A Meeting of the Minds

Author's Note: This is my most AU chapter of the bunch, and the one I loathe the most. This shows how Jonathan and Michael get together, and is told from Michael's point of view.

I grimace as I yank the splinter out of my thumb. God, these tables are old. My name is Michael. I tend a bar in East Gotham, and this is where our story – Mine and Jonathan's – began. It was such an innocent meeting, and it brought our lives to completion. A 'meeting of the minds', our mutual friend innocently called it later on. It was.

(flashback)

"Come on!"

"No!"

"Michaeeeeel!"

"I do not want to go to a dance club for the night! I have to close up here, count down the till, and sweep! Then I'm going to bed!"

I was really, really tired. As luck would have it, and I say this with the utmost sincerity, my good friend Kris was on about her new dance club, how it was the newest thing and I had no life and how was I supposed to meet a nice boy this way, always working all the time, blah blah blah. She was a pushy little thing. Eventually, I gave in to my ringing headache and agreed to accompany her.

She had said earlier on that she wanted me to meet 'someone'. She said it with a nasty gleam in her eye, so suffice to assume that she's setting me up again. I sighed melodramatically as I adjusted my shirt in the mirror. I hated clubbing. Mostly because I hated the people she tried to set me up with, stupid, fashionable divas who never had their head on straight in the first place. This time, she assured me, he'd be different.

I walked by her house and picked her up on the way to the train station. I'm always nervous before going out on a date, even one of these 'dates'. She noticed me sweating and laughed. I hate that laugh.

"Don't worry, Mikey, this boy's just keyed to you."

"Yeah, right. What does he do? Nothing? Sit around on his arse all day while servants show him the newest clothes?"

"Actually, he's a scientist." A scientist! The thought stopped my thought process cold, though my legs made an admirable showing of keeping in stride with hers. What the hell. Where did she dig up a scientist? Visions of nasally, pasty little men in lab coats danced in my head.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course…actually, he's already got his master's degree in his field." Oh great, so he's old, too. Wonderful. Am I too picky, I wonder? Would it be too much trouble for her to find someone that was smart, handsome, and around my age? I pondered these woes as we found our seats on the rail.

"What's he look like?"

She turned from her window seat to grin at me. "You'll like him." And she would say no more. I had doubts about her abilities to figure out just what I liked in a guy, but she seemed so sure of herself that I decided not to press it further. Let the headache wait until I actually get there.

On Weston and 3rd, we exited. The street was still bustling and alive, even at 10 o'clock. "Here it is!" Kris jubilantly proclaimed. The Mad Hatter. Erk.

Inside, the club was dark and secretive. And loud. The bass beat throbbed through the air as the bodies swayed on the dance floor. To our immediate left, there was a full bar and some tables. I immediately labeled this area my 'safe zone'. Hooray for firewater. Hooray for gin and tonic! Kris knocked me out of my reverie.

"Start looking for him!"

"You wouldn't tell me what he looks like!" She completely ignored me as she stared impressively around the room. I sighed and scratched the back of my head.

"Stop that! He'll think you have lice!" Again, sigh.

Suddenly she was waving wildly in the direction of a table by the bar. "Jonathan!" She laughed as she ran up to the as-yet-unknown entity at the table. He stood up and tolerated her massive bear hug, which she gave with much enthusiasm and much squealing. Then she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him the few feet to where I was standing.

"Michael Alden, meet Dr. Jonathan Crane."

Oh, God. I was shaking hands with the most beautiful man I had ever seen (well, that wasn't in the movies). He gave me a small smile as he shook my hand, adjusting his skewed glasses with his other.

"I've heard a lot about you." He had a soft voice, very precise. Musical. I was hardly registering the voice, however. I was still on his eyes. A perfect, penetrating blue, a gorgeous shape; not terribly slanted but just oriental enough to captivate you. His glasses were stylish and couldn't seem to stay straight on his face, as he was forever adjusting them.

Kris elbowed me in the side and hissed, "Stop drooling!" in my ear. I blushed and ducked my head, but if Dr. Jonathan Crane had heard the comment, he had enough grace to let it pass.

"Well, boys, I'm off to the Sierra Club for some drinks!" EH? "Have a good time!" Oh no.

An hour later we were deep in conversation. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. The high cheekbones, the thin nose, the pouty lips. Longish brown hair, still stylish and looking very nice to run the fingers through. Eep! No bad thoughts yet, especially when he had an excruciatingly pleasing way of holding my eyes with his while he took a sip of his drink, managing a small smile while doing so. He was undeniably very skinny, though I would have to get him out in broad daylight to see just how thin. Well, he's gorgeous, I thought, But how smart is he?

I abandoned the topic we were on (the way space heaters smell when you first turn them on) and abruptly switched to what I knew of him.

"Kris says you have a master's degree already…?" As I said it, I couldn't believe it. He couldn't be more than 23!

"Ah. Yes. I graduated from West Gotham School of Medicine two years ago, actually."

"What is it you do? She has the impression that you're a kind of scientist."

"Really?" He gave me a suddenly penetrating look.

"Yes." I was surprised by his expression, which was suddenly wary. He smiled then and dispelled the mood.

"Well, she must be talking about the specific field of research I was pursuing. I'm a psychiatrist, actually."

"Ah, so you get to call yourself 'Doctor' then," I smiled, teasing him gently. He ducked his head, chuckling.

"Yes, I can if I really want to," he made a face into his drink, "But I'll save that for if I can get a better job. Right now I'm on ambulance rotation, just trying to pay the bills."

We chatted long into the night, the samba rolling over the table and through the bar. He was 25, in fact, and obviously ridiculously smart. He talked about his specific field of psychiatry for a few minutes –something to do with phobias- and then neatly switched the conversation back on myself. There wasn't much about me to tell, but I did my best to make it entertaining, rewarded with his soft laugh or a jaunty remark every once in a while.

