Oswald grunted softly as he rolled over in your bed. Ever since you found him in the woods outside Galavan's house a shaky trust was forming. The bullet wound in his shoulder was nothing but a scar now, and you were more than willing to let him stay with you. At least until he got his revenge.

There were even moments of comfort, though neither of you spoke about them. Holding each other at night, Oswald trying to make you breakfast, your hand on his back when he thought of his mother. It was like you'd been sharing an apartment for years.

Another frustrated, pained noise escaped Oswald as he rolled over again. He hissed through his teeth and reached down to hold his twisted knee. "Goddammit," he whispered, trying to stay discreet. But you noticed.

You got up from the little kitchen table and crawled into bed with him. "Do you want me to rub it?"