'The Secret Lives of Parents'
Characters: Alan (Riddlerbot OC), Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane [Scriddler]
Synopsis: There comes a day when you discover that your parents have a life beyond you and relationships with people that you know nothing about.
"Alan. There you are. I sent Nikola to find you but he never returned."
I was working on the nanobombs, Alan said, having come to find his dad for the final inspection. He was in the middle of a room they had been spending a lot of time in lately, which was underneath a toy store and not the Orphanage as Alan understood it, and his dad was looking up at one of the conveyors with a cigarette between his lips. Alan followed his gaze up there to find...
Robots?
"Yes!" his dad said, straightening in a proud sort of way. "Hundreds of them. This is the culmination of months of work, Alan. At last my vision will truly be realised."
Alan stepped backward.
Dad, but... but why would you need so many?
"Because people always fail, Alan," his dad said. He tapped the end of his cigarette and replaced it in his mouth after continuing with, "People can never perform to my satisfaction. They are lazy and they cut corners. Robots will do exactly as I say, how I say it is to be done."
So you don't need me anymore, Alan realised aloud. His dad frowned.
"Don't be ridiculous. The three of you cannot be replaced. These robots - " and here he paused to wave a hand at them, "are to be mostly mindless drones. All of you have value to me, but you and the other two are not something I can have the factory construct."
He walked over to his desk and pressed the end of the cigarette into the ashtray there. "Alan, you are extremely concerned with your imminent replacement. Why is that?"
Alan took ahold of his thumb. He didn't have an answer.
When his dad had been sick with that cold and had allowed Alan more autonomy, he had thought things were going to be better. His dad had slept more, had taken Alan's advice even! and while Alan had been given more responsibility, most of it meant taking care of things on the literal other side of his dad's properties. He had wanted to spend more time with his dad, not just do more in general. And now he had built all these robots...
His dad was sitting on the edge of his desk, looking in one of the drawers for something. He removed a package of black licorice and pulled out one of the ropes.
"Son?"
He liked it when his dad called him that.
He climbed up on the desk and folded his hands together. He looked at them instead of his dad. I worry about a lot of things, he hedged.
"I know that. But I don't understand why this development upsets you. I don't have to work as much anymore. I can assign robots to finish almost everything that isn't yet complete. I have only to supervise them."
You'll find excuses to work anyway. You always do.
His dad chewed on the licorice for a long minute, then said, "If we're having this talk again I need to eat something more substantial than this. Come." And he started walking away without checking to see if Alan was following, because Alan always did.
They went back to the Orphanage, where his dad made an omelette and toast and ate about half of it before saying, "So. Back to the subject at hand. You disapprove of my work habits."
You work too much, Alan said, a little hesitantly. And when you aren't working you always find a reason to do some.
"I do," his dad said, and he drank from his water bottle before continuing. "Do you know why I do that?"
Because...
"You can say it. I already know what you think it's about."
Because if you work then you have an excuse not to do anything else.
"No." His dad finished his toast and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "It's because I start to get... well, it's akin to worrying. If I don't have a project to engage in, preferably several, I begin to lose myself. It's the way my mind has always worked. I always need to be doing something: not because I'm trying to avoid anything, but because not doing so unsettles me."
You do use it as an excuse sometimes. He said it carefully; he didn't think he would upset his dad right now, but he also didn't want to provide the end to his dad's good mood. But his dad nodded.
"I do." He tapped his finger against the tabletop momentarily. "Alan, look. I'll tell you something, but it stays between us. Agreed?"
Alan nodded. Out of the two of them, only Ada might even care about whatever it was, but Alan liked their secrets too much to tell any of them. His dad finished eating and pushed his plate aside.
"If you dislike the way I do some things, I'd like you to just tell me. I'm not going to like it. But I need to break a cycle here, Alan."
What cycle?
His dad licked his lips but didn't answer the question. Alan decided to see if he would respond to a little bit of pushing. Not too much.
You didn't have a good dad, did you.
He shook his head once.
Do you want to talk about it?
His dad's laugh was short and bitter. "No. But I said I would. Once I have I don't want to discuss it again. I've spent so many years trying to... anyway. That isn't relevant.
