Chapter Three: Love Song From a Different Point of View
"Your friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you."
- Elbert Hubard
Jonathan groaned deeply as he was shoved roughly against the wall, his head bouncing off the hard wood before being forced back against it as warm, wet lips slid over his, the taste of strawberries and menthol tingling against his tongue. He opened his mouth in a gasp, legs spreading for the thigh pressing between them as he sucked on the tongue invading him.
The talented mouth pulled away from his, Bruce's breath spilling over his face as the taller man shifted, drawing a moan from Jonathan as he was raised against the wall, feet leaving the floor, Bruce's mouth latching onto a spot midway down his neck. As the billionaire sucked at Jonathan's flesh, the doctor lifted a leg, wrapping it around Bruce's hip, the other snaking around Bruce's leg, grinding down against the hard thigh, gasping as Bruce bit him harshly, almost tearing into Jonathan's skin.
Bruce raised his head, staring down at Jonathan who was panting heavily, a smirk curling over his lips as Bruce reach up, pulling Jonathan's glasses off of his face, tossing them vaguely towards the clothes hamper so they wouldn't break, before leaning in, drawing the tip of his tongue up Jonathan's neck to his ear, drawing the other man's earlobe between his teeth before biting down, sending a shock of pain and pleasure straight down Jonathan's spine.
"I'm going to fuck you," Bruce whispered, grinding up against Jonathan.
"Ow, fuck." Jonathan held his nose, rolling onto his back to blink up at the foggy water stained ceiling above him, groaning. He had rolled over in his sleep, and slammed into the wall, waking him from the rather...interesting dream his brain had decided to indulge in before the rude awakening.
Arms flopping to the sides, Jonathan grunted. "Good morning hormones, you can go back to sleep now." he muttered before dragging the blanket over his head as he rolled to lay face down, feet searching for the pillow at the other end of the bed before vaguely kicking it towards his head, curling close against it. "Don't get laid for a couple years and suddenly your body lures you into a dark alley and mug you," He sighed, inhaling the scent of his own sweat from the pillow, debating over wither or not he really wanted to get up and face reality before reaching under the bed and fishing out his alarm clock, staring at the numbers with another groan.
He pushed himself to a sitting position and ran a hand through his hair, snatching his glasses off the bedside table just as muffled screams started to be audible through the baby monitor next to his lamp. Standing and kicking aside his pants and t-shirt that had somehow tangled around his feet in less then a moment, he made his way to Jeremiah's room, intent to sooth the boy from the nightly terrors that plagued his son's sleep.
"Get any sleep, Mr. Wayne?" Susan asked as she stood on the front porch, the sun rising behind her.
Bruce grunted and tried to roll over on the porch swing (Jonathan had stolen back his bed when he returned into the house after their discussion, leaving Bruce the swing), only to fall on it, hitting his nose and cheeks on the glass of mostly finished tea.
"Breakfast will be ready soon, I hope you like pork," She held up a piece of freshly cut meat that could have been anything from a side cut of bacon to the pig's entire ham cuts for all Bruce could identify it.
Bruce stood, watching as the twelve-year-old raced out he front door and down the stairs, shaking his head at the eagerness at such and early hour before heading inside himself, scratching absently at the mosquito bites he had earned.
Breakfast had been over for an hour when the screen door slammed again, causing Jonathan and Bruce to look up from their 'friendly' game of 'Who can glare longer over the last bit of coffee cake'. Tom walked in, carrying two plucked turkeys, waving them at Jonathan in greeting. "I seem to have found a lost chicken on the road," he said, jerking a thumb behind him before heading into the kitchen to greet his wife and present her with the turkey.
A few steps behind him appeared a young, black haired youth who was plucking turkey feathers from his hair and clothing, giving off the air of being highly disgruntled for having to ride in the back of a truck next to the poultry.
"Dick? I told you to stay home," Bruce said, rising from his chair to help his ward remove feathers.
"You also said you'd be home by sunset," Dick muttered, standing still while Bruce removed a stubborn feather that lodged itself in a nasty tangle of hair. "I was...worried."
"I was fine,"
"Yes, you've said that before," Dick said, a hint of long suffering around his tone. "Alfred and I tend to worry when you do." Once free of feathers, Dick looked around curiously before spotting Jonathan (whom had snatched the piece of coffee cake when Bruce took his attention away, and currently resembled a squirrel with too many nuts). "I can see why you stayed the night."
Bruce resisted the urge to cuff his ward about the head, nodding towards Jonathan and Jeremiah who had just crept in carrying a tray of lemon-aide and cookies. "Dick, meet Doctor Jonathan Crane and his son, Jeremiah. Crane, meet my ward, Richard Greyson,"
"A pleasure, Sir," Richard said, offering a hand to Jonathan whom shook it warmly.
