly.]
Did it ever occur to you that, perhaps, I might have been better off back at City Hall? ...That, perhaps, dying there or in some dingy concrete cell at Arkham or in Blackgate might have come as a welcome relief??
[And that he believed that, once, with his whole heart, should scare him. But there's nothing left in him to shake. No surprises. Just resignation weighing heavy on him like a stone, a bigger stone than the one he has been rolling up that hill for most of his life. The slope is impossibly sharp and he's losing ground, just tired of pushing, so damn tired he could sob.
He's still breathing. He's still here. And deep down he knows that if Alfred's right about anything at all, it's that Ed does need him one last time. Needs him to grit his teeth and shove at that stone with everything he has until his spirit gives out and it crushes him entirely.]
...But I guess it doesn’t matter, [--Oswald seethes--] ‘cause I'm here now, and you get to pat yourself on the back for being such a gracious host.
[He sniffs and nods to himself.]
Well, I am so glad I could keep you busy and help ease your guilty conscience.
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Ed deserved the revenge you took from me!! [He spits the words at him, viciously shrugging Alfred off. Pain splits his side and he winces, angrier for it.]
Did you really think that by [he brusquely waves a hand around the bedroom] dragging me here and playing doctor, you would be making amends? That I would thank you for the tea and sympathy and call it even?!
[A harsh, broken laugh punches out of him. He's so sick with grief, with futile rage. So sick of feeling sick. Fresh tears well up in his eye, his chin wobbling helplessly.]
Did it ever occur to you that, perhaps, I might have been better off back at City Hall? ...That, perhaps, dying there or in some dingy concrete cell at Arkham or in Blackgate might have come as a welcome relief??
[And that he believed that, once, with his whole heart, should scare him. But there's nothing left in him to shake. No surprises. Just resignation weighing heavy on him like a stone, a bigger stone than the one he has been rolling up that hill for most of his life. The slope is impossibly sharp and he's losing ground, just tired of pushing, so damn tired he could sob.
He's still breathing. He's still here. And deep down he knows that if Alfred's right about anything at all, it's that Ed does need him one last time. Needs him to grit his teeth and shove at that stone with everything he has until his spirit gives out and it crushes him entirely.]
...But I guess it doesn’t matter, [--Oswald seethes--] ‘cause I'm here now, and you get to pat yourself on the back for being such a gracious host.
[He sniffs and nods to himself.]
Well, I am so glad I could keep you busy and help ease your guilty conscience.