AN: Just a what-if. The events of Dead are what actually happened, but I'm feeling nice. Happy New Year. In the comics (sometimes…) Crane was a teacher. It did not end well.
scribblescribblescribble-Lovely. Who did the casting for this, I'd like to know! WHO IS RESPONSIBLE? Caps lock? Aren't you a little rebel. Do we get a leather jacket now? NO. I had a crush on Ringo when I was a kid. You're kidding. No. But then, well...David Tennant. You know. Do I know him? No. I don't like him. For heaven's sake, it's a celebrity crush. Normal people have them. Delusional people have them. You have Scarecrow. Shut up. BURN.
Johanna Crane-Hug me and I will kill you. And please tell me the name is coincidence. This is gonna be good. No. No, Scarecrow. This is not going to be good. I want popcorn. We're out. What do you mean, 'out'? It's been eaten. YOU ATE MY POPCORN. I could have thrown it out, like I did your ice cream. YOU MONSTER! After all I've done for you! I comforted you, and taught you to murder... That alone is enough to raise red flags.
There's a knock on the door.
"Would you get that, love? My hands are wet."
"Sure."
He sets his book down and goes to answer the door. It's probably the mailman-he's expecting something.
It's not the mailman. It's somebody he wasn't expecting to see again, and certainly not here.
"Batman." He remains in the doorway, one hand feeling for the umbrella. It isn't much, but it'll do. He's counting on Bats' paranoia of Cobblepot's trick umbrellas to help him out. "What brings you here?"
"Jonathan? Who's at the door?"
"An old friend." Ah, there's the umbrella. Better safe than sorry. "Well? What do you want? I'm in the middle of grading papers." A lie, but it is technically what he should be doing.
"Papers."
"Took up teaching."
Kitty appears behind him and he feels her freeze.
"What's going on?"
"It's nothing."
Batman crosses his arms.
"Why here."
"I grew up nearby." he says shortly. "What is this, twenty questions? I haven't been involved in anything illegal since we left Gotham."
There had been a flu epidemic, sudden and difficult to treat, and they'd nearly died from complications. They couldn't very well check into a hospital as wanted criminals.
That had been their last winter there-by next Christmas they'd settled in Georgia and he'd taken up teaching while she took up a job as a librarian. Dull, but safe. Sometimes a little dullness was a good thing.
"So what are you doing here?" He draws the umbrella from the stand and keeps it behind his back. He doesn't have anything else-too easy to fall into temptation, even with the medication-but it'll do. "Hoping to pin some anxiety attack-related death on me?"
"Jonathan…"
He puts his free arm around her shoulders, prepared to shove her back if necessary. They've got a baseball bat around here somewhere, she can run and get it…maybe a kitchen knife…
Old habits really do die hard.
"Just checking up."
"Do you do this often?" He doesn't remember all the signs he should be wary of, but so far Bats is just standing there. A gust of cold wind tries to open the door a little wider and he lets it. It's freezing outside-it'll snow tonight.
"Sometimes." He shifts, his cape whipping in the wind. "Teaching?"
"Psychology 101." he says. With a heavy emphasis on phobias, but he'll keep that little tidbit to himself. "College students-can't stand the high schoolers."
Kitty shivers and he's painfully reminded of how close he came to losing her that last year.
"If you need to go back inside…"
"No." Her voice is soft but steady. "So there's no real reason for you to be here, then?"
That's directed at Batman, who turns his head a little bit to look at her.
"No."
"All right, then." She straightens up a little. "Glad that's settled."
He shuts the door and locks it. Batman does not knock again and a minute later there's the VROOM of a tank tearing up the neighbor's lawn and a querulous shout of, "You rotten kids!"
"It's cold out there." she says. She did bring the kitchen knife, he sees. He lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.
"What tipped you off?"
"Hm?" He nods towards the knife and puts the umbrella back in the stand. "Oh. Nothing, I guess. Paranoia."
She returns to the kitchen and he follows her, his book forgotten.
"I wasn't expecting that this evening. Will you cut the meat? You know I hate touching raw meat. It's just so…icky."
That's not new. He always found it funny that she could beat a man to death and yet still hate touching raw meat.
"Sure."
She resumes chopping carrots and he reaches up to fix his glasses before digging out another knife.
"Do you ever miss it?" she asks suddenly.
"Yes. I miss the adrenaline rush." He pauses. "Sometimes I miss Scarecrow. But if I stopped, he'd…well." He'd kill them all, probably. He was always an impulsive bastard. "Do you?"
"Sometimes." Chop, chop, chop. "Sometimes when somebody cuts me off in traffic I'm tempted to get out and strangle them with my purse strap."
He represses a smile at that.
"I'm not surprised." She leaves off cutting the carrots and wraps her arms around his stomach. "I've got meat on me."
"Mm."
Fine. She can stay there, but he needs to finish this and actually get on those papers. They've been a good class for once-not too many idiots. They can all spell, at least.
He wonders what they would say if he told them who he was. Probably nothing-maybe a few laughs, a few, 'yeah, right, Prof.'
The toxin isn't hard to make. He could show them, watch them…no. No, he can't. He doesn't want to see Batman again. He used to wish he could, but now that it's happened…no.
It's beginning to snow outside. Kitty lets him go and returns to the carrots. He finishes the meat and debates on whether to start the papers now or do it later…he'll do it later. He's comfortable in here. It's warm.
"Coffee?"
"Do we have any Bailey's?"
"Yeah."
"Yes, please."
He measures it out, pours them both a generous helping of Bailey's, and leans against the counter. He's tired tonight. Seeing the Bat gave him a bit of a fright, to be honest. He has no intention of going back to Arkham. Never again. In all honesty, he'd rather hoped Bats would think them dead and not come looking. A fool's hope.
Perhaps they should move.
"There. Let that go for twenty minutes and then I'll finish up."
She's still thin and pale. Haunted.
As I pondered, weak and weary…
"I thought he was going to drag us back."
"You and me both."
The coffee machine stops and he reaches back to pull the pot out.
"Ta." The pot on the stove bubbles and she leans over to poke it. "It will not burn this time, I swear."
They've gotten better. It took time, and more studying the cooking channel than he'd like to admit, but they can at least not set things on fire.
There's a knock on the door again and this time they both grab knives before going to open it.
It's only the kids from across the street. Ugh. Nosey little monsters.
"Yes."
"Who was that guy in the tank?"
Well. They certainly are blunt. He doesn't remember being like that as a child. Though to be fair, he wasn't exactly the average child.
"An old friend." he says, hoping they won't ask about the knives next.
"Oh."
They run back across the street, not stopping to look both ways. Idiots.
He shuts the door for the second time that evening and returns to the kitchen for his coffee. He really should start on those papers.
THE END