Small Talk (or, A Little Stupidity, A Lot of Love)

Part Two of the East Gotham Trilogy

Very, VERY AU. And Slashy! From Michael's POV. I take back what I said about "Making Ends Meet"...this is undoubtedly the worst in the series.

I murmured in his ear as we both came down and buried my face in his long dark hair. He sighed and wrapped his arms around my neck, entwining our legs together. The silence was only broken by the sounds of Gotham outside the window, and his soft breathing. Rain poured over the neon lights of the 24 hour restaurant across the street. He mumbled something into my neck.

"What?" I laughed as I extricated myself to look down at him.

He met my gaze with those extraordinary blue eyes. "I said 'I love you'."

I leaned down and kissed him slowly and softly, pushing his head back into the pillows. "I love you, too." I turned him over so his back was in my chest and draped my arm over his hip. He closed his eyes and I pressed my lips into his neck.

When I woke up the next morning Jonathan was already at work. Since the Batman had crashed Ra's Al Gul's party, he'd been out of a job. His laboratory had been trashed, and the man behind the funds was dead. He finally landed a job evaluating mental patients at a rather nice mental facility on the upper west end of Gotham. We'd both gone down on our knees and thanked whatever deity presided over this cursed city. Hooray for the ability to pay electric bills! I thought as I sipped the bitter coffee.

When I came home that night he was seated at the piano, his long translucent fingers ghosting over the ivory keys. A minor key, he sang softly in French, completely absorbed in his music. The neon lights cast an eerie glow over the room. I set my sack of groceries on the countertop and came up behind him silently. He started slightly as I wrapped my arms around him from behind and kissed his neck.

It was my turn to wash the dishes, but he dried them to keep me company tonight. Something was bothering him.

"Bad day at work?"

He threw me a quick smile and uttered a noncommittal "Mm." I reached out and stroked my hand down the back of his head. He smiled again and moved away to put the dishes back in their cupboard. "Well, I'm settling in. It's just…" He trailed off, gazing unseeingly at the 7 o'clock traffic mired in the rain.

"Different?" I supplied. He nodded slowly, mechanically, then pressed a hand to his head. I took his hand and led him back to bed, got in and looked at him. He took off his glasses and draped an arm over his eyes.

"Want to talk?"

He opened his eyes and gazed dully at the ceiling. "What about?"

I struggled for words. It was the wrong time, the wrong place to be asking about the Scarecrow. He had a headache and a bad day at work. It was bad timing all over the place, and yet here it was. There was nothing for it.

I sighed. "I want to know…how you became involved with Ra's Al Ghul and his mates."

There was a long silence. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, replaced his glasses.

"I thought this might be coming soon." I ran the side of my index finger down the bridge of his fine nose and rested my hand on his chest. He spoke then, slowly and haltingly, striving for details.

"I suppose it all began in the usual way…with a lot of stupidity…and a little bit of greed, yes. Then outright cowardice…and love."

"I am 26 years old and I have my Master's degree. I've had it for a few years, actually. I was always a little ahead of the curve, I guess you could say. It didn't make me popular in school, but that's not the point. I received my diploma from West Gotham School of Medicine three years ago and set off into the world. Young and naïve, I worked various jobs of little importance. I got a job as a professor at Gotham University for a brief spell, my dream job, but I was fired later on. They didn't want me to teach a certain branch of psychiatry, but I was adamant about the credibility of its foundation. In the end, the dean wouldn't deal with my insubordination, and dismissed me. I wandered through the city's psychiatric department in jobs with no clout, no ambition, and I was resentful and unhappy.

"Then I was approached by a tall man with a wispy beard. His name was Henri Ducard and he was impressed with my so-called 'aptitude' with the mind. You see…as a child, I was already fascinated with fear, I dwelled on it, it wasn't healthy, the extent that I thought of it. Yet I did. I carried this obsession with me through college and graduate school, I honed it, I observed people's phobias, I hounded the Gotham librarians for just a scrap more information. A fixation. Anyway. Ducard. He came to me and asked if I wanted a job where I would have 'opportunities'. I was interested. I was incredibly stupid." His expression was frustrated. He took off his glasses and glared through them at the ceiling.

