Disclaimer: See the first chapter/part of this work. That disclaimer applies to this chapter/part.

Coffee
by Jack Velvet

Le Café was quite empty, aside from Crane, an elderly woman with a large purse, and the employees. Bruce figured it was due to the weather; the early snow of winter often brought a sense of dread to the citizens. After a week or two, they'd get used to it, and life would return to normal.

Bruce approached the counter just as Tara headed to the kitchen for supplies. Lucy stepped up, a visible look of disdain on her face, and took his order.

"You want decaf in the morning?"

"Sure, why not?" Bruce replied. "Besides, it's Saturday."

"Which means it's okay to stay up late. And you can stop flirting with me now," Lucy stated. "It's only your second visit. You have to take me to dinner first."

"No fair!" Tara squeaked from the back.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that," Bruce chuckled.

"Tara! Come take care of this customer for me!"

"Yes ma'am!"

Tara did as she was told, and soon Bruce found himself right back in that corner with the ever-so-unpleasant Jonathan Crane.

"No scarf, huh?" Bruce said as he sat down.

"No," Crane replied, head titled as he turned the page of his newspaper.

"But it's snowing, just like you said it would."

A light sigh. No eye contact yet. "I said that they said it would be snowing. I'm not a weatherman."

"You're not? What do you do then?" The vegan blueberry isn't terrible. Looks like he has one on his plate too. Takes his coffee with cream, possibly soy milk.

"I sit here and listen to the idle and boring talk of billionaires. The pay is next to nothing."

"I didn't know Gotham's billionaires all stopped into Le Café."

Crane set the paper down and turned to face him, a slight smile on his face. "And you don't think that you're one of them?"

He's amused by me. "Am I?"

"I suppose that I can say you weren't as bad as yesterday." An inkling of a smile remained.

Good. Build rapport. "What's today's headline?"

Crane flipped the paper over and showcased the page to Bruce. It read:

Batman Caught in Shakedown

"He's still around?"

"You don't read the news much, do you?"

"Not really."

Crane's eyes flitted down in thought, then came back up with a turn of his head. He explained, "It appears that the media considers Batman to be a criminal now."

"You sound like you don't believe it."

"It doesn't seem like him."

"You know him?"

"You could say that."

Bruce lowered his head and looked around the empty café. "You're not the Batman, are you?"

"Hah!" Crane let out. "Do I look like I have the body of a vigilante?"

You certainly do have a body. "Hey, just asking."

"Is there a reason you sit here?"

"I don't like to eat alone, and there's really no one else in here right now."

"I do like to eat alone."

"You should change that," Bruce said, lifting his coffee to his lips.

"It seems I don't have a choice." Crane's smile grew into something a little more noticeable, his full lips giving him a mischievous look.

"You could always switch coffee places."

"This café is the only one close that has a vegetarian menu."

"You're a vegetarian?"

"All in one sitting, Mr. Wayne?" Crane questioned, referring to the pace of their conversation.

Bruce laughed, face hot. What the hell am I thinking?

"I'm reading the paper. Go be boring somewhere else."

"Duly noted," remarked Bruce, embarrassed and ashamed. He's a man, Bruce. And a criminal. This must be that toxin. Bruce stood up, coffee in hand, and nodded to the counter help before Crane stopped him.

"It's Jonathan, by the way," he said, eyes piercing into Bruce's. The richer nodded and exited the café, both exhilarated and furious with himself. The case, if there even was one, just became complicated.

...

Day four. Or day five. The mornings seemed to blend together.

"No scarf again?" said Bruce, sitting across from Jonathan.

Jon erased something on his crossword puzzle. "Worried for my health, Mr. Wayne?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have anyone to bother in the morning if you froze to death."

"Maybe if you hadn't gotten us killed, you wouldn't be so lonely."

"What?" Bruce asked.

"I said that money buys companionship, Bruce. I'm sure you'd make it just fine without me."

My father. That's the third time today. "Money buys Yes-Men, not truth."

Jon looked up. "Touché, Bruce."

Bruce nodded at the folded paper. "What is it today?"