"My father was a bartender at a chain restaurant. What that means is he spent all his time pouring intoxicating beverages to people who didn't care about his existence at the behest of a faceless corporation. In such establishments where the owners don't watch their security cameras too closely, people working behind the bar sometimes get into the liquor a bit too deep. You see, when spending ten hours a day fielding the stupidity of the general public whilst trying to avoid the sneaking suspicion you're worse off than they are, some people turn to alcohol to make the end of their days seem a little less cold. Sometimes the customers supply the shots; sometimes the bartender just pours them for himself. My father did both."
His dad took a long drink out of the water bottle, as though this conversation had reminded him to, and Alan noted a little guiltily that his dad was entirely more morose. Maybe Alan shouldn't have asked. He was about to tell his dad he could stop if he wanted when he continued,
"My father hated me. He still does. When he has the chance he continues to harass me for the mere crime of existing. He hates everything about me, but what he hates most is my intelligence. He cannot stand that I am a genius without peer while he is no better than a common thug. My father would come home at night from those late bartending shifts and he would find an excuse to take his anger and his frustration out on me. The most common reason was that I was smart, as though being born with a mind such as mine was wrong. He used to beat me because he could not accept that his son was better than he was. A father is supposed to want what's best for his son. He's supposed to want his son to achieve greater things than he ever could. My father was ashamed and resentful of me long before I ever became a criminal.
"One night my father came home, angrier and more intoxicated than ever before. He had lost his temper at work at long last and had started a fight with some other drunken idiot. There was property damage and someone's nose ended up broken, and when my father came home he blamed it on me. He said it was my fault. Somehow I had condemned him to a life he hated just by existing. He was… brutal, that night, moreso than ever, and I admit… he nearly broke me down. It was almost more than I could endure, and I should have concluded earlier he would get there eventually, but hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say. So I left that night as soon as I could. I had finally realised he really would kill me one day, and I had to go before it became reality. It had come to the point where being homeless was infinitely better than living under his roof any longer."
His dad was clenching his hands together so much that the pink was gone from his knuckles, and Alan felt very bad. He didn't understand everything his dad had said, but it seemed to be hurting him on the inside and that was the very last thing he ever wanted to do. Alan knew how to bandage his dad's cuts and stop his headaches and cover up the bruises when he had to go out, but this kind of pain wasn't something he could do anything about.
I'm sorry, Alan said. It didn't sound right but it was the only thing he could think of.
His dad shrugged and got up, and while he was cleaning the dishes Alan tried to think of something to do. Something that would make his dad feel better and let him know Alan hadn't meant for this. When his dad returned to the table to put the water bottle away Alan tried to offer a hug, but he stepped out of reach. "We can go work on the car, if you're up to it," his dad said.
Yes, Alan said, nodding firmly, and he followed his dad to the garage.
It didn't seem to help, though. Usually, his dad could talk for hours without really stopping, even if he wasn't actually having a conversation. Alan liked that about him. He learned a lot that way. But his dad was silent, sort of like he was there but also wasn't there at the same time, and after a long while Alan got so uncomfortable that he said, You don't have to do this.
When he looked up at Alan his eyes were tired and sad. "I have to do something." His voice was too quiet.
Alan wanted to get up and leave, he really did; he wanted to be there for his dad but he didn't understand the point of sitting here if he was just getting sad too. He remembered sometimes that was what Ada did, just sat with him and that eventually cheered him up, so he stayed. But Ada didn't worry. She didn't have to. So he thought maybe he should get up after all. He couldn't really decide.
He heard his dad's phone vibrate and he looked up to see him take it out of his pocket; when he did so his eyes widened and he smiled a little, covering his mouth with his free hand. To Alan's surprise he actually wrote out a message immediately. He had said he never did that, because if he did people would think he was always available and pester him to no end. When he put the phone back Alan asked, Who was it?
"Jonathan," his dad said, standing up. "He's coming here to see me."
Jonathan? Alan asked, confused. But he was so mean to you last time. Why was his dad so happy to hear from him?
"He's like that." His dad waved a hand dismissively. "But he wouldn't tell me he was coming if he was in a bad mood. He would just show up. Excuse me, Alan. I have a few things to take care of." And off he went, unwrapping his goggles from the back of his head as he went.
