Chapter Text
The burning smell brought on by the disinfectants and enzymatic cleaners of the Medical Examiner's office always brought a smile to Edward Nygma's face; as did the white-noise hum of the bone saw, and the pressure Ed felt on his hands when he flexed his fingers within blue nitrile gloves. Everything about the room brought him a sense of comfort - even the company that came along with it.
Dr. Guerra, however, was not the aforementioned company that Ed enjoyed. He was a cynical man, always glowering at Edward over his round glasses, a bored sneer painted on his face. He had the annoying quirk of cracking his knuckles when irritated; first the index finger, then middle, then ring, little, and finally thumb. It repeated for the next hand. Right, then left.
His face had a gloomy quality, light dragging down the lines of his skin.
In fact, if it had not been for the occasional cough and sharp remark that came from the doctor, one would assume the man was as dead as the patients he worked on.
When Ed had first joined the GCPD, he had hoped to make friends with the doctor; he had assumed that, as being the Medical Examiner was the career Edward hoped to eventually secure, the two would have a lot in common and just as much to converse about. Edward had been wrong. The first few weeks were filled with quick, irritated comments from the man, which soon escalated into Edward being almost literally booted from the office as his time at the GCPD went on.
Edward nearly never got to set foot in the office during the work week. The most he could negotiate without being scolded immediately was if he had a brief message to convey - otherwise, he was exiled from the lab.
However, that pattern only occurred during the day, when everyone bustled around the Bullpen shouting and slamming and huffing about. He couldn't make a wrong move without being chewed out by at least five officers, and if he was unlucky, Guerra would catch word and send a biting remark towards him regarding his failure.
At night, however, Edward found that the police station calmed down just enough so that he nearly enjoyed the typically hectic building.
Eventually, during spare moments, Edward began recording times he found that his colleagues often took their leave for the day. At first it had just been a small activity to keep his brain from going dull (he encouraged many throughout the day), and a chance to relax when he marked Guerra as gone, but eventually he found that he could use the information to his advantage.
So far, this is what Ed had noted -
Near the end of the work day, Commissioner Essen would walk around the Bullpen checking in with officers before excusing herself for the day, always dialing into her cell-phone as she passed through the exit. Other officers would then trickle out after, numbers slowly dwindling as did the crime in the rambunctious city (Ed had always found it odd that crime dropped at night in Gotham, which was contradictory to any other statistical record of crime-rate. However, as Ed grew more and more accustomed to the city, he began to notice that most petty thieves were just as scared as common citizens at night - that was when the real monsters came out).
Anyway, almost unerringly Jim Gordon would be the last officer of the daytime shift to drag himself out of his seat and across the station to leave. Ed watched, curiously, for hours as Jim poured himself over records, mugshots, photos, and testimonies, almost seemingly never finding a satisfying conclusion to any case. Edward liked Jim, so he often felt pity, or perhaps, empathetic, as he saw for the umpteenth time Jim with eye bags, coffee, and face in hand on his desk.
Most nights Edward would stand on various overlooks across the station, and take in the sights of the Bullpen (no one took him any notice; when Ed wasn't needed for a forensics inquiry or job, he was nearly invisible).
Edward was a rule follower; at least, he always thought of himself as a rule follower. Listen to your superiors, respect law and order, keep things neat and tidy (which included his own mind), and follow social etiquette. Following rules was what helped Ed know what to do in every situation - it was common sense, at least to Ed, to follow a rule book when instructions were unclear, even if those instructions were about how to live his own life.
However, once Edward had finally caught onto the pattern of when his colleagues would depart for the day, he recognized an opportunity. He had debated with himself for days, weeks, seemingly always looking into his mirrored reflection and seeing a guilty face look back as he considered his plan further and further.
However, the day that the body of the notorious Jerome Valeska was brought into the station for holding before its transfer to Arkham Asylum, Edward's mind was made up.
