What's this? A whole wall of text that does nothing to advance the plot?
Though his nights were generally spent senselessly wrapped in drug fueled hallucinations, hurdling through the dark hours with no sense of their passing, Jonathan's days were strictly regimented so he might get all he could out of his more lucid hours. His train came at eight, the ride to the university took all of forty minutes. He first class, Intro To Clinical Psych., was at nine thirty sharp; no if, ands or buts. At noon he broke for lunch before facing his dreaded 101 class at one and the day finished at five-thirty after Behavioral Science. The cracks between were filled with grading, counseling his few graduate students and all the mundane busy work that went along with the prestigious position of Professor Of Psychology.
A day spent doing nothing made Jonathan anxious. Without structure his mind would wander, and the world beyond his classes and experiments was one he did not like to find himself in.
Edward seemed quite at ease with leisure. After their lavish breakfast the boy kicked off his shoes and suggested they idle away the afternoon back in Jonathan's bed. There, he took to the daily paper and lost himself among the numbered boxes of it's many crossword puzzles. Jonathan spent the time just watching Edward work beside him, brushing the boy's ever growing hair behind his ears and studying his steady vitals. Always did Edward's breathing remain calm and controlled, even when his brow would furrow with frustration. His pose was reminiscent of one of Miss Kyles fat, lazy cats lounging on her balcony, letting the sun warm it's belly. His desire to complete each puzzle was no doubt obsessive, nothing could have distracted Edward's mind from ensuring the task reached completion. Yet he understood well that once a puzzle was finished that the world was no better a place for his efforts. It was an exercise of the mind done merely for personal pleasure.
"You want to try one?" Edward asked.
"Not particularly. I am afraid I'm not as skilled at wasting time as you are."
"You've got lots of books," Edward glanced over to the tall, overstuffed bookshelves lining the wall behind the desk. Without his consent Jonathan's eyes wandered to The Complete Tales Of Washington Irving.
"I've read them all," he said quietly, "more than once."
"You could read the rest of the newspaper. According to the headlines, those Italians are stirring up some real trouble in Africa."
"I care very little about that miserable mess half way around the world." Edward set aside the paper and rolled over so he and Jonathan were facing one another.
"What do you do when work's all done?" He asked. "Harvey would drink. A lot." Jonathan truly did not know how to answer the question. Work was never done, that was how Jonathan structured his world. Even in sleep he was a guinea pig to his own drugs. The only activity in his life that might be defined as recreational was the time spent planning out his newest experiments.
"I write complex, theoretical chemical equations," Jonathan made certain he put effort into 'theoretical'.
"Can I see them?" Edward's eyes lacked the excitement that had set them alight when he grabbed the morning paper and his hands did not tremble with the same manic giddiness as when he took up the pen (a pen! Cocksure little brat!). The want to see the equations though was just as intensely palpable. As freeing as the previous nights activities had been, both Jonathan and Edward were men of the mind and an exchange of ideas held a unique intimacy all it's own.
Jonathan got to his feet.
"Have you ever seen the periodic table of elements?" He asked, removing one of his more recent chemistry books from the shelf as the table had been updated since his own college days.
"Maybe," Edward probably had not but the boy was not one to admit ignorance on any subject. Jonathan brought the large book over to the bed and laid it open over his lap. Edward curled his body around the professor, lying his head on Jonathan's shoulder and making himself comfortable for the lesson.
It was not since Harleen that Jonathan had a student that gave him joy to teach. Edward's questions were all driven by a desire to learn more, not to force Jonathan to repeat himself because of a lapse in focus. It did not take Jonathan long before he was at ease enough to allow Edward to peek into his first notebook of chemical equations.
"There's so many," Edward marveled at the pages filled with Jonathan's tight script. "You come up with all these on your own?"
"Of course I did."
"What do they all do?"
"Well, these all here are meant to increase one's adrenaline output. See this?" Jonathan pointed to a particular pattern drawn out on the back of the answer key from his Counseling II course final, "This is a manipulation of the biosynthesis of adrenaline."
"What the heck is adrenaline?"
"Adrenaline is the chemical in our body that elicits what is often referred to as the state of fight-or-flight." Jonathan turned to the boy beside him. "You experienced such a thing last night with Mr. Dent."
"Whaddaya mean?"
"When he arrived at the restaurant last night your adrenaline levels spiked. Your brain, sensing danger, was forced to decide if you were going to fight or-"
"Run away with my tail between my legs," Edward laughed, "okay, I get it. So, why would you want someone's brain to make more of that moxy?"
"Because," Jonathan drew a deep breath. What would Edward think of him if he knew the truth? Would Edward think he was dangerous? Crazy? Would his affections wane?
Would he no longer think of Jonathan beautiful?
"Large amounts of adrenaline can induce a heart attack." At this explanation Edward began making soft little hums of thought and twitched his lips before releasing the familiar sigh of accomplishment he made after completing one of his crosswords.
"Because the fear speeds up the heart, which stresses it and causes it to fail."
"More or less."
"So, you can really scare someone to death?" Jonathan smiled.
"You could say that." Edward smiled.
"Show me more."