When his dad came back downstairs Alan almost didn't recognise him. He had showered and shaved and put on clean clothes, and Alan wasn't sure what he'd done with his hair but it looked different. Whoever Jonathan was, if he upset his dad after this Alan was going to do something about it no matter how happy his dad got just to hear from him.
Do you want me to go downstairs? Alan asked, hoping his dad would say no so he did not have to spy. If he said yes Alan was going to keep an eye on Jonathan anyway. Somehow. But his dad shook his head.
"You can stick around if you want. But he's not meeting me here. At the factory." And his dad headed off in that direction.
Oh, he did want.
When Jonathan came in Alan made sure to be extra vigilant. But quietly. His dad looked so happy and he didn't want to have to ruin it. He only would if Jonathan got out of hand.
Jonathan took off his hooded coat this time, and underneath he was wearing a long sleeved, collared shirt in a pattern of parallel and perpendicular stripes of different shades of blue. There was probably a name for that, but Alan didn't know what it was. He was wearing darker blue pants, the right leg of which was pinned beneath a metal device reaching from his lower thigh all the way down to his foot. The glasses on Jonathan's nose were very similar to his dad's, except larger, and there was something very, very wrong with his face. And he wasn't really saying that because he didn't like Jonathan, but because his facial recognition was reluctant to tag it as a face. His skin was very pale and severely scarred, and his tangled hair was the same colour as old iron, longer than his dad's but missing in places. Alan could hardly believe this man was the very same that had threatened his dad last week. He looked too weak to do such a thing; the shadows under his eyes were so much worse than his dad's.
"You look terrible," his dad said, as though he'd been reading Alan's mind, and Jonathan did not smile exactly but the corners of his eyes crinkled just a little. The eyes themselves were a very, very pale shade of blue, and they shone like glass. The righthand one was cloudy, and Alan wondered if he could even see out of it. That was something he liked about being a robot: his parts were easily replaceable for the most part. Organs were not.
"I caught your damned cold," Jonathan said, and even his voice was different from before. It was quieter, with more of a raw edge. "I've been ill near two weeks now. I had to do an unbelievable amount of lying to hide it."
"You deserved it," his dad said, folding his arms. Jonathan nodded a little and eased himself on top of his dad's desk. His legs were so long that his feet still touched the floor.
"I did. But I almost came down with pneumonia, which would have been a bit much. I thought I did have it, two nights ago. It was almost like..."
"Yeah," his dad said quietly, seating himself on the desk as well. "That would have been a bit much."
Jonathan coughed, and Alan noted how it shook his thin shoulders, and how dry it sounded. His dad had said the point of a cough during a cold was to stop the sickness from settling in the lungs, so the person who had it wouldn't die from suffocation. But a dry cough meant then that nothing was happening, only that the throat was irritated, and that meant...
Oh, but he didn't want to be nice to Jonathan!
The polite thing to do, Alan knew, was to go into the other room and get Jonathan a bottle of water. Jonathan was a guest, and doing that would make him feel better and more comfortable. He did not like Jonathan, but his dad had told him that being polite even to people you didn't like was important. You never knew if you would need their help later.
So Alan walked out into the other room and got a bottle of water and nudged his dad so he could give it to Jonathan, and he hated every second of it but it was what his dad would want.
"I..." his dad started to say, accepting the bottle, but Alan shook his head and said, looking at the floor resentfully,
For him.
His dad put a hand on his shoulder, and when Alan glanced up to see that his dad looked almost... impressed, maybe. He twisted the cap off the bottle but could not hand it to Jonathan because he was coughing again, into his arm this time. It was shaking. Despite himself, Alan felt sorry for him. This man was nowhere near as strong as his dad. It made him wonder why his dad was doing what he was told instead of the other way around.
Alan was no expert, but he was pretty sure Jonathan drank more of the water than he needed to ease his throat. He sat in the chair on the other side of the desk and puzzled over that and the rest of Jonathan when it came to him:
Jonathan didn't take care of himself either!
