Disclaimer same as prior chapters - not mine, etc. etc. See Part 1/Chapter 1

Coffee
by Jack Velvet

A newspaper plopped on Bruce Wayne's desk.

"Read it," Lucius said.

The man's eyes scanned the front page, which only had articles on the mystery of the gala, something about a pop-star, the President's latest speech, and a major drug bust in the Narrows.

"Back of that section," Lucius directed.

Bruce separated the paper on his desk and flipped over to the page the older man referred to. It was a small blurb that should have been a much bigger one. "This sounds like Crane."

"It sure does, but read about the victims."

...of the victims, which were convulsing on the scene. Doctors report that all victims appeared to have inhaled a toxin, and while the nature of it is similar to the one released a few years ago in the Narrows, it seems to be a lesser or even knock-off version of the drug.

"This should be a bigger story. An entire super-market?"

"You're telling me," Lucius remarked.

"Someone is covering this up," Bruce deduced. "Those people were a test group."

"And what of the gala? No one knows who they were looking for after almost a week?"

"No. Gordon knows, but he's being careful."

Bruce told Lucius very little about the relationship between he and Crane. All he knew was that Batman was watching him, and Bruce just happened to run into him at the gala. There was no talk of coffee and conversations. Still, Lucius seemed to know what ran through his mind.

"Watch yourself Bruce. Don't get too close, or the next thing you know those fellows will be robbing you."

You're right. Bruce hadn't been to the coffee shop since then. He felt bad about leaving Lucy like that, but distancing himself from Crane was a priority. He was getting too close. "I know."

Lucius turned to leave the office, but hesitated. "Hey, what happened to those muffins you've been bringing in?"

"I haven't been there this week."

"That's a shame. They were good."

ooo

Batman surveyed the store: three bodies, no Croc. Soon, officers would be on the scene, and he'd have to make a choice between escaping and revealing his identity.

Deaths always unnerved him, and while he found himself grateful for the emotions it brought once he was back at the manor, he hated the way it destroyed his focus. He had to leave, he had to follow Croc, and he had to make sure he didn't unleash the full force of his own power on the criminal once he found him. Balancing vengeance, guilt, and justice was not his forte.

I should have gone to Ted's, he thought. Some time ago, he'd made a choice between hitting Croc's hideout and safeguarding Crane. These bodies were the consequence.

He left the store, acting on impulse, perhaps retribution, and ventured to Ted's Butcher and Deli, just like he should have the second he learned its purpose. No more listening, no more gathering intelligence. This would be a take-down. Croc would be arrested, and no more chemicals would be breathed by innocent citizens.

A feeling of dread stirred in his stomach as his motorcycle approached Fifth. An unmistakable scent of roasted meat pervaded the air, as did the sounds of sirens bouncing between the buildings. No, he thought, it can't be.

He parked in a discreet location and scaled the nearest structure, hoping to get a bird's-eye view of the blaze formerly known as Croc's hideout. The building could not be rescued.

Batman wanted to believe that maybe Croc had a boss, and this was the repayment for failure or possibly betrayal. Such a rift would cause both parties to appear on his radar. The possibility lingered. More likely than not, he knew that Croc was just relocating, setting a fire that torched any evidence of his presence.

Batman was getting sloppy. Jonathan Crane consumed his focus.

Perhaps he should start treating Crane as a suspect again. Start separating them.

Batman descended from his perch, knowing what he had to do, also knowing that he couldn't. Still, it was worth a shot to try, to keep putting himself into the situation and not ignore the choice he had to make.

Maybe I've already made my choice, he wondered.

The sun would be up soon. Authorities scanned the area for witnesses and suspicious individuals. The streets weren't safe for him for him anymore. He sped off into the twilight, whispering mantras of focus into the wind.

ooo

"Ten thousand dollars."

"What?"

Lucy held out her hand. "That coffee will be ten thousand dollars."

"I'm sorry, Lucy," Bruce apologized, handing over his credit card. "I mean it. I'm sorry."

Lucy left him hanging. "Cash," she added, extra emphasis on the "I really hate you" part.