As the day wore on the more cluttered the bed became. Jonathan had pulled almost every book, every notepad, every little piece of paper he had haphazardly scribbled a theory upon and brought it for Edward to awe over.
"What's this one?" Jonathan felt his stomach drop; Edward was holding the equation for the taxus narcissia.
"Nothing worth mentioning," Jonathan snatched it and shuffled it aside, "just an idea that went nowhere."
"Why don't you try and get these published? I'm sure a lot of them aren't ideas going nowhere."
"It is a complicated issue."
"How so?" Jonathan made a groan.
"Your inquisitiveness truly knows no bounds."
"Doesn't matter if it's complicated" Edward purred, "we have all day for you to explain it, right?"
"Professor!" Jervis's voice sing-songed through the apartment. Both Edward and Jonathan shot up at the sound. "Are you home? Edward? Oh, I have the most marvelous thing to show you!"
"So much for all day," Jonathan muttered as he rolled out of the bed. "Damnation, where is my bath robe?"
"Let's just pretend we're not home."
"We simply cannot hide in my room forever."
"Why not?"
"Edward, do not be foolish."
"Well," the boy sighed, stretching his lean body out over Jonathan's comforter. "We can hold up for at least another hour. Then we can sneak out the window and walk around to the font door. Act like we've been out all afternoon." Jonathan did not want to admit it but it was not a half bad plan.
"No," but it was not a half good one either. "We need to just go out there and-"
"Oh my ears and whiskers!" Jervis cried, "What have you two done to my kitchen?"
"We probably should have tidied up," Edward said with a smirk. "On a scale of one to won't-care-we-slept-together, how mad do you think he is?"
"Don't you say a word," Jonathan hissed, "we are going to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. Understood?"
"Understood," there was not a hint of seriousness in Edward's tone.
Jervis was a blur, moving around the kitchen in an uncoordinated effort to clean the mess Jonathan had Edward had left in their wake.
Jonathan cleared his throat. Reluctantly, Jervis turned to meet his friend.
"A coffee press?" He cried, "you know coffee upsets your stomach and," if it were possible, Jervis's expression became contorted with even greater horror, "and are you wearing a bath robe? At four in the afternoon? Heavens, I leave for one day and everything just falls apart!"
Jervis exercised no restraint as he went through his list of complaints; bemoaning his kitchen, Jonathan's dress and the state of greasy drug store breakfast and the havoc they wreck on one's digestion. Jonathan watched the contained coniption with a sort of disinterest. He had learned in the past whenever Jervis was upset to let the madness run it's course. Not even a skilled psychologist like himself could string together the right words to talk Jervis down from his ledge.
"Jervis?" Jonathan tured at the sound of Edward's voice. A moment ago the boy had been standing behind him, yet the request for Jervis's attention had come from elsewhere.
"Jervis," Edward said again before stepping out from the butler's pantry, "what is this lovely little thing?" In his hand was a tall black satin top hat with a teal velour band. At it's sight Jervis lost all interest in his trashed kitchen and ran to Edward's side.
"Oh yes! This is what I wanted to show you!" He practically squealed, delicately taking the hat back from Edward as if it were a new born baby, "I won it on a bet last night at the club; poker, queen high!"
"It's divine!"
"Yes?"
"Oh absolutely! I am just green with envy. Professor," Edward turned to Jonathan, who was still trying to figure out how Edward had detected that there was a tasteless top hat in the butler's pantry. "What do you think of Jervis's new hat?"
I think he's the one who lost the bet. Jonathan could practically feel the words on the tip of his tongue. It was truly an offensive hat, made worse by the fact that Jervis loved to color coordinate every outfit which meant the man was going to introduce teal into his wardrobe and-
"Professor?" Edward asked again, his tone implying that, for everyone's good, Jonathan better agree that it was the damn finest hat he had ever seen.
"It is very nice."
Jervis smiled. Not for the compliment, it was incredibly transparent. In all his years, Jonathan had only imparted a handful of kind comments, genuine or otherwise. There was no doubt that the man loathed the top hat but the fact he would keep his feelings to himself in tandem with a hollow compliment was as good as anyone could get from Jonathan Crane.
"Thank you," Jervis nodded, "I do value your opinion." He turned to Edward, "And thank you." Certainly the compliment would not have come without Edward's beguiling nature.
"Quite welcome, Jervis. But what you need to do now is go to your room and put together an ensemble worthy of such a cherry item."
"Oh, I don't know. What about the-"
"Kitchen?" Edward asked. "The professor and I will take care of it. Right, Professor?"
"But of course."
"Well," Jervis fiddled with the velour band, "I do believe I have a chartreuse dress shirt that might compliment this shade of blue..."
"So go try it out. The professor and I are not completely helpless! If we could make such an awful mess we can certainly clean it up!"
"If you say so," Jervis looked to Jonathan who only imparted a small nod of dismissal to his valet. "I suppose I shall leave you to it."
"Please tell me you do not honestly like that hat?" Jonathan asked once he heard Jervis's bedroom door shut.
"Top hats have never suited me," Edward shrugged, absently plucking up various items from the mess spread over the counter, "after that little lie though I'm certain Jervis won't put much more thought into why the kitchen is a mess or why you're not wearing pants." Jonathan made an uncomfortable harrumph as he tightened the front of his bathrobe.