Jonathan on sight slept less than his dad, ate less, washed up less judging by the darkness of what should have been pale hands... looking at Jonathan was like seeing what his dad would be in the future.
He did not like the thought of that at all.
"Todd also caught it," Jonathan said, and he sounded a little better. "I think he deserved it more than I."
His dad laughed. "He did, the insufferable buffoon. I dare not hope he did get pneumonia?"
Jonathan shook his head. "Alas, he did not. He became a great deal more cranky but a great deal less able to articulate it. An entire day where I did not hear 'Crane!' followed by some imbecilic whining. It was wonderful."
"How you put up with him all day I'll never know," his dad said, shaking his head. "What an entitled little upstart that one is."
"It just does not end," Jonathan sighed. "Yes, child, I know you want to kill Batman. I am working as fast as I can and I am pushing everyone else to do the same. The only reason any of you haven't jumped ship yet is that you've all sunk all your money into it."
"Not all my money," his dad said. "I have some left over, plus some you aren't getting no matter how how much you ask."
"I'm sure I could change your mind if I asked nicely," Jonathan said, and his dad abruptly looked away with the inside of his lip between his teeth.
"You're... incognito today, then," his dad said after a moment. Jonathan nodded slowly.
"I have never... had to wear it for so long," he mused quietly. "It was beginning to stifle me. And of course, there is only one place I may go without it."
"Of course," his dad said, in just as muted a way. Jonathan folded long fingers together pensively.
"But that is not really why I am here. I am here because last we spoke I was... inconsiderate."
"That's hardly new with you."
Jonathan moved back a tangled strand of his hair in a deliberate fashion. It didn't stay where he had positioned it, leaving Alan to think that it was more of a distraction of some sort than because Jonathan was trying to fix it.
"True, but I do attempt to keep such words to times you actually deserve them. The plain fact is, you are the only one I can antagonise without consequence, and I dearly had need to antagonise."
"I see." His dad pressed his hands together now, and Alan noted that they were sitting mostly the same way, save for the fact that Jonathan was straight-backed and legs together, while his dad was slouched and his knees spread. He often sat on the desk when they had guests, back at the Orphanage anyway, but more like Jonathan was. Alan was confused as to the change in posture but did not quite have the proper connection to figure out why it was so. It was frustrating.
"I tire of this... so-called mastermind position I have found myself in. I am accosted day and night by imbeciles who cannot be bothered to think for themselves."
"You can't let them," his dad said. "That's when stupid things happen. Stupid does as stupid is, after all."
"There is no man on this earth you define as other than stupid, Edward. Regardless, I would -"
"There is one."
This gave Jonathan pause, and he regarded the man beside him with something... Alan thought it might be something sad, but he could not tell through the state of his face.
"This entire endeavour is far more your style," Jonathan continued. "I am tied down further than anyone in my employ, which seems... counter to my position in the first place."
"You always did prefer silence," his dad said. Jonathan turned and pressed a pale hand to his dad's knee.
"That is it exactly! It is constant fuss and bother, all of the time. I can sleep no longer, for it never ceases."
"I didn't know you knew the meaning of that word."
"I know it less now than I ever did." Alan thought his hand might have tightened on his dad's leg. "Not that you look one to talk."
"That's your fault, not mine."
"Perhaps. But I have wandered. I came here that day because I was in a mood and you were about the only person I knew wherein murder would not be a consequence of our interaction."
"Always coming to see me when you want something," his dad said bitterly, and he stood up.
"I didn't – "
"Oh, you did. I know that and still I let you do it anyway. So tell me, old man: what have you come for this time?"
Jonathan's hand folded up now that it had nothing to wrap itself around. "I may have wondered in passing if you have any of those… kerchiefs with the lotion on them."
"All of them do," his dad said, and he rounded the desk to open one of the drawers. "Unfortunately for you, none of them coordinate with your usual attire."
"I would expect no different." Jonathan accepted the folded cloth and pressed it underneath his nose, but that was all he did with it. Alan was confused. His dad usually just blew his nose and put it away. Was there another use for these things?
"While you're here, I don't suppose you'd care to see what I've lost sleep for you building." His dad had his hands in his pockets and was looking in the direction of the entrance to the factory, and he still looked resentful. He caught Alan's eye for a moment but did not acknowledge it.