That night, when things at GCPD invariably calmed down for the night, he would sneak into the Medical Examiner's office and make a tiny, untraceable inspection of the body. I mean, how could he not, it was Jerome Valeska himself, a maniac. Or, perhaps, a genius? Edward wasn't sure of his diagnosis. He was obviously clever, evidenced by his thoroughly malicious and effective plans, yet Edward had yet to decide whether his machinations were derived from pure intelligence, or rather instead a love for chaos paired with a lucky streak.
And as such, with his mind made up (after many hours of twitching and tapping his shoes as he watched Gordon yet again pour himself over the Wayne case), he snuck into the office and examined the boy clown, fascinated by the wounds, body, and mind of a madman.
From that day on, Edward had an addiction he was unable to surmount.
At first, his nerves were continuously fried. For every hour that he slunk in the office, he was always waiting for the moment that someone would open the door and catch him, and subsequently fire him on the spot. And for every moment he wasn't performing his misdeeds, the fear of being caught created a tense countenance in Edward that would surely key others into his crimes. Lips chewed, hair tugged on, hands scratched and bloody, eyes twitching. And while few ever remarked on his declining appearance (so far only Jim and Harvey had made any comment, Jim in the form of concern, and Harvey, of course, in mocking words) the idea that someone would look into his misdeeds kept him constantly on edge.
He loved his job, and yet he was willing to bet it all on this newfound obsession. How asinine.
However, as time dragged by, his nerves subtly changed. He began to find that slowly, but surely, exhilaration shot through his body every time his hand touched the door to the office. As the old door creaked open, a feeling of electricity would shoot throughout his body, and a pleasant adrenalin-powered hum would encourage his actions as he worked in the forbidden room.
He could get caught. He could get fired. But he had yet to be caught, despite his sloppy attempts to alter his crazed appearance. And he had yet to be fired. He continuously outwitted his colleagues.
A new addiction formed to befriend the first.
And as such, almost nightly now, Edward would slink into the Medical Examiner's office and make his own conclusions about the various forsaken corpses that inevitably found their way into the decrepit GCPD building. Whereas before his nights had previously consisted of quiet, albeit lonely moments in his apartment spent pouring over books or puzzles, Edward instead now revelled in the exhilarating rush of bending the rules that so many had scolded him about, and the calming bliss that rushed over Ed as he inspected body after body; puzzles that finally challenged him.
At the current moment, Edward stands in his usual shadowy corner of the GCPD, a coy smile on his face as he waits for the inevitable decline of the Bullpen's chaos to begin. He nibbles on his finger, tapping a pen against his (prop) clipboard as he scans the room. Essen has already left for the day; as did Harvey and many other daytime officers. Edward chews on his lip as he waits for Guerra.
After a quick scan over some swiped papers from Guerra's desk, Edward has discovered that it is his monthly day to stay late and file the various paperwork and records that came with the job of being the Medical Examiner. That would simply not do, as Ed is aching to get back into the office, so he has quickly and easily devised a plan.
Unbeknownst to most, the doctor was an alcoholic, so Edward had slipped a small bottle of wine into his desk with a pretty red bow; an anonymous gift that Ed hopes he would take part in, causing him to have to leave his duties earlier than expected.
Edward, of course, is right. A Cheshire grin blooms across his face as he sees the doctor slightly stumble from his office, rubbing the side of his head and squinting his eyes. Ed watches on as Guerra makes his way to a colleague, and speaks of something Edward can only expect is a made-up excuse to allow him to retire home early. The officer gives a brief nod, and Guerra swiftly makes his way across the Bullpen.
Edward passes his tongue over the teeth of his closed mouth as he waits for the doctor to leave the station. As he finally nears the door, Edward swivels his body and makes his way towards the office.
Success! That's one way alcoholism can benefit me, I suppose. Edward stifles a grin and strides across the sides of the Bullpen that bring him closer to the M.E.'s office.
Just as he reaches the threshold for the adjacent hallway, a commotion breaks out behind Edward near the entrance of the station. Ed turns on his heels, heart pounding in his chest, arms clutched around his waist as his eyes dart towards the source of the tumult.