"Ward?" Jonathan asked, snatching the plate of cookies before Jeremiah deemed them all his, setting them on the table behind him and handing his son two.
"It's just until we can find his family," Bruce muttered, watching as Dick took a seat next to Jeremiah, the boys sharing the two cookies Jonathan had given his son. It wasn't until the boys were side by side, heads bent in quiet conversation that something about Jeremiah struck Bruce as...off. Jeremiah should have been twelve or thirteen by then, a far cry from the younger age he both resembled and acted.
Dick was not only taller then Jeremiah (a feat Bruce almost called a miracle considering Dick was small for his age), but had mannerisms and speech that indicated being years older, rather then a year younger.
Jonathan was also watching the boys, a small,albeit sad smile on his face as he noticed Bruce's expression. He stood, sipping his coffee as he moved closer to Bruce. "It's the toxin," he said in a gentle undertone, not wanting the boys to hear. "It had a larger then intended effect on his developing brain and body."
"How old..."
"Nine, on a good day, five on his worst, though there have been other signs of even younger regression. He's far below his age group in speech, height, weight, rational thought and action...his impulse control is often shot to hell," Jonathan took a sip of the coffee, watching his son. "He's getting better, but each day is a struggle. He remembers what should be...what was, and that sometimes is the hardest part, because he's not that boy anymore."
"Why were not other children effected like this," Bruce asked, wondering if maybe they had been and he just never took notice...let more victims fall through the cracks as he became too busy with Joker and later...Bane.
"Most of the adults and children effected by the toxin received the antidote within a week or so of being effected. Jeremiah didn't." Jonathan said with an easy shrug. "Ms. Dawes was quite capable while taking care of him, but it was chaos, it must have slipped her mind that he wasn't inoculated and by the time they found out his parents were dead and he was in foster-care...it was months later. Perhaps if his parents hadn't died, or he had been found with the others, but who knows, maybe he had a pre-exisiting condition no one noticed and the toxin aggravated it. I never knew the boy before that night so I couldn't tell you."
Bruce wanted to punch Jonathan just for mentioning Rachel, but considering the man hadn't said anything insulting, he figured it would be pointless, and instead stared at his coffee, wishing the kids weren't in the room so he could punch Jonathan anyway.
"Well, it's been a pleasure, mind the door." Jonathan said with an easy smile, dismissing Bruce before returning to table, starting to gather dishes. "Jeremiah, it's time for chores, you can visit Richard later."
"Alright, papa!" Jeremiah said with a grin, giving Jonathan a hug around his waist before dashing off outside again, returning after a moment to put on his shoes before vanishing again, a shout of joy ringing from the front yard.
Jonathan moved around Bruce as if the other man was a particularly decorative statue to be ignored, stacking the dishes in the sink, intending to head to the basement when he ran into a young red-headed woman who was setting a basket of eggs on the counter.
"Sarah!" Jonathan's arms wrapped around the woman, placing a gentle, loving kiss on her temple. "How is Marcus?"
"Healing," Sarah said, hugging Jonathan tightly, before moving back a pace, still connected by Jonathan's arm around her waist, but an appropriate space between them.
Susan turned her back on the ham she was preparing for the Crane's lunch, giving Sarah's free side a hug. "How is Abby?"
"Driving me nuts," Sarah said with a fond smile of her three month old baby. "I cannot wait until she sleeps through the night."
Susan laughed, pouring a glass of milk for the young woman, offering it to her as she stepped aside to let Jeremiah through as the teenager started to unload the rest of the groceries that Susan had brought over, sitting on the pantry floor to stack the sacks for flour and corn meal...though it appeared he was mostly just poking at the bags, prolonging how long he would have before he had to go outside again.
"So, who is your house guest and where is he?" Sarah asked, poking Jonathan's stomach with a long fingernail, causing Jonathan to swat at her hand as she hit the one of his few ticklish spots.
"Bruce Wayne and hopefully far away," Jonathan muttered, grabbing the hand that was poking him again, interlacing their fingers as he released her waist to hold her hand instead.
"The Bruce Wayne?" Sarah asked, and while the emphasis was the same as one would find anywhere in Gotham when one mentioned their prince's name, the tone was colder, a history behind the worlds that was lacking when it rolled off a socialite's lips.
Jonathan nodded, sighing. He leaned against Sarah as she wrapped her own arm around the doctor's waist, resting his head against hers. "I don't want him here," he said softly to the two women, all of his defenses falling away in front of the two most important people in his life next to his son (who was very obviously listening in). "Every time I see him I want to rip his eyeballs out with a spoon...I hate him."
Sarah carded her fingers through Jonathan's hair, giving him a gentle squeeze. "It's been a while, Johnny, maybe he's changed. You have."
"He destroyed me, Sarah...I can't...I can't feel anymore, I can't feel the fear or the joy or the hate or him."