"He took me to a building down in the city, an unremarkable place, no signs. Though I thought I should be cautious, I squashed my premonitions. This man was offering me what I wanted most, I could feel it. Inside the building, past the guards (again, something I should have taken a clue from), was a laboratory. And what a laboratory it was. As I ran my hands over the machines, I could feel his eyes in the back of my head. I should have waited, not let on to my excitement, known that he would not give this knowledge without a price. I didn't, naturally. I fit their bill entirely, the young, stupid scientist. I was in love with the machines. This was technology I never in my wildest dreams imagined I'd get within fifty feet of! All right in front of me. They had me and they knew it.

"They took me up to a room and asked if I wanted to work for them. I hesitated for a moment, and asked after the terms of this agreement. I was told that I would be able to use all of the resources of their company if I would help them create certain pharmaceutical experiments to test for the government. I never asked to see their government licenses, never thought for a second I wasn't doing something for someone other than Gotham herself.

"A year passed and I had created nearly thirty new gasses and perfected numerous intimidation methods. I was truly happy to be locked up with these chemicals and with my notebook, researching, mesmerized by this knowledge. Greedy for this knowledge. Then the call came for me to meet with Ducard and some of his supervisors. Trembling, I answered their call. They praised me for my inventions and gave me a raise. Then they asked me the thing that gave me my first pause.

"They wanted me to perform my tactics and experiment with my gasses on live subjects. I balked immediately. Use these things on people? That was the original intent of the project, I suppose, but I wasn't fully prepared to be the one administering the medicines. Ducard insisted that this was morally acceptable, since I would be testing these tactics on inmates set for death row. This was hardly worse than death, he reasoned, and they would be able to choose between death and the experiments. I relented.

"Another year passed, and with it came the realization that these were no longer criminals that I was testing these methods on. They were normal people, taken off the streets. I arranged a meeting with Ducard, scandalized and perturbed. His words were much more careful this time, his eyes boring into mine, calculating. I began to feel afraid. He once again reasoned with me that these were hobos, bums, people nobody would miss. I balked still. He invited me to come with him on a walk. On the way down the stairwell, he smashed his fist into my face and cracked my head on the wall, then threw me down the rest of the stairs. I saw stars, I was shaking with the pain. He came down and put my head in his lap, stroked my hair, and reasoned with me, no, hypnotized me. I was vibrating with fear. I agreed to continue testing on these subjects. And so, you see, the cowardice comes into play. I was too afraid for myself to give up my life to get out while I still could," he spat. He breathed quietly for a few seconds. Then a very soft, faint smile spread on his lips.

"And then I met you." The tender smile grew. "You mesmerized me…I fell completely in love; with you, I wasn't afraid anymore. As we grew together, you moved in here. I was overwhelmed…in a good way. But then I guess you became suspicious about my work. It must have begun when I came home with that broken arm that one night, you remember? After taking me to the hospital and back again, you grilled me forever on how it had happened." I remembered that night clearly. His story was as maimed as his arm and I couldn't understand why. Eventually I put him to bed and pondered by the window. Yes, that was the night I really began to wonder about his work.

"Well, the arm was more of Ducard's arm-twisting, if you'll excuse the pun. You became increasingly inquisitive about how my day was, what I was working on recently. I treaded more and more carefully. I didn't want you involved with this circle." His voice dropped, sounding exhausted. He adjusted his glasses and went on, "Then you followed me to work one day. I came out, tired after a long day at work and there you were, waving at me. I closed my eyes, it couldn't be you! But it was. I was more afraid in that moment than I'd ever been in my entire life. You bounded up to me, and I took your arm and dragged you away, desperate to get you away from those prying eyes that promised and took everything! You were surprised and hurt, and it broke my heart to greet you so coldly. On the train home, I was forced to explain to you that you couldn't come see me at work, because I was working for the government and they would be suspicious to see you hanging around. I lied. I lied to you!" He shrieked, wrapping his arms around himself. I scooted closer to him and stroked his too-prominent cheekbone.