"You should not lie about such things. Now he will be wearing the ludicrus thing everywhere he goes! And worse than that," Jonathan's lips curled into a sneer, "you are now stuck cleaning the kitchen."
"Hey now!" Edward pointed a spatula in Jonathan's direction. "You said you'd help!"
"I may have. I may also tell Judge Wayne that in some manic episode you tore my kitchen apart looking for alcohol and morphine and perhaps a stay in the mental asylum might do you some good."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Do you want to take the risk?" It was almost vulgar the way Jonathan seemed to be enjoying Edward's distress.
"Why are you being so cruel?"
"It is not cruelty, you and I simply have different ways about us. You get what you like through charms and sweet talk. I choose to gain leverage through extortion." Jonathan made a slow turn on his heels. "Happy cleaning, Edward."
Edward was conflicted; on the one hand it had been months since he had enjoyed a proper hot shower as he was lucky to receive even lukewarm water from the little nozzle in the servants quarters shower. On the other, he had a strict policy on finger pruning as the sight of any sort of wrinkling on his young body filled him with an unnamed dread.
In the middle of this dillema, Edward was struck with the pleasurable thought that the professor might still be where he left him in the bed, naked and exhausted and unable to fight off another advance.
The handles of the master suite shower had never spun off so fast in all their existence.
With nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his hips, Edward tip-toed back into the bedroom. To his joy Jonathan had not moved an inch since his departure; the whole of his great frame laid out in repose, his back to Edward, his undressed flesh not a shade lighter then the cool white sheets beneath him.
"No," Jonathan said as Edward approached the bed.
"What 'no'?" Edward asked innocently, "I didn't say anything."
"But you thought something and to that thought I say 'no'. Once in an afternoon is enough for civil people." This made Edward laugh.
"And who said I was civil?"
"Any new advance you make on my body will be without my consent," Jonathan warned, "so I suggest you get back into that shower and make use of the cold water."
"Are you not flattered by the fact that just the thought of you has stirred me once more into action?"
"Quite," said Jonathan dully. "I will write upon it in great detail in my journal this evening. In the mean time," he reached blindly behind himself and pulled the sheets up around his body, "I am in need of a long nap."
"Can I join you?" Jonathan heaved a great sigh.
"If you can behave yourself." Edward threw off his towel with a gleeful cry towel crawled under the blankets, pressing his chest into Jonathan's back and resting his head in the crook of the older man's neck.
For a long while they laid in this pose that had now become familiar, as Jonathan had conceded that it was indeed the most comfortable position for them to take pleasure in the other. Together they stared out the open window, watching the curtains billow in a breeze of ever increasing strength.
"There's going to be quite the storm," Jonathan said after some time, "my guess; it will be here tomorrow night at the latest."
"I didn't read anything about that in the paper," said Edward, "in fact, it predicted nothing but sunny skies for the first week of May."
"The paper is wrong."
"And how do you know?"
"I can smell the storm."
"Can you?"
"I have always been able to," said Jonathan, "ever since I was a boy. I could smell a storm before the cows in the neighboring farm would lie themselves in the grass."
"What do cows in grass have to do with anything?"
"Nevermind..."
"Sorry," Edward placed a kiss on Jonathan's shoulder and another on his cheek, "forgive me for my city boys ways?"
"I suppose."
"We should go to the country someday," Edward suggested, "just the two of us."
"For what purpose?"
"Well, for starters, I've never seen a cow, save for in a picture show."
"I assure you Edward, you are not missing much."
"Is the country not beautiful?" Edward asked, sounding frightened that the images of rolling hills and waving fields of grain (or corn or whatever it was people farmed) presented to him on the large screens down at the Hyperion were all lies.
"It is lonely," Jonathan's voice was dark and distant, much like the storm he had warned of.
"The city can be lonely too," Edward said quietly, "funny how you can be surrounded by thousands of people and feel like you're sitting on the face of the moon."
"Funny," Jonathan absently repeated the word. Not soon after, Edward heard Jonathan's wheezy snores and, closing his eyes, decided to follow him into sleep.
When they woke the room was muggy, the sound of heavy rainfall coming in through the open window. Jonathan said nothing as he rose, still naked as the day as he was born, to latch it shut.
"I guess the nose knows," Edward said with a lazy laugh.
"It's stronger than I thought. This storm will probably last all week."
"And me without a hat."
"Keep them shut!"
"I am, I am."
"No peeking."
"Jonathan," Edward sighed, "I can't see a thing, I swear." He wiggled a bit where he sat on the fainting couch. "But I can't stay like this much longer, I ain't a big fan of surprises."
"Not too much longer," Jonathan assured him, "just keep your eyes closed and covered." Why did he not pay the extra dollar to have it professionally wrapped? It seemed reasonable that a well-educated man like himself ought to be able to tape up a few sheets of paper and tie a bow.
But clearly that was not the case.
"Johnny," Edward cooed, "I'm gettin' bored." Jonathan made one last adjustment to the mess of ribbons strangling the Schumacher's box.