At one o'clock he sighed, looked at his watch, and told me that he had to leave or he'd be too tired to work in the morning. I accompanied him on the rail to his stop, far northeast of the center of the city. I looked around the neighborhood while he was working on the seatbelt system (it was automatic and highly lethal) and thought that it wasn't that much different than my own. I got up as he did and mustered my courage.

"So, um…did you want to…I don't know, do something this weekend?" He looked at me for a moment through his pretty eyes and then smiled suddenly.

"Yes." And he got off the train. I dropped back into my seat as the engine rumbled again and Gotham flew by and allowed myself the flood of joy and satisfaction that I had been holding back all night. The only drawback of the evening was that I would have to tell Kris that she was right.

Predictably, she danced around me singing "I told ya so! I told ya so!" I endured it for a few minutes and asked her for his phone number. She gave it to me with much grinning and much prodding of the stomach muscles. I called Jonathan the next day. He seemed positively delighted to hear from me, though his voice sounded strained and tired. We grew closer over dinner tables and club music during the next few weeks. He told me more about his life and I did the same. Though seeming genuinely happy with the relationship, he was guarded. Eventually he confessed on his own that he had a hard time trusting people. I told him I would kill anyone who tried to hurt him, and if I ever made him uncomfortable to just say so. He twined his arms around my neck and whispered, "Thank you" in my ear.

One day, he called me and wanted to know if I could ice skate.

"Sure. How come?"

He paused, seeming slightly embarrassed. "I'm terrible at it."

I laughed into the phone, imagining his face, smiling slightly though he was chagrined at his inability to do something.

"So, the good doctor has his limits! Ladies and gentlemen of the tabloids, record this conversation!"

He chuckled into the phone and threatened me with various psychiatric procedures. After a few minutes of good-natured teasing, I told him to meet me at the ice rink on Saturday.

Saturday night fell clear and crisp. I grabbed my fall over-things and my ice skates and rode the rail to the rink. When I got there, he was already standing nervously to one side. Once again I marveled at how thin he was. He noticed me watching him and waved to me, a small smile spreading on his lips. I waved back and ran down to meet him. We strapped on our skates and hit the ice. He really wasn't bad at all, I thought as I watched him in front of me. He was naturally graceful and balanced anyway, and it translated well onto the ice.

Suddenly, he startled at something on the edge of the rink and twisted around sharply to look at it. In doing so, he lost his balance and I reached forward and put my hands on his hips to steady him.

"What's the matter? What's wrong?" Concerned, I glanced to the side of the rink where he had shied and saw nothing. I looked back down at him. He was breathing hard and his eyes were wide as he looked for the phantom that hunted him.

"I thought – I mean – Nothing…sorry." He looked up at me and chuckled, "Guess I just freaked out there. Nice catch." I smiled down at him and after a final look at the side board, he grabbed my hands and pulled me back out onto the ice. I dropped back to skate just behind him and planned my next move. As he looked back at me questioningly, I resettled my hands lightly on his hip bones. He stiffened for a second, then relaxed against me, leaning back into my grip.

The next night I spontaneously called him up and invited him out for the world's best cake – the traveling salesman was right up Hampton Avenue, an equal distance from both of our apartments. He met me there and we sat on a bench and talked and laughed while we ate our cake.

"You have the strangest ideas!" He laughed as he leaned over me to throw his paper plate into the waste bin. "Going out for cake in the middle of the night!"

I suddenly couldn't resist. As he was leaning back in his seat, I reached out and held a piece of his hair hostage, twirling it gently around my finger. He was surprised but just half-closed his eyes and let me pet him. I suddenly felt brave.

"Jonathan?"

"Yes?" He murmured, still half asleep. He looked up at me when I didn't respond right away and I was swimming in his eyes. I was close enough to feel his breath on my chin. He parted his lips slightly as if to speak, but I held a finger up to his lips. He silenced and looked back into my eyes. I trailed my thumb across his lower lip slowly and something sparked in his eyes. I leaned down and kissed him, softly, slowly. He moved back against me and encouraged, I kissed him harder, flicking my tongue past his lips and into his mouth. He groaned and tangled his hands in my hair as I explored his mouth. When I pulled away softly, he made a small sound of protest but let go of my hair, preferring to let his hand fall onto my chest. I stroked a finger down his too-prominent collar bone and his breathing got ever-so-slightly heavier. He suddenly looked up at me and grinned.

"So, did you want to say something or did you just feel like exploring my tonsils?" I covered his smartass mouth with my own and went with him on the rail to drop him off at his apartment.

Three days later, I was in that apartment with him; or more specifically, in his bedroom. Fortunately, he has a bigger bed than I do or we might have had problems. I ended up sleeping at his apartment about six days a week and eventually moved in with him. None of the neighbors complained, fortunately. Our relationship grew and ended up as hard as a petrified rock. When I told him this, that I thought we were like a rock, he got a strange look in his eye, and agreed. We fit each other completely, two halves of a puzzle. When he came home drop-dead tired from work, I massaged the life back into his body. When I needed to vent about something that had happened at the bar that day, he was always there to curl up with me and help me realize that it wasn't a big deal, after all. Some nights we almost broke the box mattress, but mostly we just tangled ourselves up and kissed softly, whispering in each other's necks. I often laid awake in bed at night, looking down at his face as he slept, so innocent. Often he had nightmares, and woke up screaming and crying. I comforted him, sang him to sleep, stroked his wet hair until he fell back asleep in my arms. I had no doubt that this nightmare was the same specter that had leaped at him at the ice rink. Eventually he'll tell me what hunts him, I thought as he drifted off in my arms. Until then, I can wait.

Fin.