'Retribution'

By Indiana

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma [Scriddler]

Synopsis: One selfish decision can ruin everything.

It had been three months ago now that the Scarecrow had taken the Riddler's son and turned him against his father. Three months now that they had torn the city up between them. Three months of traps and ambushes and endless searching for a man who could not be found.

Jonathan was tired.

He had not anticipated Edward's reaction of all-out war, but that was what he had received. And, under the watchful eye of his soldiers and indeed the city itself, Jonathan had had no choice but to declare countermeasures against the man he had once shared many a close and cherished night with. He had meant only to draw Edward's attention with his actions. He had instead sparked some depth of grief-induced rage even he had been unable to predict.

Jonathan should not have done it, should not have taken the robot or taken advantage of the key into its brain that Edward had given him in confidence, but he had. And the consequences were never ending, it seemed. Jonathan could scarce remain in one place, lest the relentless automatons find and kill him on sight. They had come far too close far too many times.

He had managed to contact the other man, who had set his army upon the city with an eerie, uncharacteristic silence. They would meet at noon the next day. Jonathan would explain and end all of this. He was too tired to continue any further. Edward was too aggrieved to understand. But he would make it clear. Tomorrow.

/

The sun seemed low, still, in the sky. It was cold and the wind was blowing through to Jonathan's bones. He had come with his hood drawn about his face, though he had left the mask behind. Edward would be more assured if he could see Jonathan's face.

A complement of Jonathan's militia stood behind him. He did not intend to use them, but he needed them there to keep up appearances. The city at large did not need to know just what was at stake. Assembled before Jonathan was a sizeable number of Edward's signature robots, a formidable force themselves. They stood stationary in silent alert; what they waited for, Jonathan did not know. They stood at this impasse for some minutes before he realised Edward meant for Jonathan to draw him out. Very well. He supposed he owed him that much.

"I did what I had to," Jonathan said as clearly as possible, though everything in his body told him to turn back. "You would never care for me the way you once did. Not when he can offer what I cannot."

"You took my son away from me because you were jealous?" came Edward's voice, from somewhere in front of him.

"Not jealous," Jonathan corrected quietly. "Afraid."

There was the clamour of a great many mechanical bodies in synchronised motion, and from their midst came Edward himself. It was only then that Jonathan honestly, truly understood the wrong he had done.

Edward was gaunt, and pale, and he had put on one of his customary suits but it so clearly hung on him. Behind the smudged glasses were his reddened eyes and the black smeared beneath them, though his gaze upon Jonathan's was clear.

"Are you certain?" Edward said, matching Jonathan's volume. The words seethed with vitriol but his hands were tremulous at his aides. "Or was the notion of sharing me just too much for you?"

"I cannot compete with a child," Jonathan told him. "You no longer had any use for me."

"And you just elected to make that decision for me, is that it? I don't know what I need, you have to choose for me?"

"I told you," Jonathan said, in as low a voice he could manage. "I was afraid."

He hadn't wanted to ask, because then he would have an answer, and if it were one he didn't want to hear...

Edward closed the space between them, and other than an instinctive tightening of his muscles which he could not control, Jonathan did not move.

Edward's arms were behind his neck, his brow against Jonathan's shoulder. He hadn't even closed his arms around the other man's waist before Edward started crying.

"I'm sorry, Edward," he whispered into his ear.

"Bring him back," Edward's voice came softly in his ear, choked but clear. "And we'll do what we should have done all along."

"I have," Jonathan murmured. He stepped back to address a man behind him in a louder voice. "Bring it."

The man nodded and murmured into a handset, and from the depths of his own ranks was brought the robot. Edward looked upon it with great relief.

"Son," he said. "Ready to come home?"

The robot nodded, and Edward put a hand behind its shoulder and ushered it back to its brethren. He looked over his shoulder at them. "Nikola."

The tallest of them, seven feet all told, half-nodded once.

"Soit prêt. En douzaine."

It half-nodded a second time and did nothing. Jonathan thought it prudent to indicate his own men stand down and indicated as such. Edward moved close again, left hand around Jonathan's waist and the right behind his head. When Edward pulled his face down for a kiss, Jonathan acquiesced gladly. His lips were sweet. Too sweet. His mouth and tongue burned suddenly and he tried to pull away as the heat made its way down his throat.

"Guess where I got that from," Edward whispered. His eyes were still wet.

It took him a moment to realise what Edward's other hand was doing.

There was something sharp buried in his stomach. "Just in case," Edward told him, voice still very low. "I'm sure you know you've proven very hard to kill."

Edward removed the object and sank it higher, between his ribs. Jonathan's breath tangled inside of his lungs, his throat almost swollen closed from the poison on Edward's lips. There was already blood soaking into his boots.

"You really thought," Edward's mouth murmured against his own, "that I would allow you to get away with that?"

"They won't let you either," Jonathan gasped at as high a volume he could manage, but before he'd finished he already knew he was wrong. Edward had readied his robots, not disarmed them! He could hear their clamour as they passed behind him, silently and efficiently disposing of his confused and panicked men.

Jonathan was losing the strength to stand, and as his legs weakened Edward released him. The ground was damp. His fallen blood was still warm. He coughed and some of it moistened his lips. His vision was blurring. Edward dropped something onto his steadily chilling body. A box cutter.

He lay there on the ground and listened passively to the relentless mechanical efficiency of the Riddler's army. The man himself looked down at Jonathan with something akin to conflicted derision. Jonathan opened his mouth. No sound was possible.

Edward, firming his lips, turned and walked away.