"Psychology. Very easy."

"Why did you erase that word there?"

"Because the loop on my 'e' wasn't perfect."

"So you're a perfectionist."

"No. It looked like an 'o,' actually. You distracted me."

"Is that so?" Bruce grinned. "Yesterday you said paying attention to me was as interesting as watching the grass grow."

Jon set down his pencil. "You're wrong. I said that growing grass is far more interesting than listening to you speak. Completely different."

"Still insulting."

"I suppose that's all that counts." Jon leaned back in his chair, leaving his crossword incomplete. "So, Mr. Wayne. What is it today? A big meeting? Another dull party?"

"Interested in my life now?"

"Even if I were, it'd still be in the paper. Best get the news from the source, don't you think? It lacks bias."

"Ah, but I could lie to you."

Jon folded his arms. "You could lie, but I'd be able to tell."

"Are you some sort of psychic?"

"If I were psychic, don't you think I'd dress better for the weather?"

"So you admit you forgot to wear your scarf today."

"You're assuming I own one."

That surprised Bruce. "You don't?"

"If I had one, I'd be wearing it."

"Why not get one then?"

"Department stores are draining."

The more people, the higher the chance of you being recognized. "Have mine then."

Jon blinked at him. He wasn't expecting that. "What?"

Bruce unwrapped the scarf from his neck. "Have mine."

Jon let it fall on the table. "You're insane. Why would I want yours?"

"He's right, Bruce. You are insane. Fraternizing with a criminal? How could you possibly be our son?"

"Because you don't have your own," Bruce swallowed.

Jon peered at Bruce with dubious eyes, then held the scarf to his nose. "This doesn't reek of rich-boy cologne, does it?"

"I don't wear much," Bruce answered. He left out why. He found colognes to be too strong and clingy; he didn't want to risk someone smelling Batman above them, nor connect a distinct brand back to a credit card purchase. A fresh shower was much easier.

"You're an unusual man," Jon said, tucking the scarf into his coat pocket. "Remind me to whine about not having a car tomorrow. Make sure to drive something nice."

Lucy laughed from the counter. The two men shot her a look. "What? It was funny."

When Bruce returned his attention to Jon, a knowing stare met him. Jon was grinning, a blush bringing out the light freckles on his cheeks. Plainly put, Crane looked absolutely adorable.

Damn toxin, thought Bruce. Surely it was to blame.

...

"Lucius?" Bruce Wayne, cup of coffee in his hand, poked his head into Lucius' office. He'd just made it to work after his tenth—maybe eleventh—visit to Le Café. Of course, his parents scolded him on the way, but that didn't stop him from buying coffee.

"Mr. Wayne," Lucius said, briefly looking up from the work at his desk. "I see you've decided to come to work today."

The office door closed. "We've developed some pretty advanced computers, right?"

"Yes and no," the sage answered. "What is it that you need?"

"I want something faster," Bruce said, taking a seat. "Something with more access to everything."

"If you're talking about hacking into the systems of governments and corporations, you can count me out."

"Just for background checks and profiling. I need an edge."

"Even with the best decryption software, you can still be tracked," the older warned him. "Depending on who you're dealing with, all the ghosting in the world can't hide you. Any secret hideouts, or say, corporate towers in the center of the city, would stick out like a sore thumb."

"As long as I can cut the connection before they reach me, or watch them as they watch me, it's a risk I'm willing to take."

"I don't like the sound of it. Too many risks, even for you. You've already got access to databases that you shouldn't."

"What about voice commands?" Bruce followed up with.

"That's a little more feasible. Something that you'd be looking for would need to be a little more advanced. You'd want voice recognition, and for that, we'd need to record you speaking, counting, saying the alphabet...it might take a while. And you'd have to choose your tone too. If you want that voice-acting number of yours to work, you'd have to do an entire recording in that voice."

"Let's do it then," Bruce decided, standing.

"I'll get back to you on that soon." Lucius peered curiously at the cup in the other's hand. "I thought you were cutting coffee out of your regimen?"

"Decaf," Bruce said after a sip.

