Chapter 7: The Unexpected Visitor

Delicate beams of morning sunlight streamed through the maroon drapes and cascaded onto the sleeping newlyweds. Bruce opened his eyes despite the throbbing protest from his lids. He could almost forgive himself for wanting to sleep in late. He had a pleasant excuse to stay put—Selina was fast asleep with her back snuggly against his chest. The cotton sheets were a tangled mess between them and the satin comforter was draping off the foot of the bed. Their clothes from the day before were scattered from the bedroom door to Bruce's side of the mattress.

He grinned to himself and shook his head. The two spent the entire evening talking, then made love most of the night.

He nestled his head into the soft skin of Selina's neck, eliciting a sleepy hum of contentment. As he gently caressed her shoulder and breathed in the remnants of her jasmine perfume, he suddenly realized...he was happy. Truly happy.

Bruce knew he responded poorly to situations that caused him emotional pain. After his parents were killed, he refused to speak with anyone close to him and work through his emotions. There wasn't a single heartbreak he experienced that he did not remember vividly nor feel repeatedly. On the other hand, Selina was skilled at concealing and dismissing her emotions. Her life as an orphan living on the lawless streets of the East End provided no time to process a loss. She either had to move with the swift current of life or be drowned. Were it not for Selina, the likelihood of Bruce ever finding a shred of happiness or an ounce of security would be slim to none. She provided him with a distraction from his grief and reminded him that the world was not divided into merely black and white, good and evil, right and wrong.

Bruce nearly drifted to sleep, but a soft knock on the bedroom door interrupted his blissful state. Not wishing to wake Selina, he gingerly covered her with a blanket and tapped on the wall beside the bed. The door creaked open and Alfred peered his head inside, respectfully averting his eyes from the couple.

"Pardon the intrusion, Master Bruce," he said, dropping his voice to a considerate whisper.

"It's fine, Alfred. What is it?"

"You have a visitor, Sir. I understand it's rather early and I informed him you were...presently occupied, but he insisted he would wait. I couldn't very well turn him away, so I said he could stay in the drawing room."

"Seriously? Couldn't you have told him to come back later?" he groaned.

"I would have, were it anyone else..."

Bruce gave him a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"I believe you'll want to see this particular visitor, Sir."

...

Bruce clipped his belt around his tan khakis as he raced down the grand staircase. Receiving uninvited guests was the last thing he wanted to do on his first morning as a married man, but there was something about Alfred's remark that piqued his curiosity.

"Were it anyone else..."

Even with his unwavering sense of decorum, Alfred Pennyworth would not hesitate to close the door on a stranger. There were only a few people he would feel compelled to let inside without requiring his employer's consent.

Bruce entered the foyer, turned down the first hallway, and cautiously peered through the archway into the drawing room, where the mysterious visitor was examining a photograph on the fireplace mantle.

Compared to Bruce, he was a petite gentleman and as slender as a toothpick. His pointed jawline and hook nose gave him a startling bird-like appearance. His oily black bangs—rich with gel and appearing blue in the sunlight—stuck to his forehead like paste. He wore an ankle-length black velvet tailcoat over a gray vest and black cravat tie. Fashionably ripped black jeans were tucked into a pair of knee-high combat boots. His body was adorned with various silver accessories, from the pocket watch clipped onto his vest to the assortment of rings on all ten fingers. His elaborate dapper-meets-steampunk sense of style would attract the attention of everyone in his path, which Bruce knew would only further stroke the ego of this particular man.

"Oswald?" Bruce asked, astounded.

The young man whirled around, a confident smile appearing on his face. "Crikey! Bruce Wayne! Long time no see! How have ya been, mate?"

Bruce dumbfoundedly shook his head as Oswald pulled him into an enthusiastic hug. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Oswald stepped back to admire his friend.

"Blimey! Have a look at ya! You look like a rugby player! What did ya do, grow six feet since middle school?!"

Bruce laughed while self-consciously smoothing his dress shirt. "You're one to talk! You sound like Bert from Mary Poppins. When did you get an accent?"

"I picked it up while I was studyin' in London. I had a few mates from the East End who rubbed off on me. It suits me, don't you think? Makes me sound more intimidatin'?"

"Sure, if that's the intent. It may take some getting used to, though."

Oswald chuckled and plopped unceremoniously onto the sofa. "Geeza, it's been too long! I was plannin' on stoppin' by your place durin' the holidays a few years ago, but ole Alfie told me you had left the bloody country!"

Bruce smiled and sat in the armchair across from him. "I took a leaf out of your book, Oz. I was a a little jealous when your parents came over for Christmas one year and told me you were touring France."

"Did you spend your time drinkin', chasin' girls, and headin' to some wicked parties?"

"I found ways of entertaining myself, but I mostly kept my head down. I took a semester at Oxford before attending The Sorbonne, Maastricht University, and finishing at ETH Zurich."