"All right, I suppose you may open your eyes." Edward's hands practically flew off his face, his eyes were already wide with excitement.
"Is that for me?" Edward did not even wait for a response before he was down on his knees beside the coffee table, his hands poised above the awkwardly wrapped package. "Can I open it?"
"Of course it's for you," said Jonathan, "and, yes, if it pleases you, you may open it."
"It's just so unlike you," Edward said, tearing into the box. Jonathan's wrap job seemed to pose no challenge to the boy. "What's the occasion? You know my birthday isn't until fall and-" Edward let out a gasp. "Johnny! You didn't!"
"It is quite apparent that I did."
"I can't believe it," despite his excited fervor, Edward removed the new bowler from the box with the most delicate care. "It's beautiful. Can it be," he turned it over, inspecting the satin lining before looking up at Jonathan with a toothy grin, "a Beaver Brand bowler! Just like my old one! No," he leapt to his feet, "it's even better!" He ran to the hall tree and began to pose with the bowler in front of the mirror, trying to remember how he best liked to wear a hat.
"Am I to understand by your reaction that you are pleased?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" Edward sang. "A thousand times, yes. It's absolutely the most!" Jonathan could not explain it, but the wider and wider Edward's smile grew so did his love for the boy. It also made him feel a deep sense of pity for Harvey Dent as it was now clear the man might not have always been acting under his own power. Edward's smile was like a spell, a curse, and those who fell under it would be compelled to keep that smile fed with pretty things.
Jonathan did not want to imagine the anger that might take a hold of him if Edward's interest were to wander to another man. If he could no longer buy that smile and keep it as his own.
"The proper hat does make you quite the gentleman," he said suddenly, attempting to distract his thoughts. To this Edward made an annoyed noise in his throat.
"I'd be a real pip if it weren't for this mop top," he twirled a finger into his hair, "never had it this long in my life!"
"Well then, change into some proper clothes and I shall take you down to the 12th street arcade. There's a reputable barber shop there as well as a bakery that does a delightful peach cobbler. We shall make a day of it."
"Professor, I would have never pinned you as one for sweet treats."
"Only peach cobbler," Jonathan said with ridiculous seriousness, "I am a Georgian you know, such things cannot be helped."
Jonathan glanced over the hollowed out book opened over his lap: three syringes, six vials, an amputation tourniquet and a handful of unused needles. His whole life used to be inside this book. Everything he knew, everything he was.
Two months. It had been two months since Jonathan had put a needle to a vein, pulled back the plunger and sent his mind to dark places. Since then he had not suffered from a lucid nightmare. Sleep just became a hole he climbed into, void of all stimuli.
So why was this happening?
You know why, Jonathan thought bitterly to himself, you know exactly why this is happening...
Jonathan closed the book and set it on the small table beside his fainting couch. The last chime of his grandfather clock had come at two. That felt like an eternity ago.
Jonathan wondered if the safety of morning was ever going to come.
"Hey," a soft voice called Jonathan's attention to entry of the bedroom hallway. There he saw Edward, looking at him drowsily from where he was leaning against the frame. Edward had taken to wearing Jonathan's sleep shirts at night, shirts that always hung comically off one shoulder or the other, making him look like a child playing dress up in his father's clothes.
"What are you doing up?" Jonathan asked.
"I ought to ask you the same thing."
"It is nothing, Edward. Go back to bed." Edward completely ignored this command and entered the living room.
"Can't sleep without you next to me," he seated himself sideways on a reading chair, swinging his legs over one of the arms. Jonathan did not feel flattered by this comment. Edward was such a horrible creature of habit, Jonathan's presence was only necessary to sate his obsessive nature. He was no more to the boy than a safety blanket or a favored teddy bear.
"Did you have a bad dream?" Asked Edward. Jonathan looked away. "I heard you in the bedroom, sounded like you were crying."
"It was nothing," Jonathan lied. But what was he supposed to tell Edward? That he had dreamed of himself as a hooded monster, with long syringes for fingers and toxic green smoke billowing from his eyes and nose and mouth?
Was he to tell Edward that he dreamed of holding him down, running him through with the dagger like syringes, over and over until the boys screams of horror ceased and his eyes grew dull?
"I know you won't hurt me," Edward said softly.
"What are you talking about?"
"In your sleep, you kept saying my name...you kept saying you were sorry."
"It was just a dream, you little fool. Now please, go back to bed. I will be there shortly."
"Jonathan..."
"I said go back to bed!" Jonathan roared. "For once in your misbegotten life will you just do as you are told?"
The heavy silence of the hour filled the room.
"How can a man go for eight days without sleep?"
"What the hell are you prattling on about now?"
"It's an easy one," Edward assured him, "go on, take a guess."
"Is this one of your inane riddles? You truly must be ill if you think-"
"Because he sleeps at night," Edward smiled, "see, I told you it was easy."
"What are you trying to do?" Edward shrugged.
"Just trying to help you forget," he then crossed the room, joining Jonathan on the fainting couch. "You said it yourself, it was just a dream. And dreams aren't real."
"I know dreams aren't real!" Jonathan snapped, "Do not speak to me in that patronizing tone, I am not a child in need of soothing!"