"Luce!" Tara scolded, handing Bruce the coffee. "Did you ever think that maybe he didn't want to put you in danger?"

"Yes," she replied. "I don't care. He should call, instead of being a wimp. He should try to make sure that I wasn't put in danger."

"He's standing right here," Bruce said.

"Yeah, well you also scared away all my regulars!" Lucy blamed.

Bruce was surprised. "All of them?" Jon isn't here, is he?

"She's just kidding!" Tara laughed nervously. "Not all of the regulars are gone."

"Jonny Newspaper doesn't come in anymore!" Lucy snapped.

"That you know! I told you, Luce!" Tara said. "He's probably just as scared as you are!"

"I'm not scared!"

"Yes you are! You called in for your first two shifts afterward! I had to cover for you! And then Danny made it seem like it was my fault!"

"I think I'll let you two girls work this out," Bruce remarked.

"Leaving already?" There stood Jon, freshly bought newspaper in his arm.

"Told you!" Tara whispered to Lucy.

"Shut up!" Looking at Bruce, who looked at Jon, she said, "Hey! You didn't pay for that yet!"

"We should call the Bat-man on him," Jon smirked.

Lucy's arms crossed. "And where have you been?"

"I was here when Miss Tara worked a double-shift, I believe."

"You were!" Tara smiled. Jonny Newspaper began to catch her eye too.

Jon's cocky eyebrow was all Lucy needed. "I'm going on break," the brunette grunted, storming away.

"Um, okay," Tara said. "So...Mr. Wayne?"

As Bruce handed over his card, Jon pulled out a few dollars for her. "Consider this to be overdue cab fare. Nothing more."

I can't use him as bait for Croc. "You don't have to."

"I did. Sit."

Taking the newspaper from Jon, he replied, "Thanks," and sat down while the other man ordered. Jon did not make this easy.

And it didn't get any easier when Jon sat down with that knowing grin on his face. "You should have checked up on her."

Bruce looked up from the paper. "I wanted to give everyone space."

Jon gently pulled down on Bruce's wrist, thus lowering the obstructing paper. "She was quite scared. It was rather obvious."

To you, maybe. "If I admit that I'm wrong, will you let me finish the article?"

"Maybe."

Jon's hand didn't move. Bruce did not care for this. You need to let go, Jon. "I was wrong."

"Good." Jon pulled more anyway, enjoying the feeling of skin beneath his fingers. "What are you reading?"

Bruce set the paper on the table. "Comics, actually."

"Delightful. Comics are not articles."

"Why am I sitting here?"

"Because I made you, and you don't have what it takes to stand up to me." A smile and a sip.

Resist. This has to do with the gala. "Is that so?"

"It is. You also need to tell me what the police have told you."

There it is. "There are no leads." Bruce didn't lie.

"No idea who they were looking for?"

"Nope." Bruce picked off a piece of Jon's muffin and popped it in his mouth. This is good. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"That is my muffin, Bruce."

What the hell am I doing? "And?"

"And you'll make it up to me." Jon tapped his finger on a random portion of text on the paper, looking up at Bruce from beneath the dark hair falling in his face. "Especially since I was so...worried about you."

You're worried about those men. You should be. "Okay. I owe you." I won't let them hurt you.

ooo

With Allie out on maternity leave, Bruce hired Laura McCall to fill in—well, tasked a temp agency to hire her. He already regretted it. She wasn't exactly the best employee in the world. During meetings, or really any time when anyone might not be looking, she alleviated her boredom with solitaire. Bruce wondered why he'd left it installed on that computer.

If only Bruce could see her now. She didn't even look at Jon when he approached her desk, a carry-tray of coffee in his hands. She'd ignored clients even more.

"Excuse me," Jon said, knocking on the desk.

"Hang on..." A few more clicks. She lost. She turned to Jon. "Can I help you?"

These are getting cold. Jon rocked on his heels, impatient. "Yes, you can help me. Preferably before these coffees get even colder. I need to speak to Mr. Wayne, please."