"I would," Jonathan responded, and he stood as well, albeit more slowly than his dad had. Alan wondered just what was wrong with his leg. His dad regarded Jonathan for a long moment.
"It's uh… it's downstairs," he said finally, and when the two of them moved in that direction Alan followed a little behind.
Despite his frailty and injury, Jonathan seemed more or less to walk at a normal pace; his dad brought them to the centre of the room in about the same amount of time as he did normally. Once there Jonathan looked up at the factory with a kind of… subdued awe, maybe. Alan was having an extremely hard time gauging his expressions.
"This is truly a wonder, old friend," Jonathan said, and when he looked at the man next to him he smiled just a little. "I do believe you are the only one who could achieve such a thing as this."
His dad sighed through his nose. "In this amount of time? Yes. You are a horrendous pain in the neck, Jonathan. But I need not spend so much time on your plans anymore. These robots will take care of all of that."
"I am proud of you," Jonathan said softly.
"Be careful," his dad mumbled, which took Alan aback, "someone might think you hold me in some esteem if you keep on like this."
Alan was becoming increasingly confused as to his dad's behaviour around this man. Yes, his dad was working for Jonathan, but what was with his submissive markers? He wasn't standing straight, or speaking with his normal inflections, he wasn't even looking at Jonathan most of the time! If this was what friendship did to someone, Alan was grateful he did not have any friends. And it made him further suspicious of Jonathan who, save for his clothes, was not really acting any different than he had been last time. He was talking less aggressively perhaps, but he was clearly no less in control now than he had been previously.
"You are giving this to me, truly," Jonathan was saying. "You don't need me at all. You could take the city alone."
"That was never the point. Besides. I don't have the equipment to build more than three hundred of them, and even that's a stretch. People don't leave their hardware lying around like they used to." He smiled. "But it's the least I can do. You're likely to keel over after all of this."
Jonathan snorted. "I cannot say I will be surprised if I do." He was still regarding the factory with an appraising eye, and truth be told there was plenty to look at. Alan was familiar with only the external sections, such as the conveyors and the bridge, as his dad had done the inner workings of the facility before Alan had been built. There were probably a lot of things about this place he didn't know.
"Ah, Edward. Sometimes I imagine I could do this forever. A man's life work is never done, after all."
"Mm," his dad said.
"And then I wake up," Jonathan continued, a little wistfully Alan thought, "and remember I am old and tired and in pain."
His dad looked up at Jonathan for a long moment, then pushed up his glasses, crossing his arms after he did so.
"Forever's a long time," he said.
"You will keep your promise?"
"I told you I would," his dad answered, frowning. "When we had that private meeting. You couldn't have forgotten already."
"I have not." Jonathan shifted his shoulders deliberately. "But I have always had my doubts that you ever truly intended to retire. Bluntly, you are addicted to the game, Edward, and if you must be torn from it I'm afraid I no longer have the energy to do so. It is not personal. But my taste for a fight of any kind has paled. If you change your mind I will not argue, but you will not hear from me again."
His dad took a long breath.
"You'd be right," he said, slowly. "But circumstances have arisen that forced me to reassess my stance. It's less about whether I can, and more about…"
"Whether you should," Jonathan finished. "Well, whatever your final decision turns out to be I shall respect it. You know which one I would advise."
"As my self-appointed doctor?"
"No," Jonathan said. "As your friend." And he walked away, to look over the computer equipment that had yet to be defensed. His dad looked after him, and his hands were opening and closing and his face confused. If Alan had been bold enough, he would have told his dad to let this man leave and not come back as he had just said he would. He felt almost helpless. What was it that Alan wasn't seeing? Why was this man his dad's friend? Retire from what? What was the promise?
It was then he realised there was a great, great deal of things about his dad he did not know, and it scared him.
He was again unnerved when his dad stepped forward and, without any signs of indication whatsoever, put his arms around Jonathan's waist! His nose was pressed into Jonathan's neck, and Jonathan sighed and put one of his hands on one of the clasping arms. His head was bowed and slightly in the direction of his left shoulder.
"It seems your brain is not the only muscle you know how to enhance."