It was like he had been hit by lightning. Edward's body became sharply erect before marching back into the master bedroom. Assuming his words had finally had their desired effect, Jonathan paid the sudden departure no mind. He could finally be alone to stew over his nightmare.
"Not a child?" Oh, what fresh hell? Looking up, Jonathan saw Edward standing once more in the hallway entry, holding out a book whose sight sucked the air from his lungs.
"I remember when you brought this to me," Edward continued, "you originally got it from Jervis's room, but it seems it was never returned."
"Have you been snooping around my room?"
"Light detective work," Edward smirked, "people keep the most telling things under their bed."
"I simply forgot to return it, nothing more."
"Johnny..."
Jonathan could not fight it. The hour was too late, his bones were too tired. His bed would be soft and Edward would be warm. His secret was out so there was no point in wasting what little energy he had denying it. Swallowing his pride, Jonathan grabbed his Complete Tales and followed Edward, who was clearly relishing in his victory, back into the bedroom.
The grandfather clock chimed three.
Around the green gravel the grass grows green,
And all the pretty maids are plain to be seen;
Wash them with milk, and clothe them with silk,
And write their names with a pen and ink.
Just as Edward knew how project his voice to command a wide audience, so did he know how to soften the tone and let his voice pour like honey from his lips, easily hypnotizing anyone who might hear.
"Another?" He would ask after each rhyme, running his finger along the soft skin behind Jonathan's ear. The question would always pull Jonathan back from the brink of sleep to release a half-sighing, "One more."
Jonathan felt foolish, not so much that he was too old to lie his head in Edward's lap and allow to boy to lovingly pet his hair but rather he was too big. In that moment he very much wanted to be small, to be able to fully curl up into Edward's arms and forget his horrible dream.
"Lavender blue and rosemary green,
When I am king you shall be queen;
Call up my maids at four o'clock,
Some to the wheel and some to the rock;
Some to make hay and some to shear corn," Edward's chest rumbled with soft laughter from under Jonathan's head. "And you and I will keep the bed warm."
"I think that might be my favorite one," Jonathan managed before being overtaken by a yawn. "That, and the old woman in the shoe."
"One more?"
"One more, you little fool. Always one more."
Sundays at the 12th street arcade became an unspoken but seriously upheld standing date for Jonathan and Edward. They always began at the bakery where they shared a peach cobbler, ala mode, and a cup each of cafe au lait. From there they moved without reason through the arched hallways of the arcade, enjoying the feel of it's newly fitted industrial air conditioner and the natural light pouring in through the glass ceiling.
They had their favorite stores, Jonathan was drawn to the two level book emporium near the fountain at the center of the arcade. Edward was fond of a sort of toy and trinket shop where they sold all matter of, what Jonathan had labeled as, fantastic waste of money. Edward held a particular interest in music boxes, though even he was able to admit with a laugh that it was a fleeting fancy.
"In a few weeks I'll have you down at the athleisure store looking at those spiff shoes they have with the little spikes on bottom!"
"Those are golf shoes, Edward."
"I know that. Doesn't make 'em any less spiff!"
On the first Saturday in June, Jervis decided it was just the right amount of bright and sunny to solicit Edward to a croquet match.
"Jonathan will never play me, he thinks it's a silly game. But you," Jervis smiled wide like a crocodile, "I'm certain you're up to the challenge."
"I'd be more than happy to join you in a game of croquet," said Edward, "right after you teach me the rules."
Jervis did exactly that as he went about setting up the wickets. Edward followed behind, proudly spinning his selected green mallet and pestering the older man with a million questions. Both he a Jervis were dressed for the weather; colorful lightweight cardigans and linen pants with almost identical brown leather penny loafers.
"You look like the cover of the Schumacher's summer catalogue!" Jonathan barked at them from where he had settled on the far corner of their tiny lawn; a tea pitcher stuffed with lemon wedges at his side and a wood plank Adirondack chair under his bony backside. On his head sat his ever unpopular pork pie hat which Jonathan insisted was necessary to keep himself from getting sunburned.
"He says these things as if we should be offended," Jervis laughed.
"He's just mad because he knows, ugly hat or no, he's going to freckle!"
"It's true! The poor dear!"
"I can hear you two talking about me!"
"Oh, be quiet!" Edward jokingly commanded, "Or else we'll play connect-the-dots on your face while you sleep tonight!" At this Jervis broke out into a guffaw while Jonathan sank down, arms crossed into his chair.
The game began and, more or less, ran a smooth course. It was not clear if Edward fully understood the rules as Jervis had explained them, but just the same he walked the croquet court with the swagger of one well learned in the game.
"Silly little peacock," Jonathan mused as Edward made another one of his flamboyant attempts to knock a ball across the yard.
"Yoo-Hoo! Heya boys!" A shrill voice called from the noon-time crowds cluttered the streets. "Professor, Jervis!" The men all looked up at the greeting.
"Miss Harleen!" Jervis was first to recognize the blonde bounding carelessly across traffic to meet them, kicking up the hem of her wide leg trousers as she did so, "Why, it's been a year and a day! How are you my dear?" He went to meet the girl at the gate.