"We got him!" an officer shouts across the Bullpen. 'Officer Denzel Thorn, blunt, smoker, single, rude,' Ed's mind categorizes away as he listens on. "We got him!" The officer slaps his colleague's back, obviously feeling celebratory.
"Who?" Edward's head jerks towards the source of the new voice, keying into Jim Gordon's deep tone. The recent rookie stands up from his desk, his usual tired eyes shifting into skepticism.
"The biggest pain in our ass, of course! The Penguin! He's finally dead!" This declaration transforms the temporarily uncertain tone of the station into pure chaos, resulting in both doubtful and exultant cries being shot across the room. Officers bustle about as they inquire more about the news, leaving the room loud and turbulent.
Edward, in contrast, remains motionless, reflecting more a statue than a man. His mind, however, whirs noisily with thoughts and questions. How could the Penguin, The Penguin, be dead? Oswald Cobblepot. Crime lord. Cunning strategist and ruthless Kingpin. It made no sense to Nygma. A puzzled and dismayed expression plants itself onto Edward's face.
He had only met the man once, reveling in the opportunity to speak with the infamous Penguin face to face, but he knew a great deal about the crime lord from previous research. He was, in no better way to describe it, fascinated with the man. Edward found that any article or news story he encountered completely captivated him. He could stare at the Kingpin's form for hours. Short, unassuming, weak, frail, broken; his features reflected the feeble species he was named after. Yet, he was an Overlord of Gotham. It was unprecedented.
The few exhilarating moments that he had shared with the bird had enraptured Edward and kept his mind buzzing with awe and questions for days. He was just as incredible in person as Edward had expected. The Kingpin loomed with an air of confidence and intimidation.
Yet Ed could also sense the hidden notes and venom of a cunning, machiavellian-like mind. Oswald had looked at him as if he was quietly noting every facet of his appearance, his motives, his soul with just a glance. No one had analyzed Edward with such scrutiny before like Oswald had. The most interesting part of this aspect of Cobblepot, though, was that Edward could tell Oswald tried to hide this analyzing part of his psyche. He wished to play dumb. He was a snake in the grass, observing, and waiting for enough information to be able to strike at the perfect time.
And now? The infamous Kingpin was dead. Dead? It couldn't be. This was a man who could not be beat, could not be snuffed out. Even in the face of death he would spit in its face and demand an apology.
And yet, despite his disbelief, Edward watches as a gurney is wheeled into the station and past the dozens of astonished onlookers; beneath the blanket was the undeniable form of a small, birdlike man.
Jim continues to loudly interrogate the offending officers, but Edward processes none of the words. He just watches on as a man and women in scrubs push past the crowd and wheel the gurney towards the Medical Examiner's office.
It is at this moment, Edward acknowledges, that Guerra follows closely behind, obviously having been stopped from his early departure due to the unexpected arrival of the infamous man's corpse.
Finally, at the sight of the doctor's glaring gaze, Edward regains his senses and exits the dreamlike trance he had been trapped in. He scurries away from the hallway that connects to the office, instead making his way across the Bullpen and up the stairs into his usual shadowy corner, from which he can continue to watch the chaos.
The frustration he felt from his loss of chance to play Medical Examiner was largely overshadowed by the growing disappointment he felt over the Crime Lord's death. A despondent glaze cast itself over Ed's eyes and a glum grimace painted itself over his lips. The man would have loved to get to know the crime lord better, as unrealistic as that might have sounded. Ed thought it possible though, especially with how often the Penguin made his way into the GCPD to either yell or banter with James Gordon over this or that issue involving Gotham's ever present underworld.
At the very least, Edward had looked forward to keeping up with Mr. Cobblepot's feats involving the underbelly of the city; if not simply entertaining and intriguing, they were always impressive.
But now, Edward would have to file these plans away in his mind and dismiss them entirely. No longer would he be able to entertain the exploits and accomplishments of the Kingpin. Edward chews on the inside of his cheek as he continues to look over the Bullpen as the officers continue to bustle about and ask increasingly irrelevant questions.
Who killed him? Ed thinks. How could someone, anyone, kill the Penguin?