"'Heaven and hell, why didn't you come to clock me while you were at Oxford? We could have gotten a drink!"

"That's right, Selina told me you were studying at the University of London! I wish I thought of visiting you. I suppose I forgot you were there," he stated with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess so..."

Bruce noticed the annoyance in Oswald's voice and the sudden dark shadow over his face.

Bruce coughed uncomfortably. "Well, what brings you to my not-so-humble abode?" he inquired, attempting to reduce the tension.

"You did, mate."

Oswald reached into the breast pocket of his coat and retrieved a crinkled issue of Gotham Insider. He smoothed it flat on the coffee table to reveal a photo of Bruce and Selina at the entrance to the Iceberg Lounge. The caption read, "The Boy-Millionare's Shocking Return!"

"I cracked up when I saw the article. Why didn't ya tell me you were havin' dinner at me restaurant? You could have been me guest of honor, even come down to the club! We could have given the pesky tabloids somethin' to talk about!"

The two shared a laugh before the room once more became silent.

"Me gosh, have a look at how much we've grown. It's hard to believe there was a time we used to play tag on the front lawn, swim in the creek, and ride us bikes 'round the courtyard. Say, do you remember when we broke into my father's antique gallery and put on the suits of armor?"

Bruce chuckled. "How could I forget? You and I pretended to be knights in a jousting match. We used your father's Maruman golf clubs as lances but realized we couldn't joust without horses."

"That's when I went into the mudroom and let Dad's Airedale Terriers out of the kennels!"

"I'm not sure why either of us thought dogs made good substitutes for horses."

"Me either, but that was one hellfire of a tournament. Those were the good times, eh?"

"Yes, back when the world wasn't so complicated and we were invincible. I sometimes wish to relive those early years when I was lucky to be naive."

Oswald shook his head as he stared thoughtfully out the window. "Well, I disagree. Bein' a kid means you've got to follow the rules, even if they're unfair. It means an eternal ignorance about the world and all the opportunities it has for you to seize."

"Ever the rebel, I see."

Oswald shrugged. "It's true. I've always stuck it to the man. That's the great thing about bein' an adult! You're allowed to feel that way! Once you're finally let out of your cage, ya realize life is full of possibilities never offered to ya as a kid. This time, there's no one to stand in your way."

Bruce offered him a look of sympathy. "I know your father wasn't the kindest man, Oz—"

"—Sure, me dad was a right arsehole, but it's got nothin' to do with him. Can't ya feel it, Bruce? The tides are changin' in Gotham! Old brass families like ours have either died, filed bankruptcy, or moved elsewhere. They've all been pushed aside by mafia families like the Falcones, Maronis, Bertinellis, Panessas, and Cassamentos. Even now, after years of carnage and bad business decisions, the Panessas and Bertinellis have put the power in the hands of Carmine Falcone and Salvatore Maroni."

Oswald rose from the chair, shoved his hands in his pockets, and began a speculative pace around the room. "Yet, as they say—"absolute power corrupts absolutely." Them two right good Italian families haven't been messin' nice lately. Each one believes he owns this town, so when one Don decides to throw his weight 'round, it pisses the other off! This battle between 'em has opened a door for blokes like you and me, the forgotten sons of Gotham royalty. This gang war is a tickin' time bomb about to explode and the bloody Dons will go down in flames. You watch."

He spins on his heel, looking Bruce dead in the eye. "That's where you and I come in, Brucie. When the dust settles, someone new will have to take charge and it's damn well gonna be us. The princes of Gotham are gonna build their empires from the ashes, but we won't make the same mistakes as our parents. It's time we made a new identity! A new beginnin'!"

Bruce's jaw clenched as Oswald threw up his arms theatrically. He could hardly recognize the man standing before him. Bruce knew better than most that Oswald was fascinated by danger, destruction, and mischief. Apparently, his appetite for it had grown tenfold during his stay abroad. This time, he was biting off more than he could chew and wanted Bruce to share in the feast.

"I agree the mafia's reign of terror in Gotham needs to end, but I won't sit beside you on their empty thrones if that's what you're asking," Bruce replied sternly. " If you want to lead our city into an era of peace by stopping the violence once and for all, then you'll have my support."

Oswald examined his rings with a scowl on his face. "Listen, mate. I'd love to tell ya that Gotham's citizens would support a noble, compassionate leader, but they won't. They live a life ruled by fear, so they know nothin' else and they respect nothin' else. They might not appreciate the threat of bein' gunned down on their way back from work, but if that threat were removed, they'd just be waitin' for the next one. Gotham's criminal underworld is like a hydra— when ya cut off one head, two more take its place. There might be a wee time in between, but the city will fall so it can be rebuilt by those strong enough to take the chance."

He took a step toward Bruce and leaned over him threateningly. "Are ya one of 'em, Bruce? Will ya take the chance if it's given to ya? 'Cause, to be honest, I don't think you've got the balls."