"I'm doin' fine thanks," Harleen handed off a bundle of blooming sunshine and burnt orange to Jervis, "brought ya a present: Tahiti daffodils."
"My, my! Aren't these a sight! I shall set them in a vase immediately." Jervis quickly turned and headed back into the apartment.
"Miss Harleen," Jonathan crossed the small yard to greet her next. In lieu of one of her powerful hugs Harleen reached up on her tip toes and gave him a quick squeezed around the neck and kiss on the cheek.
"It'd been a while since I heard from ya. Just wanted tah see if you were okay."
"Sweet girl," Jonathan smiled, "I am quite well, thank you." As they parted Harleen's eyes flitted to Edward, standing off to the side of the yard.
"You wanna introduce me to yer friend?" She asked.
"Oh?" Jonathan followed her stare, "Him? I suppose," he turned and invited Edward to join his side, "Miss Harleen Quinzell, may I introduce Mr. Edward Nygma."
"Nice tah meet cha," Harleen held out her hand.
"Likewise," Edward took it and placed a kiss upon the girl's tiny knuckles. "Professor," he glanced slyly to Jonathan, "where have you been hiding this pretty little bird at?"
"I was 'bout to ask him the same thing!" Both Harleen and Edward laughed. Jonathan rolled his eyes.
"Harleen works at the Pretty Poison flower shop down on 6th and Vine, I'm certain you've heard of it."
"Absolutely!" Edward beamed, "I've gotten more than my fair share of lovely bouquets wrapped up in their big green boxes!"
"Oh, don't tell me! Are you the 'Eddie Dearest' I've had tah pen many a letter for?"
"The very same!" In an instant Harleen's arms were linked with Edward's, her worry over the professor just a distant memory.
"Golly, it's like meetin' a celebrity or somethin'!"
"Or something," Jonathan muttered to himself as they strolled off.
The croquet tournament fell apart soon after Harleen's arrival but this did not upset Jervis in the least. The addition of a fourth warm body officially made the day a party. Edward was more than happy to help the blonde man set up the rarely used orthophonic victrola in the yard and carry out Jervis's large box of records. At it's sight Harleen slipped off her shoes and began doing backflips around the croquet wickets.
"She's the tops!" Edward beamed to Jonathan. "How does an old crumb bum like you know a neat little trick like her?"
"Former student," Jonathan told him plainly.
"She's a psychologist? Working in a flower shop?"
"Like you said, she's a neat little trick."
Jonathan did not remember authorizing Jervis to buy so much food. A never ending parade of tantalizing treats marched out of the kitchen; deviled eggs and yellow mustard potato salad, various fruits speared on tooth picks and placed around a chilled bowl of yogurt. After that was croissant club sandwiches stacked high with thickly sliced bacon and garnished with the bread a butter pickles Jervis had canned himself that winter.
But the piece de resistance was a key lime pie, complete with fresh cut lime wedges topping off dollops of home made whip cream.
Between it all the victrola played the newest hits, another shocking surprise for the professor. He had little idea that Jervis was such a fan of the new style music, able to carry on a long conversation with Edward and Harleen about Cole Porter's newest musical 'Red, Hot and Blue.' When each record had been played to the end the two youths would leap up from where Jervis has laid out a blanket for them on the grass and run over to the box where the older man kept his records.
"No fair Eddie, you got to pick the last one!"
"Well we can't listen to two Dorsey Brothers in a row!"
"Says who?"
"Says me!"
"Oh yeah?" Harleen blew a raspberry at him.
"Yeah!" Edward returned the act.
"Children, please," Jonathan sighed with exasperation, "decide on something together or I will make Jervis put the player away."
"How about something nice a slow to help us digest?" Jervis suggested from where he sat beside Jonathan in a chair he had taken from the kitchenette.
"Slow, eh?" Edward did not much like the idea and he could tell by Harleen's expression she was no more keen. But they did as they were told and settled on a slow but very popular song.
East of the sun and west of the moon,
We'll build a dream house of love, dear...
"Oh, Eddie Dearest," Harleen cooed in his ear with a teasing voice, "this song makes me wanna dance."
"You wanna dance?" Harleem hummed a yes.
Near to the sun in the day,
Near to the moon in the night...
"To be young again" Jervis said wistfully as Edward took up Harleen in his arms and began to lead her around the wickets. "young and carefree and," he patted his full belly with a smile, "and trim. Been so long since I danced with anyone, not sure if I remember how." Jonathan made an annoyed grunt.
"I pray this is not an attempt on your part to ask me for a dance."
"Heavens no," Jervis laughed, "you'd probably trample my poor feet! It may have been a few years since I tripped the light fantastic but at least I've been out on a dance floor."
Jonathan said nothing as his eyes drifted over to Edward, holding Harleen in his arms like he had that dark haired magician from the South Seas Club. Like he himself had held Edward when the boy had told him he was too short to lead.
We'll live in a lovely way, dear
Living on love and pale moonlight
He would never be able to take up Edward in his arms like that again, not in public anyway. The people passing in the streets would slow to watch, charmed just as Jervis was by the young couple. Jonathan knew he and Edward would not draw such smiles had it been them dancing in cool twilight.