Another grimace crosses his face as he dusts off his lab coat, despite the lack of debris on the fabric. He stows his clipboard under his arm and makes his way across the room and towards James Gordon, hoping to calm his mind and answer questions by listening to the various conversations of the officers that still flit about the station, an undertone of chaos still meandering throughout the room.
Ed quirks his head as he listens to the calm words of James Gordon as he converses with his colleagues. He talks of Theo Galavant and Jerome Valeska and parties and people. Not much of it makes sense, although that in itself makes sense as no one as of yet, it seems, has the full story on how the untimely demise of Oswald Cobblepot occurred.
"Oh, hiya Nygma." Catching the form of the lanky man in the corner of his eye, Gordon shoots him a quick greeting. Edward nods his head in response, and takes a step forward once the crowd surrounding the officer begins to disperse.
"James Gordon, a pleasure as always." Edward gives him a small grin and reaches out his hand, feeling the need to enact social pleasantries in a time as chaotic as this. Hopefully that would bring back some normalcy to the station, or at least, to Ed's mind.
Gordon returns the greeting with a small smile and takes his hand into his own. "Same back at you Edward, what can I do for you?" Edward acknowledges the dark circles that had only seemed to grow over the course of the night under Gordon's eyes, and Ed subconsciously bites his lip in an expression of pity.
"Ah, yes. These nights just seem to keep getting later and later recently, don't they? Now, however, with the Penguin being dead, hopefully that will change, if only a little." Ed's chest slightly catches as he makes the insensitive remarks about the crime lord, but he knows Gordon is more likely to tell him information if Ed shares a sentiment he knows is that of Gordon's.
That was another thing Ed had cataloged away in his mind while viewing the Penguin from afar; it was obvious that man had some kind of admiration for the detective, if not slight adoration. Edward had no idea of the context of the Penguin and Gordon's relationship, so he was unsure when the Penguin had begun to see the officer as a friend, but one thing was clear: Gordon didn't share the same attitude.
"Yeah," Gordon says with a quirked grimace, "we can only hope." He then stands and looks at Edward, seemingly waiting for further conversation.
"Ah, yes," Edward sputters, hoping that Gordon hasn't already guessed his true motivations for the conversation. "I was wondering, if you knew, as you always seem to know everything involving the Penguin." Ed takes a breath. "About the cause of death?" An unassuming enough question.
"Ahhh, not really. Not my case, not my monkeys," Ed screws his eyes in confusion, but Gordon ignores the expression. "But, I was there that night of the party with Theo Galavant, and if I remember correctly the bullet shot at Oswald Cobblepot by an unknown assailant made contact. Maybe it killed him." Gordon shrugs his shoulders, obviously past the point of exhaustion for his mind to process information as carefully as it usually did.
"I see, if you don't mind me asking, detective, where did they find the body?" Ed knows at this point he is being too inquisitive, especially for a case that does not involve him, but perhaps Gordon will chalk up his questions to his usual, socially abnormal (as he had repeatedly been told before) behavior.
"Not sure Ed, all I heard was something about a forest, but I know that wasn't where he was transferred from." Gordon sighs as a look of intrigue crosses Ed's face. "Look Ed, I really can't tell you anything more, neither you nor me were assigned to the case, so it's currently outside our jurisdiction." Edward chews on his lip, both out of frustration and the misuse of the term jurisdiction in this context.
He then shakes his head and paints a smile. "Well, thank you anyway detective. Suppose I was just curious about someone as famous as Oswald Cobblepot." Edward sticks out his hand and bids farewell to Gordon, and as he leaves he hears the detective mutter something about curiosity being the issue.
Well, that was entirely unhelpful.
Edward felt his interest in the Kingpin's death grow as he walked away from James Gordon. At this point, the simple case transformed itself into a mystery, or rather, a puzzle, in his mind. He had to know more. And yes, of course he could wait for case reports to be published, but that would take days, if not weeks, as it involved someone as infamous as the Penguin; and additionally, for the same reason, details would always be left out.
No, he would have to answer this riddle himself, and his new hobby was just the way to do it.
He would see the body with his own eyes. The thought thrilled him.