His dad laughed, and his smile did not fade when he said, "I didn't think you'd deign to notice."
"I notice everything. But where would the fun be if I indulged you as much as you wanted, hm? If you came to expect it, the meaning would be lost." He tapped the arm he was holding with his index finger. "It's the withholding that makes it all the better."
"There's a such thing as being too stingy with your compliments," his dad grumbled.
"Mm. Well, I've no doubt the rest of you is equally impressive, but unfortunately I must leave without looking." And when Jonathan gently removed his dad's arms he met no resistance.
"You could stay the night," his dad said, once Jonathan faced him again. "The Orphanage has beds, and I promise no shenanigans. I will not even go near the room if you want. You can sleep in peace there."
But before he had even finished speaking, Jonathan was already shaking his head. "I should not have come in the first place. You know that if I am found here the entire operation would be under suspicion. People with more curiosity than is needed are already wondering why you have certain privileges. There are some privileges that cannot come even close to discovery."
"Privileges," his dad said, and for some reason he was still smiling. "Is that what these visits are now."
"Certainly," Jonathan told him. "I am the only person who has been given the honour of viewing your factory, am I not?"
Alan did not understand why – all of the interactions he'd seen taken together, his dad could do much, much better than Jonathan – but his dad looked happier now than Alan had ever seen him before. And Alan wanted badly to advise him to stay away from Jonathan, that everything pointed to Jonathan being a terrible friend that his dad could do without… but how could he, having seen him so happy and having realised that he really didn't know either of them all that well? His dad could make his own decisions, right?
He felt bad for wishing Jonathan had never come by at all. He had made things so much more complicated.
"You know, my friend, that this part of your role is such to keep you secret and safe. My being here risks your privacy. And we both know how deeply you value that."
"Yes," his dad said, somewhat subdued. "Of course."
And then Jonathan put one of his hands alongside his dad's face, cupping it and smoothing his thumb slowly along the cheekbone there, and all his dad did was look up into the glasses on the other man's face. Jonathan was not much taller, only three inches at most, but like this his dad seemed so small, somehow.
"You have become thin, however," Jonathan murmured, "and this concerns me. Ah – don't say it. It is a constant in my life but not in yours. Think it over."
His dad nodded, which Alan did not understand. Why was he not arguing about being told what to do?
They stood there like that a moment, Jonathan's eyes softly searching his dad's face with his thumb tracing that line with some great care, and when his dad opened his mouth Jonathan used the other hand to place one index finger against his lips. As he did so he said, "You always talk too much."
His dad looked down and licked his lips, and Jonathan smiled as he leaned forward, pressing their mouths together. Gently at first, almost delicately; then Alan's dad threw his arms over Jonathan's shoulders and around his neck as Jonathan slid his hands up the jaw he had been holding and into the hair behind his head. They were holding each other with such intensity, their mouths joined with such force, that Alan thought he had finally realised just what was going on.
He did not really know what the point of this was, except that it inspired some feeling in both of them that drew them together despite their differences. Some feeling his dad could only get from Jonathan, and so caused him to put up with the disrespect and the lack of authority he had around him, and it was something Alan could never give.
His dad loved Jonathan.
And he had been right, when he had said Alan could not experience this and he was glad he never would; whatever kind of love he had for his dad was not this, and he too was glad. This was something too deep, too complex, too much. This was one ability of his dad's that he did not want.
Jonathan ended it, gently but firmly; his dad did not want to stop but Jonathan pressed his head into his dad's shoulder and moved his arms midway down his back. His dad's face was buried in Jonathan's shirt. The ensuing silence was suddenly very pressing.
"I do not sleep often anymore," Jonathan murmured after a moment, "but in between the nightmares brought on by the stress, I dream of holding you."
"Jon – "
"Ssh." One of Jonathan's hands had returned to his dad's hair and was gently running through it. "But sadly I must confess they are worse than the ill dreams are, for then I wake to a cold bed and arms that are empty."
He seemed to look for something across the room momentarily, but when Alan looked he could see nothing there.
"At times I lie in bed and recall the days when your arms were around my waist and your face against my back. I remember that then I would complain and push you away, and now I… I do not know why I was so irritated."