Jonathan was more or less complacent with the frustration of being a human anomaly. He had always been too tall, too thin and in possession of a ridiculously rare hair color. In being an asexual he had found some sense of belonging, especially among his colleagues. Most were old bachelors, too busy and self important for the triviality of love and marriage and family.
But that was not what he was. Not any more.
From over Harleen's shoulder Edward shot a subtle wink at the professor and, despite himself, Jonathan smiled back.
He was a homosexual.
From a scientific stand point it was not something to get worked up over. Freud, the man on the cutting edge of human sexuality, concluded that humans were naturally bisexual. There was some speculation as why a person might attach themselves to one sex over the other but the road less traveled was not viewed as condemnable.
In the real world, the day-to-day existence Jonathan knew quoting Freud would not save him from scorn. Or arrest. It was almost comical to Jonathan that another of his natural inclination was written in the books as a crime. Nothing about him could be normal, nothing about him could ever be socially acceptable.
Though he had become apt at suppressing who he truly was, Jonathan dearly wished that in this one, small regard he be allowed to just live as he was. Pretending to be someone he was not all the time was beginning to wear on him terribly.
Up among the stars we'll find
A harmony of life to a lovely tune
East of the sun, west of the moon, dear
East of the sun, west of the moon
"I don't think I've ever danced with a fella so light on his feet," Harleen cheered as she and Edward parted. "You should be, like, a professional in the pictures!"
"You are too kind," but Edward was beaming with pride at the compliment, "helps though when you have a partner who dances so divinely." Of course Edward had to look at Jonathan just then. This time, Jonathan looked away.
When the sun had fully set the group collectively decided to pack in the picnic and call it a day. Jonathan picked himself up from the Adirondack chair and deposited himself in the same fashion in one of the tufted reading chairs in the living room. No one commented as they carried in the records and dirty plates and croquet equipment.
"Edward, go fetch me my slippers," he commanded once settled, not even looking at the boy. Edward rolled his eyes and made a sigh annoyance but still obediently went to Jonathan's bedroom.
"Hows about I help you with the dishes, Jerv?" Harleen did not wait for a response as she followed the valet into the kitchen.
"I suppose an extra set of hands wouldn't hurt."
They chatted idly as they moved the dishes along their assembly line; Jervis's washing and Harleen drying. Every now and again the girl would peek out at the living room where Jonathan and Edward sat. Her efforts to play spy did not go unnoticed.
"I have my suspicions," Jervis said, not looking up from the bowl he was currently running a sponge over.
"Hm?"
"A month ago Jonathan took him to dinner. I did not think much of it at the time but since then," he shrugged, "I have my suspicions."
"Why's that?"
"During the day it's business as usual, they bicker like cats and dogs," Jervis chuckled, "though, that in itself can be a sign." Harleen made a noise of agreement. "In the evening though, after I've gone to bed I can hear Edward creep out of his room...and not creep back."
"I see."
"Does it upset you?"
"No," Harleen said quickly, "I mean, not because of," again she glanced over to the two men were talking softly. "That don't bother me."
"What is it then?"
"The professor told me about Edward's past, why he was in trouble with the law." To this Jervis nodded his head with great understanding. It did not surprise him in the least that Harleen had some knowledge of what was happening in Jonathan's life. "You gotta promise me Jerv that this guy ain't taking our Johnny for a ride."
"You know I would never let that happen." Harleen set the plate in her hand aside.
"I just want him to be happy, ya know? He's gettin' older and he ain't never had anyone to love on or anyone to love on him." She then became quiet but Jervis was patient.
"Red tried so hard," she choked out after a bit, "I can't tell ya how it broke her heart, the way he never understood..."
"Heavens," Jervis began quietly, "I knew Miss Isley had an interest but," but as Harleen let out a large sniffle he was quick to forget his words and grab the girl a dry towel. "There, there young Harley. There, there."
"I'm sorry," Harleen wiped away her tears as well as a layer of her clownish make-up.
"Never be sorry," said Jervis, "never make apologies for your heart. You love Miss Isley just as you love Jonathan and their happiness means the world to you. If such feelings bring you to tears, well," he smiled kindly, "go ahead and cry."
"Thanks Jerv," Harleen blew her nose into the towel. "You always know just what to say."
"I'm glad you think so," Jervis sighed, "everyone else thinks me a silly old fool."
"Well, you are a silly old fool!" Harleen smiled, seeming to come back to herself. "But the world needs silly old fools. Imagine if everyone was like the professor!"
"I'd rather not."
"Jervis!" Jonathan shouted from the living room, "Are you about done wasting Miss Harleen's time? Mercy, it's almost nine, go and call her a cab!"
"Always the charmer," Jervis whispered to the girl before calling back, "yes professor! Right away."
Just as he had predicted Edward's interest in music boxes faded into forgotten memory. In the wake of this lost passion, he wandered the arcade like a wide-eyed child, searching for something new to hold his intense interest.
It did not surprise Jonathan in the least when Edward halted before the Forever Jewel Company. The window display was sparse with only two black velvet bracelet bars but the stunning diamond jewelry looped around them were certainly worth more money than Jonathan could ever conceive to posses.