Hour after hour Edward waits for Guerra to leave the Medical Examiner's office. As he sits at his desk, a small thing that he was allowed to use to put his records as he examined cases, the lights of the station are eventually dimmed, and the previous chaos calms into a dull throb of activity and life. Ed chews on his finger and flits his eyes over the clipboard he holds in hand, a cover for his odd behavior and late attendance. However, it eventually changes from a prop to something of use as he becomes interested in the case he had randomly grabbed from the filing system Kristen Kringle oversaw; it captures his attention just enough to distract him from his anticipation of his oncoming plan.
Tapping on his teeth, Ed glances up as he hears a creaky door being swung open. Dr. Guerra has a small smattering of blood on the front of his scrubs, and his eyes hold more exhaustion, but otherwise looks the same. Edward watches with focussed eyes as Guerra walks to the locker room, obviously intending to change his clothes once again for the night and finally depart from the station.
Edward smiles and arises from his desk, making his way across the room and towards the Records Annex, a room he often hid in as he waited for his nightly opportunity.
Suddenly, his trajectory is stopped as he bumps into a small form; he catches a glimpse of auburn hair.
"Oh my heavens," a light voice exclaims as the person falls to the floor, records and paperwork spilling from her grasp.
"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry Ms. Kringle." Ed's eyes shoot wide open as he sees the form of the keeper of the GCPS's records tumble to the ground, fear and embarrassment and guilt slicing through his body. He quickly crouches down and gathers the files nearest to him into a rough pile.
She corrects her skewed glasses and gazes at the floor. "That's quite alright Mr. Nygma," she responds in a subdued tone. She brings herself to her knees and gathers the rest of the files that Edward had been unable to collect.
Kristen Kringle had been an odd character in Edward's mind, unable to place her into a categorized file. She was often kind to the unusual man, but Edward wondered if he imagined the patronizing tone that often accompanied her quiet words. In some world, Edward assumed, he could like the woman, but that would require getting to know her character and behaviors more.
"No really, I am so sorry. I didn't see you at all and I just ran right into you, completely unacceptable." Edward looks at her with an uneasy expression. "Long night I guess, right? Ha."
"Yes, I guess so, Mr. Nygma." She gives him a small, albeit a bit sad, smile. Edward doesn't offer his hand out as she lifts herself onto her feet, fearing making the situation any worse.
"Well again, I am quite sorry." Edward shuffles the papers in his hands, aiming to right them into an organized pile.
"Yes, you said that." Ms. Kringle reaches out her hand as he finishes piling the paperwork together, but just as he is about to return the files, he catches a glimpse of a tiny paper that reads the word 'Penguin.' Almost imperceptibly, Nygma's eyes widen, and without another thought, he palms the small piece of paper and crumples it into his palm under the guise of righting the paperwork.
"Well, I suppose I'll be leaving then. Long night and all that." She gives him another small smile as he returns the files, and Edward finally sees a hint of true affection in her expression. Perhaps, despite Edward's failings to understand and converse in a positive manner with the woman, she could still be made into a friend; an idea for later.
"Yes of course, have a good night Ms. Kringle." Edward stumbles over his words, tipping his head to her as she leaves the hallway and into the main room of the station. When Edward regains his senses, he bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood as he feels the paper in his palm. His mouth tastes of harsh copper as he shoves it into his pocket, a puzzle for later.
"Right," he says as he looks into the faint reflection of the glass of the Record's Annex's door. "Back to…" he trails off as he finds he lacks a description for what he was doing. What was he doing? Breaking the rules in the most blatant way possible; not only intruding on confidential files and evidence, but that of Gotham's most notorious criminal. It was a terrible idea.
A jolt of excitement surges through his bloodstream.
With care, he quietly opens the door to the Records Annex and waits for the moment that he is absolutely certain that Guerra has left for the day. He sits in the corner as he waits, occasionally glancing at his watch and noting the time.
I wonder what he'll look like. His mind wanders as he sits in the dark room, and thoughts of Oswald Cobblepot flow through his brain like a current.