"That's a good thing, Johnny, no one wants him around anymore. You don't need him." Susan said sternly, waving a pastry brush at her presudo-son. "The days when you needed a mask to hid behind are over, you're safe now."
"Not with him here." Jonathan muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose. He turned his head, burying his face in Sarah's hair, taking a deep breath of the scent of her shampoo, perfume and beneath it, Sarah herself. Years ago, in another life, the scent would warm him, the comforting feel of his best friend in his arms, her scent around him...the feeling of protection and safety.
But it had been long time since the scent was anything more then a list of chemical compounds in his head, as empty and cold as his head was starting to become thanks to an overdose of his toxin.
Logically, Jonathan knew he couldn't blame Bruce for the side effects to his own drug, Jonathan had been losing his connection to the part of his brain that controlled emotions long before the other man had shoved enough of his toxin up his nose to permanently damage him, however Bruce was the last person to dose him (excluding Ra's lovely vapor across the Narrows) and that made the other man an easy target to place the blame on.
And it sounded far better then Jonathan spraying himself in the face by accident and screwing his life over.
"How long will he be staying around?" Sarah asked gently, rubbing small circles across Jonathan's lower back with her hand, her heart breaking for her oldest friend.
"Any minute is a moment too long," Jonathan said, wrapping his other arm around the smaller woman, only to step on her foot as he jumped from the voice behind him.
"Jonath..." Bruce trailed off at the sight of Jonathan Crane practically wrapped around a red-headed woman, the pair of them as well as Susan suddenly looking extremely guilty. "Dick wanted to know if Jeremiah could come over after his chores," Bruce finished, looking between the three.
"Of course, if he wants." Jonathan said, unwrapping his arms from Sarah, wondering why he suddenly felt as if he had done something wrong by hugging her.
Bruce nodded and turned to collect his ward and leave, only to be stopped by a hand on his sleeve. He turned, looking down at the woman who had stopped him, giving her one of his "Playboy Idiot" grins. "Yes?"
"Thank you, for your assistance with Marcus." Sarah said softly, before giving Bruce a hug, startling both him and Jonathan. "You helped save my husband's life,"
"Husband?" Bruce said, hugging Sarah back, looking in confusion over her shoulder at Jonathan. From the way the pair had been wrapped around each other just moments ago, Bruce certainly didn't see Sarah as a married woman...at least, not happily.
"Bruce Wayne, meet Sarah Mitchells, wife of Marcus and my fiancee, Sarah, Bruce Wayne."
Bruce mouthed the word fiancee in even deeper confusion, causing Sarah to giggle, pulling away from Bruce. "Jonathan, don't do that."
"Hey, my offer still stands if things don't work out with Marcus," he said, taking her hand and pulling her close, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose before releasing her.
"Okay, I'm extremely confused," Bruce admitted, leaning against the counter. "Is this some weird Georgian thing?"
Susan snorted, using the pastry brush to smooth the glaze over the ham. "Na, it's some weird Jonathan and Sarah thing," the older woman said, and ignoring Jonathan's glare she continued, turning towards Bruce so the other two couldn't see her smirk. "Back when these two were the size of grasshoppers, they decided, in the wisdom that came to every five-year-old, that they were gonna get married. Granted, they were youngins and this was before Jonathan realized he preferred...a different sort of partner so it was cute then."
"Susan..." Jonathan said, but knew he couldn't stop her from spilling a rather embarrassing part of his life to what he counted as his worst enemy.
"Somewhere between high school and college, Jonathan discovered his own sex and we broke up," Sarah added, causing Jonathan to blush.
"We weren't dating! I had a crush on Sherry." Jonathan protested.
"You never officially called off our engagement, Jonathan," Sarah pointed out with a giggle, before coughing. "Anyway, Johnny discovered he liked men, but was far too embarrassed to peruse it and I had a nasty string of bad relationships so we decided, after a night of drinking far, far too much, to start dating again..."
"Casually of course, made no sense for Sarah to tie herself down to someone who couldn't really be happy with her," Susan added, giving the pair a glare that indicated she had a hand in the 'casual' decision. "And somewhere between medical school and Gotham, the pair off and got engaged, thinking they would 'never find anyone else who understood me'," She quoted, in a high pitched voice that caused Jonathan to turn even brighter red, a good sign those had been his words.
"It made sense at the time...granted I was high as a kite," Jonathan muttered.
"And we never broke it off officially," Sarah said with a shrug. "I married Marcus, Jonathan threatened him a lot when he found out and then he headed back to Gotham after giving his blessing and that's the way things are."
The three of them acted as if this was a perfectly normal situation, for feelings and actions to still be between a couple while the pair had split off from each other. Granted, Bruce had ever loved one person in his life...still loved her in fact, but Rachel and he had never really moved on to another relationship while still being with each other.