"We all do. He's in a meeting. Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes, and he missed it."

"I get it. Name?"

"Jon."

"Jon who?"

His conceited smile made her nervous. "Newspaper."

"The muffin guy?"

Jon looked at her, forehead creased in confusion. "What?" Her expression read serious. "Yes. The muffin guy."

She snapped the gum in her mouth. "I'll get him."

"Thank you."

ooo

After eight days, Lucy ceased being mad at Bruce, and even took his credit card again. That didn't stop the relentless (and true) statements about Bruce being head-over-heels for Crane. Her latest jibe included changing his surname to "Newspaper."

Which is why she wrote "Mr. Newspaper's muffins" on each box he picked up that day. The other attendees of the meeting didn't quite understand, but they gobbled up the muffins anyway.

The door creaked open. Laura snuck inside the meeting, a bad habit that Bruce couldn't seem to break her out of. "Sir?" she addressed Bruce.

"Yes, Laura?" I thought I asked her to start scheduling appointments?

"A, um...Mr. Newspaper is here to see you."

Lawrence chided, "Seems like he wants his muffins back, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce rolled his eyes at the man. This was a welcome distraction. Never mind. She gets a coffee tomorrow. He looked around the table. "Meeting adjourned. We'll pick this up later."

Laura followed him back to the elevator. "Why'd you take his muffins?"

As if it were any of her business. "It's an inside joke."

"I don't get it."

"I always buy out the store's stock when there's a meeting," he lied. "So he asked the girl to start labeling them as his as a joke."

"Oh."

Worst employee ever. "I need you to send out a memo to everyone who was at the meeting. Reschedule it for three."

"I think Lawrence already has another meeting scheduled with a client."

Bruce smiled as the door opened to their floor. "Then we should definitely make it three. Copy me on it if you could."

"Uh, okay."

As they approached her desk, he noticed that the lobby was missing a certain something, or rather, someone. "Where is he?"

"He's in your office."

Bruce bit his tongue, hoping Jon was a terrible snoop, and walked in. Jon sat there, taking up residence in his chair.

"It's cold," he grinned. "You took too long."

"You brought coffee all the way from uptown to see me?" Bruce checked the door he was certain he shut, just to make sure that he did, in fact, shut it. Just in case. Alternately, he decided to stay at least ten—no—five feet away from Crane at all times. At least in this building.

"Admittedly, it's all a ruse to extract information."

"About the gala?" Bruce sat in the chair that people like Jon normally sat in. "Still no leads. No one knows who they were looking for." He knew that Crane was aware of being the men's target, but Crane's insistence on bothering Bruce had him wondering the real extent of Crane's knowledge.

"This is a fantastic chair."

I could join you. "Do you...know who?"

"Jenny is afraid to go back to work."

Make sure that's true. "Is she?"

"Her boss isn't happy with her. I suspect it's because she came down with the 'flu' recently."

"I'll make some phone calls."

"Good." Jon stood, taking his coffee. Bruce's cup sat alone in the tray. "You can have your chair back."

Bruce didn't want to let Jon go. Has he really changed? He looked for excuse to get closer, lock eyes, maybe more, and just get this out of his system so that things could return to normal. The five-feet rule changed to three feet.

"Jon." Bruce stood and touched Jon's shoulder. Okay. One foot. No closer.

"Yes?" Their gazes latched; it was that moment in the car all over again.

Don't. Just let him go. He's a criminal. Do not do this. "Thanks for dropping by. Meetings can get a little drawn out."

"So I saved you from misery? I should have waited a little longer." Jon walked away and reached for the door. "You prefer decaf, yes?"

Lucius is right. I am getting too close. He knows what I drink. I know where he lives. He came to visit me here. "Yeah, decaf."

"Good. That's a triple espresso." And Jon left.

ooo

"What are you going to do? Whisk him away to that little Batcave of yours and have your way with him?"

I'm not!

"Oh Bruce. So pathetic. If you hadn't killed us, then we'd still be around to turn you straight again."

Now is not the time!