Will death have changed his presence? That of intimidation, profound cleverness and unerring determination? Will he be gone, just like the beat of his heart and movement of his chest. Edward smiles as he thinks of the time he met the interesting man; he didn't think he would forget the moment he saw those intriguing eyes from across the station if he tried. Even from afar he held an air of mystery. A puzzle to be solved.
Will his eyes have lost their color? Death often changes the eyes of the body the most. He had such interesting eyes, such a shame for them to lose their light and life. Edward flinches as he hears a door close, but the squeaking of the wheels of a cart confirms that it is just the janitorial staff entering the Medical Examiner's office. Edward would have his chance soon.
Would we have been friends? Most likely not. He was a Kingpin, a notorious leader of the underworld. Despite that, though, it wouldn't be me to shy away from a good conversation with the man, but rather him; I'm just a boring forensics scientist. He's far more interesting.
Although, maybe we could have helped him.
Edward is shocked as he hears the last thought flit past his mind. Other than the blatant grammatical error of "we," Edward would have never helped the man. Compelling as he was, he was still a crime lord. And despite Edward's recent bout of rule breakings, he didn't think he could ever actually commit a crime, much less kill a person.
We couldn't have helped him regardless. He wouldn't have trusted us, we work for the GCPD. And on top of that, I wouldn't want to help. The most I could have ever wished for was acquaintances. A chance to converse with the man and learn more about his interesting eyes and endless secrets.
Well, it was a moot point now, the man being dead and all. Nygma glances at his watch again, and rises to his feet as he sees that enough time has passed for the Examiner's office to be vacated. He dusts off his clothing again, and adjusts his coat before making his way towards the back of the Annex where he had hidden a pair of scrubs in a locked, innocuous cabinet.
Finally, I'll have a chance to see the man again.
Yet, it will only be the body I see, not the mind. How unfortunate. Ed sighs and quickly changes his clothing, donning a pair of tight scrubs, an apron, and a face mask.
However, perhaps his body will answer some of the secrets that the man hid so carefully. Edward knew that you can learn a great deal about a person just by observing them. Scars told stories just as well as words did.
Edward forcefully quiets his mind and readjusts his glasses. All of his questions would be answered, but he would have to actually see the man before that happened, and to do that he had to finally leave the Annex.
Ed stalks over towards the door and turns the handle, peering out and looking for anyone who could recognize him and question why he was wearing a new outfit at a time like this. Seeing no one, Edward crosses the hall and takes the handmade key from his back pocket, an exact replica of the one on Guerra's belt.
The door was inconsistently locked, but Edward quickly learned that making a key was much better than waiting all day to enter the office just to be stopped at the finish line.
And, of course, he had yet to learn how to pick a lock.
The smell of antiseptic and chemicals assaults his nose as he pushes open the door slowly, grimacing at the creaks the door makes in protest. The room is dark and clean, obviously intended to be out-of-use for the night. Nygma turns and shuts the door, relishing in the satisfying click that signals to him whenever he has successfully executed his plan.
"Alright Mr. Penguin, let's just see what secrets you have to share with me." A wide, open smile replaces the nervous expression on Edward's face as he finally turns around and examines the room. He makes his way leisurely to the side of the room where a filing cabinet sits that held relevant records and files about current bodies.
"There you are." Edward's smile widens as he finds a file labeled 'O.C.C.' "Let's see who on Earth was able to bring down the mighty Penguin."
Edward flips through the file, annoyed at how small it is. More reports would be added to the file days went by - accounts of the man and medical reports and criminal reports and all various other types of reports - but at the current moment the file only includes information about the Penguin's cause of death.
"Actually, let's play a little game." Edward snaps the file shut and slides the folder across the counter and out of reach. Ed stretches his gloved fingers as he turns towards the cold-lockers, excitement reaching his eyes.
"Let's see if I can figure out what happened myself. A fun, little riddle to be solved, if you will." Ed chuckles as he walks towards the wall and grabs the handle to the locker labeled the same as the file.