Excluding Harvey, but Bruce knew that hadn't been anything serious.
"Anyway, enough of our bizarre sex lives, what about you, Mr. Wayne? Anyone waiting for you back in Gotham?" Sarah asked brightly and Jonathan winced. He hadn't been in town for most of the incident with the two DA's and Joker, but he had heard about it. Granted he had tried to kill Rachael Dawes himself, but he had nothing against the woman...for Bruce to lose her in such a manner, Jonathan couldn't imagine surviving it.
"One or two, Ms. Mitchells, nothing serious. I never really have time for a relationship these days."
"Please, Mr. Wayne, call me Sarah," Sarah said with a smile before giving Jonathan another hug, pushing away after a moment. "I should go, Marcus has therapy later today and I want to be there."
"Give him our love, sweety," Susan said, hugging Sarah again.
"Tell him I'll stop by tomorrow to talk with his doctors, I have something to do today that can't wait," Jonathan said, kissing her cheek again before walking her out to her car, leaving Susan alone with Bruce.
Susan set the ham in the ancient kitchen oven, turning it on before turning her attention to the young man left behind, studying him for a moment. "If you hurt him I will kill you," she said suddenly, meeting Bruce's dark eyes. "I don't care who you think you may be up north, or what power your money can buy you, one hair out of place, one word wrong and your young ward will be burying you in pieces, got it, Mr. Wayne?"
"Really now..." Bruce started, only to find himself backing up as Susan advanced on him.
"I've seen what that boy had to go through in his life, Mr. Wayne. I watched as he tore himself apart over his obsession. I'm the one who has fought tooth and nail to help put him and Jeremiah back together after what you did to him in Gotham. And I will do everything I have to to protect him now. He may just be some crazy freak to you, but he is my son in all but blood and trust me, Mr. Wayne, death will be a pleasurable release when I am done with you if you screw him up any further...we clear?"
Bruce nodded, swallowing thickly, wondering how such a small woman could scare the shit out of him after what he had already seen and endured...then again...he had Alfred. "I have no intentions of hurting him, I just...need to know, what's going on, what he's doing. He's the last question mark in my files and I cannot leave him free to continue to hurt people. I will not. Yes, he is some sick, crazy little freak to me. He tried to kill me, my best friend, the whole town of Gotham itself. But I didn't take two months off of my life just to drag him back hogtied to Arkham. It's been almost four years and so far, he hasn't done anything to cause attention to himself...I just want to make sure."
"So long as we're clear," Susan said, turning back to making the lunch as Jonathan came back inside.
Jonathan watched the bubbles in the glass beaker in front of him, the thick white liquid merrily boiling, the steam curving up a long pipe mixing with the thick yellow serum in another beaker before repeating the process into a vial waiting to collect the liquified version of his newest toxin.
Nightmare Serum, a liquified version of the Fear Toxin, interacting with the lipid levels in a person's body to trigger a long lasting effect, essentially giving the recipient Dream Anxiety Disorder. A perfect, if uncontrollable weapon for long term damage to the psyche.
He turned away from the serum, picking up an aerosol can of the original Fear Toxin, running his finger over the cold metal canister before standing and crossing the small lab to his test subjects, reaching a gloved hand into the cage and chasing one of the white rats around before he managed to grab it. He turned the rat over in his hand, checking the number on it's paw before placing the rat in a separate cage, marking down the number on a notepad with his free hand before placing the lid over the new plastic cage, sticking the nozzle of the can through a small air hole, spraying the air above the rat with the Fear Toxin. He watched for a moment, ignoring the curl of pleasure in his stomach as the rat started to panic, before pushing his glasses up his nose, returning to the previous cage, snatching another rat and noting it's number before picking up a small syringe filled with the first batch of serum, carefully injecting the rat with the liquid, sliding him into a third cage as the effects started, hissing as he was bit, dropping the lid on the cage.
He stripped off his glove and sucked on the wound, eyes locked onto the latest test subject, raising an eyebrow as the rat skipped 'frenzied panic' and directly into 'uncontrollable seizures and rapid breathing'. Glancing at his watch he made a note, eyes drifting over to the first rat, watching it race in frenzied circles for a few moments before it to, started to shake and seize, it's brother already dead. He reached into the serum rat's cage, carrying the deceased rodent over to a counter, grabbing a scalpel on his way, eager to dive in.
Subject Two metabolized the serum faster then previous records with the toxin and expired from heart failure three minutes before Subject One. Serum has not yet proven to be non-lethal, though quite effective in aggravating adrenaline receptors to the point of a manic, panicked state.
Subject Three had no reaction to serum and indicates that lipid balance is even more crucial then expected previously.
...I wonder what Mr. Wayne's cholesterol level is...