"No point of having decaf in the morning," Lucius said, head shaking. "Smells good though."

"Tastes good too." Another sip. "Which reminds me. Remember when I asked you to make a vaccine against Crane's fear toxin?"

"Don't tell me..."

"I'm not sure yet." The younger stared blankly out of the large windows. "Do you still have any?"

"I did keep some stored, just in case."

"I'll need a few to keep on hand." Bruce sighed. "And I might be bringing you some new samples."

"I don't like the sound of this," Lucius stated. "Does this have anything to do with the recent robberies at the chemical and pharmaceutical plants?"

"Hope not."

"Crane's out now. They weren't able to put him back into Arkham."

"I'm watching him," Bruce told him, turning for the door. "Just get the vaccines ready."

"And the computer."

"Thanks Lucius."

...

The door opened, bringing in a rush of winter air to Jon's table.

He's early. Jon quickly unwrapped the fabric from his neck and stuffed it in his coat. Did he see it?

"Good morning!" Bruce greeted, holding the door for a leaving couple. He adjusted his collar the way that arrogant billionaire types do and tapped on Jon's table.

"What?"

"Good morning, Jon."

"You are loathsome and my dislike of you knows no bounds."

"At least you didn't say hatred."

Jon glared at him, not realizing that Bruce rather enjoyed the color of those nasty arrows known as eyes. "Pretend I did."

"I like the sound of 'good morning' better," Bruce winked, leaving him for the counter.

Jon sighed and turned the page of his newspaper, eyes stopping dead on the article near his thumb. He'd read every single newspaper—even the sports sections—for the past few weeks, and it wasn't until now that he made the connection. Someone was trying to concoct his drug.

Aside from the fact that it was his formula and he should damn well get the credit for its creation (he mused applying for a patent and then selling it as a non-lethal weapon to the government, but the idea of more chaos sickened him), Jon knew that they would be after him soon, whomever they were.

Who else would know the components? Jon thought. The Batman; he supplied someone the formula in order to create an antidote. But he'd never do it. Jon glanced at Bruce, hoping that he wasn't quite finished at the counter yet.

"Anything else, Mr. Wayne?"

"Hmm. Not sure. What's your second favorite muffin?"

Jon returned to his speculation. Darrin was killed during the violence at Arkham. The League of Shadows perhaps, but this is too sloppy.

It hit him. A dirty cop.

"Anything interesting?" Bruce said as he sat down.

Caught off-guard, Jon's eyes lost their edge, and he found himself honestly answering the man. "Just another robbery report."

"You make it sound like Gotham's a bad place to live."

"It's deplorable," Crane answered.

"It's not bad," Bruce said with a sip, though silently agreeing with him. "So what's it say happened?"

"Another pharmaceutical company, and another specific psychotropic chemical stolen."

"Specific? What does it say it does?"

"It doesn't say anything but the name, but I know what it's for."

"Are you a pharmacist?"

Crane's lips lightly curved into a devilish smile. "I was once in a closely related business."

"Ah, maybe you know an acquaintance of mine," Bruce said.

As long as you don't say Carmine Falcone. "I probably don't," Crane challenged him.

"Gilbert Gillespie?"

"The name rings a bell," Crane admitted. In fact, it more than rang a bell to him. Gilbert was the president and founder of the GG Chemical Company. He visited Arkham once, and Jon caught him with his pants down—literally. In an effort to hide the discovery from Mrs. Gillespie, Gilbert bought a lot of upgrades for Arkham, as well as a new computer for Crane's office. "Doesn't he make a lot of generous donations to various organizations?"

Bruce laughed, having won the challenge, but also because of what Crane said. "Depends on what he is caught doing at the charity functions."

Crane let out a loud chuckle. Bruce had a tendency to do this to him, and he didn't care for it. "Mr. Wayne, you certainly aren't very boring today."

Bruce looked at his watch. "Nope, but I'm pretty late. Bye Jon."

Jon clenched the scarf in his pocket, waiting for Bruce's car to be out of sight. This is absurd, he told himself, holding the fabric to his face. The scent intoxicated him. Don't come back again tomorrow.