"You accepted this story and everything was fine after that…well, on the home front it was fine. But the skies were darkening on Project Gotham. Ducard called me into his office one final time and explained to me his master plan. I was horrified. For hours we argued, volleying back and forth. He threatened me, he hit me, he promised great things. I wouldn't give in, finally, I wouldn't budge. It took me until I was killing 6 million people instead of six to grow a backbone, but I did. Then…"

He cut off abruptly, then turned his back on me. I watched in surprise as he curled up, wrapping his arms low around his stomach and tucking his chin into his chest.

"What?"

He shook his head.

"Jonathan."

He sighed. "Think. When we go to movies, what's the one card the bad guy always plays to get his way? What does he threaten, who does he take?" He drew in a shaky breath. Horror crawled like a living beast in my guts. Surely not. I put my hands on him and whispered,

"Me?"

He didn't answer. I turned him over with immense difficulty and tears were flowing down his chin and onto his neck.

"Shh…shh, come on babe, he didn't get me, he never would have, don't be silly!"

He shook his head violently.

"He took me into his office and showed me pictures he had taken of us the day you came to the factory to pick me up. He had been the one to watch us at the ice rink that one day, remember? I saw him and whipped around so hard I would have fallen if you hadn't caught me. He showed me on his computer that he had carefully documented your patterns, where we lived, when you went outside to get groceries, when you came back to the apartment after work, where you worked, everything. He expanded on how he would kidnap you, where he would take you…what he would do to you." He grabbed me suddenly around the neck and breathed in my scent, trying to calm himself. I stroked his back until he went on.

"He gave me a week to consider. Every day of that week he brought me to his office where he had some poor sod off the streets. Every day he demonstrated to me what he was capable of. I watched in horror…they died, excruciatingly, painfully, praying for death's merciful end. Every night for a week I sweated and dreamed, trying to conjure a way out of it. In my dreams, we ran away on a train, we faced him alone, we called the police, everything. But they would all turn into him chasing us, catching us, hurting you." He groaned. "Every time I woke up screaming and crying, you were there, holding me. Just like you're holding me now. On the night before my week was up I had the worst nightmare of them all. You remember. I tried to throw myself out the window, I was in such a terror. I could have sworn you were dead! You held me down and screamed at me to come to my senses. When I did, there you were. I reached up for you, and you carried me back to bed and sang to me until I fell asleep. There I made my decision. I would have done anything, anything to keep you safe. And so it was.

"I went back to Ducard and told him I was still behind the project. He gave me a tiny smile and more patients. I buried myself in work and desperately tried not to think about what I was doing. In short, Batman foiled the plan. I came back to the apartment dirty and covered with bruises and you were asleep on the couch. I sat by you and just looked at you. You woke up…" He trailed off, drained. I hushed him softly, but he pressed on.

"You woke up and asked me how work was. I told you I was done with it forever… and then I told you what I had done. You stared off into space for a long time, then went for a walk. I curled up with your pillow and worked myself into such a fit that I was throwing up when you came back in. You held my hair back and kissed my neck until I was done. I couldn't believe that you were still…wanting to be near me. You never blamed me for what I had done. You didn't leave me. I was waiting for you to tell me to get out, but instead you climbed into bed and made love to me until I forgot my fear. And the rest is history."

His head was nestled in the crook of my arm. I lay there for what seemed like an eternity. He raised himself up and looked at me, tense and anticipating…what? I stared at the ceiling and breathed, "Thank you, God."

He furrowed his brow. "What?"

I looked down at him and ran my fingers through his hair. "Nothing."

"Oh."

"Jonathan."

"Hm?"

"I love you."

A tear escaped his eye and ran down his cheek. I brushed it away with my thumb and he gave a thrill of exhausted laughter. He reached up and grabbed me by the hair, bringing my lips down to his.

"I love you, too."

Fin.