Hissssss. Cold air spills out of the locker and condensation forms on the door. Ed peers into the dark, cold coffin, always enjoying the anticipation and fear that he felt when he opened the doors to the lockers. Interestingly enough, no new smells enter the room, unlike the common air of decay and flesh that accompanied almost all corpses. No, instead Edward just continues to breathe the stinging air of bleach and disinfectant, and as such, he takes a deep, calming breath.
After taking a few moments to collect his thoughts, Edward places his hand on the platform that the covered body rests on, and gently pulls him out of the freezing locker. Once removed from his icy grave, Edward quickly and efficiently retrieves the gurney and moves the body onto the main examination table, an easy feat considering how small and slight the body is.
Finally, Edward approaches the top of the black, protective case that the body rests in. Slowly, methodically, he opens the bag, the sound of the zipper opening being the only noise to cut through the silence of the room.
"Ah, Mr. Penguin." Edward smiles and takes a breath. "Hello again," Ed breathes out.
Before him lay the body of the former king of Gotham. He was smaller than Edward remembered.
Edward looks at the frail form of the man, quickly taking in and categorizing various observations about the infamous Penguin. Many scars line his arms and chest, most of them pale white and faded – inconsequential for the most part, creating ridges in the body of the man. His hands are small and relaxed, reflecting the lack of tension in the previously restless and anxious man. With a small, private smile, Edward acknowledges that the Penguin's nails had been manicured and painted black.
His skin is pale, paler than before, which is saying something, and his far extremities are tinged with blue from lack of circulation paired with the cold. Edward can feel the chill rise from the body without even having to touch it. His face is gaunt, and his body slack.
Ed's eyes travel back up the arms and across the chest. The most obvious wound that Edward notices as soon as he opens the bag is the black, festering hole in the upper right shoulder of the man. The tissue had long since been dead, slowly rotting away from lack of proper medical attention. Long, black tendrils reach from the wound and across the Penguin's chest, seemingly claiming the body for its own. Edward grimaces and gently presses on the side of the wound, noticing how tender the flesh is; this injury would have caused the Penguin great torment and pain.
It is also obviously the cause of death for the man.
A glum expression makes its way back to Edward's face as he continues to look at the injury.
"I'm so sorry Oswald." Edward breathes out as he traces the skin around the black lesion. "This is an awful way to die." Edward finds himself almost in a trance as he gently traces the skin, imagining the level of pain and agony the man had lived through over the course of his final days.
Slowly, he drags his eyes away from the wound, continuing his examination of the body. He traces his eyes down the chest and notices a rather large, healed wound near his left hip. It looks like a laceration, and a messy one at that. How had the man received this punishment? Ed frowns as he acknowledges the fact that even after a thorough inspection of the body, many of his questions would remain unanswered.
Then, his eyes travel further downward below the Penguin's hips. A white piece of clothing covers up anything private, but Edward still feels his face blush. Never before had he had such a reaction; the human body was just that, a body. But Edward, for one reason or another, can't help but feel guilty as his eyes quickly move past the area.
His gaze then lands on the man's legs. Less scars cover the surface, and the skin is as pale as the rest of his body.
Finally, his attention is grabbed by the horrible mess that is Oswald's right ankle. Torn flesh and broken bones had obviously been improperly healed, causing the foot to stick at an awkward angle. Edward cringes as he looks at the leg, once again another wound keying Edward into the enormous amount of pain Oswald must have lived through during the time of the injury.
"Goodness, you just didn't have it easy, did you Oswald?" Edward moves down the table and takes the foot in hand, gently rocking it back and forth as he examines it further. "I could have helped with this, if you had let me." Edward is once again surprised by his words, but chalks it up to sympathy around an obviously painful disability. Anyone would help someone experiencing such levels of pain, right?
"Well, I guess it wasn't much of a riddle, how you died and all." Edward glances back up to the man's chest, squinting at the necrotic flesh. "What else can you tell me about yourself, Oswald?" Ed questions, as if he was a live patient lying on a doctor's examination table, rather than one that had only housed corpses so far.