Batman stayed still in the shadow of Crane's single bedroom. He hadn't found much, surprisingly, aside from a few overdue utility bills, and regular, over-the-counter ibuprofen and acetaminophen. He did find the mask, though it was packed at the bottom of a bag placed on the very top shelf in the uttermost extreme corner of Crane's closet.

The closet. He could smell the mix of detergent and Jon on the clothes hanging inside. He restrained himself from grabbing a shirt and taking in the scent.

The light in the other room kicked on, and he heard the sound of keys jingling as they were set on a surface. Crane had his shirt half-pulled over his head when he entered his room. Tossing it in the direction of a laundry basket on the floor, he flicked the light-switch up, but the light didn't turn on.

"Damn it," Crane swore. Shirtless, he left the room to obtain another light bulb, and returned with that and a flashlight. His heart stopped when the light passed over the shadow that was Batman.

"What do you want?" he demanded, angry.

For a brief moment, Batman hoped his voice wouldn't give; he'd been talking to Crane so often now that it would be relatively easy to not only recognize the tone of his voice, but the nuances in speech too. "Those men from the gala two weeks ago. What do they want?"

"You tell me."

"Your formula is being used on test subjects around the city."

"And since you don't have me pinned against my own wall, I suppose that you believe I'm not behind it." Batman didn't answer. "You've put me through hell, Bat. I'm not telling you a thing."

"The news about it is being squashed. An insider working for you?"

"Possibly. I don't know. I probably know less than you do."

"Let's start with what you do know."

"I read the news, Bat. I connected it just as you have. As to how they obtained my formula or why the tests are being kept quiet? Could it be that there is yet another leak in Gordon's bought-and-paid-for office?"

"What do you know of Killer Croc?"

"A brute. I've never met him personally. But if I were you, I wouldn't cross him. Even you would walk away a broken man."

"Sounds like you care, Crane."

"I care nothing for you, but I want this stopped just as much as you do."

"Then tell me what you know."

"I've already told you," Crane said. "I don't know anything. Though..." The flashlight's beam went askew.

Batman's eyes wandered to the dimly lit skin of Jonathan's chest. Refocusing, he watched the more important parts of Crane as the doctor perused his mind for the rest of that sentence.

"...The formula would induce hallucinations. Possibly recurring, though not constant."

"The cure?"

"Whatever you did for the Narrows should work fine. I won't help you if you don't remember."

It doesn't work, thought Batman.

Crane pointed at him with his flashlight. "Get the hell out," he growled. Batman had beat him to it.

ooo

Bruce would be lying if he said he didn't feel guilty about breaking into Crane's apartment last night to rummage through his things. He'd also be a complete frigging idiot for admitting that he broke into someone's place.

He'd also be lying if he said he didn't think of Crane for those few moments before slumber. He wanted him bad now. It became a bit much.

So naturally, he decided the best course of action was to drop the whole thing and never see Crane again. Try as he did to make that happen, it just wasn't an option. Croc's operation never halted after the fire, and all Batman and the police could do was pick up the messes. Someone good had to be pulling the strings, and since no violence erupted around his gang, the fire was definitely a clean-up to eliminate leads.

That's why he stopped by to pick up a dozen muffins and two coffees at Le Café. That and the guilt. Jon wasn't there, and Bruce decided it was his turn to drop by, all in the name of research.

Bruce pulled up to Jon's building at 9 in the morning. At 9:02, Crane answered the door, tentative and suspicious.

"What?"

"I brought breakfast."

"Go away." The door shut.

Bruce knocked again. "You said I owe you a muffin."

The door opened. "You do. Yet I see twelve. I don't need interest. Do I look like the mob to you?"

"Peace offering?"

"Fine."

Jon's home was certainly brighter during the day; the small, one-bedroom apartment had an open layout, but scarcely furnished. Bruce recalled how easy the lack of items made his night, but in the daytime, it looked sad and pathetic. Bruce noticed a chill when he made it inside; he deduced that the overdue utility bills had something to do with it, then wondered why Jon didn't cut Le Café from his budget.