"You know what some idiot told me once?" Edward said, his eyes firmly glued to the display. "Money can't buy happiness."
"A common platitude Edward, not one to get worked up over."
"It's the most absurd thing I've ever heard."
"Given your personal history with homelessness, your position on the subject is quite understandable."
"It's not even that," Edward said with a laugh, "food and shelter, those don't make a person happy. Content, sure. Satisfied, yeah. But real happiness," he tapped the glass, "you're lookin' at it right there, pally."
"Do you truly believe that things make a person happy?"
"Yes," Edward did not even hesitate. "Don't you?"
"Though I concur that having ones basic needs met is not the epitome of human existence,it's not possessions that fulfills a man."
"What is it you want, Johnny?"
"Power," said Jonathan, the reflection of the diamonds dancing in his blue irises, "everything comes with power, most of all respect."
"Respect is a commodity that can be bought or sold," Edward scoffed. "Anyone with power only has it because of money, because of things."
"And people who have money acquire it with power," Jonathan quickly countered. To this Edward laughed.
"It's a real chicken and egg story, huh?"
"Seems that way."
"One thing is certain," Edward said sadly, "seeing as how you need one to get the other, money and power are two things you and I shall never have. Still..."
"Still?"
"Still nice to dream." Edward sighed, "I'd look real dapper with one of those spiff bracelets on my wrist."
"Those are women's bracelets, Edward."
"I know that!"
Some nights Edward could sleep. He could sleep and dream of wonderfully green things; grass and Christmas trees, lily pads on a pond and emeralds. Big, bright shining emeralds, expertly cut and laid besides diamonds in the most exquisite jewelry.
Edward liked those dreams the best.
When he could not sleep Edward would count. As a child he had been taught to count sheep, which he would do out loud until he got to about three hundred or so and his father mixed up some whiskey and milk and forced it down his throat.
When he was homeless Edward would count the stars, or what few he could see through the city smog.
When he was with Harvey he would count the man's deep snores, wondering which one might suddenly be his last.
With Jonathan, Edward had picked up a new habit.
While the professor slept, Edward would study his hands. It initially began as a fascination with the man's incredibly long fingers. He would sit and study them and count all twenty over and over and over until sleep whisked him away. Soon though Edward developed a deep desire to learn each of the lines drawn over Jonathan's palms. He began to trace their paths, amazed with how deep and numerous they were.
Amazed with how lived Jonathan was.
"I'm a palm reader, you know," Edward said one night when he felt Jonathan wake behind him. They had fallen asleep with Jonathan spooning him, curled protectively around the boy's back as if Harvey Dent were lurking in the alley way beyond the window.
"Are you now?"
"Are you surprised?" Jonathan nuzzled his nose into Edward's hair.
"Nothing about you surprises me any more." "Look here," Edward pointed to the largest line, traveling from the base of Jonathan's index finger to the opposite side of his palm, "that's your life line. It says that you're going to live a hundred years."
"I very much doubt that."
"It's true!
"Edward..."
"Promise me," Edward said quickly, turning over in Jonathan's arms,"promise me now; you're going to live a hundred years."
"I will not make promises I cannot keep."
"If you love me you'll say you'll live a hundred years," Edward bit at his bottom lip, surprised at his own boldness. Jonathan though remained unmoved by Edward's words.
"Jonathan, please," Edward did not mean to whimper so pathetically, but unlike the man he was trying to appeal to he could not bottle in his emotions. "Just promise," Edward buried his face into Jonathan's chest, "promise me..."
Long arms wrapped around him and drew him in tightly. Under their grip Edward realized how much he was shaking. Jonathan's breath, with it's familiar nighttime smell of Pepsodent and valerian, was warm and heavy on the boy's hairline.
"I will live until the sun has no light to bring," Jonathan began, his voice methodical, almost rehearsed, "I will live until the stars fall and the moon keeps no more secrets. I will live until the seas spill over and the earth falls away," Edward broke into a sob and, though it seemed impossible, Jonathan brought him in closer to his own body, whispering into Edward's ear, "Dear child, I shall live forever."
Edward did not know how long he cried. Exhaustion though eventually took over and when every tear had been churned Edward allowed himself to fall completely boneless into Jonathan's arms and be lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his heart beat.
"What size would you like, sir?"
"Here," Jonathan pulled a piece of string from his jacket, a small loop tied at the end and placed it on the glass counter. "I have heard you are able to determine one's ring size from a crude measuring device such as this." The Forever Jewelry clerk raised an eyebrow.
"Indeed, sir. Am I to assume then that this ring is a gift?"
"Yes, for a colleague of mine. He's retiring next year," it sounded fake. But it also sounded better than saying he had tied the string around the finger of a former prostitute turn lover while he slept in his arms.
"Would you like to purchase a gift box then? We have a wide variety of-"
"Yes," Jonathan blurted, "your finest one. Wrap it up, make it look extravagant. I'll pay whatever you want."
"Very good, sir. We also have engraving options for this item, if you are interested."
"I had not considered it but," Jonathan drummed his fingers on the glass, "yes, I think I am."