He stood upright once again, his challenging expression transforming into a look of genuine pain. "I won't lie to ya. I'm a wee bit hurt. You were me best mate once upon a time. We were two fellas from proud families who dreamed of takin' on the world someday and damn...we were unstoppable. When Mum and Dad sent me off to boardin' school, I felt I'd lost ya. I was alone in a city I didn't know, and all me mates back home had moved on without me..."

Bruce rose from the chair, his eyes imploring. "Oz, please. If I had known—"

"—Well, I'll tell ya right now, that's the last time I ever go off feelin' sorry for myself. It's time for the real Oswald Cobblepot to take control. Now, I'm willin' to let bygones be bygones and pick up where we left off. We were unstoppable then...we could still be unstoppable. You and I could accomplish brilliant things together. Whatchya say, Bruce?"

Oswald eagerly held his hand to shake, but Bruce refused to give in. When Selina mentioned Oswald's misdeeds in London, Bruce was concerned that his friend may have kept the wrong company. His desire to circle the dying mafia like a hungry shark certainly added to Bruce's suspicion. When Oswald appeared in his living room, Bruce was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. He did not, however, expect the need to choose between his friend and his principles. Though he felt guilty for unintentionally abandoning Oswald the first time, he would sadly need to do so again.

"I'm sorry, Oz, but I can't accept your offer. I admire your confidence and ambition, but you and I are on different paths. You want to reinvent your family name and build your own identity. Meanwhile, I want to continue my family's legacy and improve upon it wherever possible. The Wayne name symbolized hope for a better future in this city, and I'd like it to continue. I would help you rebuild Gotham after the mafia's disappearance, but not through illegal means. I won't overthrow a tyrant only to become one myself."

A moment of tense silence passed, neither man daring to utter a single word. Oswald stared at his friend as if he was expecting Bruce's reply to be a joke, but his eyes had no humor. Oswald forced a smile, though his flaring nostrils and unsteady breath displayed his outrage.

"That's okay, mate. You always were one of the good ones," he replied, his tone forgiving until the final two words, which he spoke with resentment. He propped the collar of his tailcoat and bit his bottom lip, clearly formulating a response.

"I'll let you in on a wee secret, Brucie. I've only got room for three kinds of people in me life—comrades, enemies, and lackies. If you're not with me, then there's only one option left, ain't there? If you're not prepared to face the music, that's not so bad by me..."

He moved closer, raising his head to meet Bruce's eye.

"...but ya bloody well better stay out of me way. You may be all high and mighty now, but you wait. If ya want to be successful in this city, you'll have to do a few nasty things before ya make it to the top. No bloke is without sin in Gotham, and the ones who pretend to be pure are likely the ones who have sinned the worst."

"Oswald?" a sultry voice purred from behind them.

The two men whipped around to see Selina standing in the archway. Bruce's oversized silk pajama shirt hung lazily off her shoulder, and her eyes were heavy with exhaustion. No doubt she had awoken only moments earlier. She glanced between the two men skeptically, instantly aware of the tension.

"Selina Kyle," Oswald addressed with admiration, his aggressive snarl replaced with a lewd smirk. "Have a look at ya! I remember leavin' behind a scrawny girl covered in dirt with a mouth like a sailor! You're a sight for sore mince pies now, angel face! Were it not for your name in the paper, I'd have hardly recognized ya! Well...ain'tcha gonna come here and squeeze your ole pal?"

Selina rolled her eyes and offered him a self-conscious one-armed embrace. He laid one hand on her back while the other made a hasty grab for her rear. She swatted his hand aside just in time, releasing him with a hard shove.

He held up his hands playfully as she glared at him. "Take it easy, Luv! I'm only playin'!"

Selina huffed in annoyance while straightening her shirt. "What are you doing here, Ozzy? Normal people are asleep at this hour."

Oswald cocked his head toward Bruce and adopted a sinister smile. "Oh, I just...thought I'd pop in, say hello to me ole mates, and offer me congratulations on their engagement. Alfie told me as I was comin' in that you two got hitched last night! Blimey, 'Lina! I still can't believe ya up and married ole Brucie! How did he con ya into that, Luv?"

"Begging mostly," she replied teasingly.

As Oswald doubled over with laughter, she caught Bruce's agitated expression. His broad shoulders were as stiff as wood planks and his fists were clenched so tightly the blood emptied from his knuckles.

"Well, I should get out of your hair!" Oswald stated, finally collecting himself. "Me apologies for droppin' by unannounced!"

He nodded toward Bruce and Selina before exiting the drawing room. He paused in the foyer and turned to shout through the doorway.

"I'll be seein' ya, Brucie! If ya change your mind, you can find me at the Iceberg Lounge! We can split a bottle of scotch and have ourselves a nice wee chat..."

When the front door eventually closed, Selina dubiously eyed her husband. "What the hell was that about?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet," he growled, his eyes fixed on the spot where Oswald last stood, "but I can safely say things are about to become a lot more complicated."