The more urgent thought? Jon looked good in a blue tee and pitch-black pajama bottoms.

"Excuse my wardrobe. I wasn't expecting you."

Bruce blushed. "Did I wake you?"

"I was already awake. I just don't see the sense in getting dressed two hours before going out." Jon pulled down some napkins from the top of refrigerator and handed some to Bruce. "Why are you here?"

"Like I said—"

"Breakfast. Of course."

"Snippy?"

"I didn't sleep well last night, but it's none of your concern."

Actually, it is. "I fixed the problem with Jenny."

"She will thank you." He reached for yesterday's newspaper. "You didn't bring a fresh one for me."

"I was supposed to? I thought you said you didn't collect interest."

"It's common for the guest to bring gifts to the host," Jon smiled. "Sit already?"

Bruce looked at the two bar-stools set beside a rather narrow breakfast nook extending from Jon's counter. "Okay," he complied, sitting.

"Your coat?" Jon held out his hands.

"You want me to stay?"

"You have to help me with that crossword."

"Ah..." Bruce removed his coat and handed it to Jon, who promptly set it on the second stool, a rather cheeky-bastard thing to do.

Circling around to the opposite side of the very narrow eating surface, he folded the paper to the crossword and set it right next to Bruce's hand, which picked at a muffin. Jon blamed the narrowness of the counter. "It's about ritzy things," he explained, picking up a pencil.

"It's blank," Bruce noticed.

"I thought you'd like it. Here. Wayne...blank. Five letters."

"Manor."

"Not Bruce?"

"Wayne comma blank?"

"Wayne blank."

"You know the answer."

"I was making sure you were smart enough to know too." Jon followed the statement with a smug swig of coffee. "Soy. Good boy. Next."

Bruce rested his chin in his palm and read the upside-down text. "That one," he pointed, "is easy."

Jon leaned in, tapping the eraser end of the pencil against his lips. "They're all easy."

Watching the rubber hit those soft, pink pillows, Bruce thought, Cut it out. "Why do them then?"

Jon bopped him lightly on the nose with the pencil. "Because they keep me sane." A statement with a grain of truth.

The counter got narrower with every second. Bruce's fingers dug deep into his leg. Even as Batman, he'd never been this close to Crane. To Jon. "What is it, then?"

"It's 'charity,'" Jon answered, penciling the word in. "Just like your visit."

"This isn't charity," Bruce said. "It's..." Reconnaissance? No. "...Repayment."

The eraser moved from Jon's lips to trace the creases of Bruce's mouth. "I think it's something else entirely."

"Why bother training to uphold our legacy? You're ruining it all, Bruce. You are a waste."

Maybe Lucius is right. Maybe Jon is right. Maybe I've just been...repressing everything. Letting my violence out on the criminals, but not acknowledging anything else. "And that is?" Bruce's hand clenched his leg harder, while his other let his chin dip closer to Jon. Not with Crane. Why does this have to happen with him?

"Don't be daft," Jon whispered. The pencil hit the counter as their lips pressed together.

Jon's touch was softer than his words, and his mouth even more.

Bruce let Jon lead, wanting to maintain the illusion of distance and keep Jon comfortable. Both reasons conflicted. It took all of Bruce's might to maintain Jon's pace, as Jon took the kiss slow, barely parting his lips as he pushed closer.

"Now get out," Jon muttered against Bruce's skin. When Bruce reached for his coat and coffee, Jon scolded him. "Leave it."

Bruce figured that he ought have expected this bossy, controlling nature from Jon, but he did as he was told, and left.

He didn't start the car right away. Instead he rested, heart pumping, body twitching, letting swear words and romantic sweet-nothings escape his lips as he let the fear and hatred run their course through his body.

He hoped this wasn't just a ruse by Crane to study fear in another way, and that maybe this was real, and that Crane really, truly liked him. He can't like me. I'm...too close. This needs to end.

"Fuck," he swore. Things hadn't been this complicated in a long time.

ooo

A/N: Thank you for your continued support, whether it be with reviews, faves, and/or alerts!