Systematically, Edward examines every inch of the man's body. Other than multiple other scars, there are few other major injuries on the man. However, despite working on a dead man, a sense of nervousness has taken over Edward as he handles the limbs of Oswald, as if he fears causing him more pain.
Finally, Edward's eyes travel up to the face of the birdlike man. Eyes closed, he looks rather peaceful lying on the table. The usual tension that resided on Oswald's face had faded away into a relaxed, calm expression. For the first time out of every time Edward had seen the man, he looks peaceful.
His inky hair lays plastered to his forehead, with a few strands feathered back onto the table and in the air. His soft yet sharp jaw gives his face a regal framing, and his eyelashes lay gently on his cheek. An aquiline nose and the rest of his features all come together and create a face that almost resembles that of a bird.
Edward carefully looks over every detail and files them away into his mind, knowing that it would be the last time he would ever see the compelling man again. He gently brushes the hair out of smaller man's face, trailing his fingers down his cheek as he removes his hand. His skin, at least that which he could feel through his glove, is soft and cold.
Stop it Edward. He scolds himself. This is unprofessional.
'The whole ordeal is unprofessional. This, however, is what you want. Don't pretend like you want to stop.' Edward hears a voice from a deep corner of his mind that doesn't seem to be his own. He pauses and waits for more thoughts to cross his consciousness, but no more make themselves present. Odd, he thinks, but is for the most part unfazed. He often had conflicting parts of his mind argue. It was a normal part of being a human being, right? Edward places his hands behind his body, minimizing any further temptation he has to touch the intriguing bird.
After many more entranced minutes of inspecting the body, Edward steps back.
"Well, Mr. Cobblepot, I guess now's the point where I read your file and retrieve tissue samples. Protocol and all." Edward chuckles to himself, as none of this is actually going according to protocol, and turns away from the body, intending to retrieve the file he had left resting on the counter across the room.
"Oh Mr. Penguin, how I wish I could have had the chance to converse with you more." Edward skims through the file, reading various notes that had been written in the records. "For some reason, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind." Edward smiles as he talks to himself, reflecting on his past hobby of stealing any file from the Annex regarding the Kingpin in order to learn as much about the man as possible.
"Such an interesting man," Edward breathes out, too quiet to be heard by anyone, even if he wasn't alone in the room.
Edward drops the file and turns towards the cart that holds various medical tools. He picks up a scalpel and a pair of tweezers.
"But alas, I guess it was just not meant to be." He again turns, this time towards the examination table, but freezes when he takes in the sight in front of him.
Oswald Cobblepot's eyes are open.
"Ahhhh… That's new." Edward says with a high lilt to his voice. He hesitantly steps forward, as if fearing the man would jump up from the table and kill him on the spot. "Mr. Cobblepot?"
Edward gets no response, but Edward can't tell if he is imagining the slight change in dilation to the man's pupils. That, actually, is another thing that is odd -
The Penguin's eyes - they are just as alive as they had always been. The glaze that accompanied death had yet to cover the man's corneas. Instead, Edward looks intently into the eyes, and can almost sense the same emotion and secrets he always saw when looking into the Penguin's gaze.
He steps forward again. "Mr…. Penguin?" That! That is certainly a change in his eyes! His pupils dilate, almost imperceptibly, but undeniably nonetheless.
"Are," Edward really has no idea what to say in this situation. He has never seen such a muscular response in a corpse before. He doesn't seem particularly… dead. But Edward had examined the body for almost an hour now – no breath had been taken in whatsoever throughout the entire time. His blood is cold, his skin blue. All indicators point to lack of life within the bird.
But… Corpses don't blink, do they? Well, this one does. And Edward's own eyes reflect that of the Penguin's as they widen.
"Are you… alive?" Edward feels silly asking the question. He thinks of a more appropriate one. "Can you hear me, Mr. Cobblepot?"
Again, his pupils dilate and his eyes widen. Edward leans over the man's face.
"This isn't particularly good, at least for you." Edward pauses and inspects the man's face, acknowledging any minute change in expression.
Edward then smiles, looking at the man with a glimmer in his eyes.
"Well, let's see what I can do for you."