His dad extricated himself and said, "You need to go."
Jonathan nodded.
Once they had returned upstairs and were standing in front of the doorway, his dad took a breath and paused when Jonathan shook his head.
"Don't say it."
His dad crossed his arms and looked away. "I wasn't going to."
"I believe you may have been."
"I wasn't! Of course I wouldn't. It's not the time nor the place. I only wanted… Jonathan, I just miss you, all right? Aren't I allowed to say that? Do you always have to make this so difficult?"
"You know that I do." Jonathan smiled just a little, and he leaned forward to press his lips into the furrowed brow. "I will see you soon."
His dad put three fingers to the spot on his face Jonathan had touched as he watched the man leave, but he did not move otherwise.
He kept your handkerchief, Alan said, by now believing his dad had forgotten he was there, and he did seem surprised when he looked behind him. But he only smiled and said, mostly to himself,
"Yes. I know."
Does… does Jonathan love you back?
"Sometimes," his dad answered. "Not all the time." He frowned, turning to face Alan. "How… where did you get that idea from?"
You love who makes you happiest. Jonathan makes you happy. In a way no one else can. And oddly, now that he had said it, he didn't really mind. He would be there for his dad in his own way, and that was fine, because he needed both Alan and Jonathan. Just for different reasons.
"He is… something." His dad glanced over his shoulder. "I have yet to figure out what. But today he was here because he felt sick and tired and lonely, and I am all he has. He didn't want to admit it. Never has and never will. And he doesn't have to."
Alan had one more question, which was probably going to seem a little odd and useless to answer, given that he could not experience such things, but he went ahead and asked. What did he taste like?
"What did he taste like?" his dad said incredulously. "What on earth brought such a question to mind?"
That's what mouths are for, right? Tasting things.
"Oh." His dad's hands returned at long last to his pockets. "Well. Coffee and cough syrup, I suppose." His brow creased a little, but not quite enough to make him look sad. "He always tastes like coffee."
Alan did not know what either of those things were and felt a little silly for having asked. He wondered if his dad knew that Alan lacked this knowledge or not. He hoped he didn't.
"Alan, I'd… like to work alone for a while. You can do as you like."
Okay, Alan said. His dad went over and sat behind the desk, but before Alan could leave his dad called back,
"Alan. I wanted to mention."
Yes?
"I know you don't like Jonathan. That's fine. I'm not asking you to. But I appreciate your getting the water for him anyway. It was the right thing to do."
If he makes you happy I will not say anything, Alan told him, a little cowed to hear that his dislike had been so obvious. His dad nodded.
"Off you go."
And he did as he was told, of course he did, but when he looked behind him he saw that his dad had folded his hands together in his lap and was staring in the general direction of the ceiling, and he realised maybe there was a reason for his dad to stop working after all. And maybe, even if that reason was not the nicest person in the world, maybe he was better than Alan thought he was and he just had more yet to learn.
He hoped so.
Author's note
Lilyofthevalley, just wanted to make sure you knew I've been replying to all your reviews and they'll be in your inbox. I'm not expecting you to answer any of them, but you had a couple question-esque statements in your last review that I answered for you in a PM, as I prefer not to do so in author's notes.
A few notes on things referred to in this fic:
- This fic is part of my Arkhamverse series, lined up as such on AO3 which allows such things, and mentions a couple things from fics called We Get Along and Is it Working? Notably, Edward's promise, which is that when they are both ready they will retire to Canada together.
- Jonathan mentions he thought he was getting pneumonia, which I have not quite written into fanfic yet but which I believe he would have gotten after Croc nearly drowned him in the game Arkham Asylum.
- Within Arkham Knight, the militia mentions a few times that they have seen Edward's robots wandering around but are under orders to leave him and the Riddlerbots alone, which would be part of the special privileges Jonathan mentions. Riddler is also allowed to go wherever he wants, which no other villains appear to be able to do (though it is unclear whether they want to or if they've been told not to). Jonathan says that Edward is being kept secret and safe because the robot factory itself is not even in the main game, and all of Edward's important equipment is kept underground, which is notable because that is specifically where the Cloudburst is unable to reach.