Warnings: Medical terms, mentions of a biological attack, mentions of past child-abuse
In Sickness
When Edward finds himself leaning against the wall just inside the warehouse, he looks around, confused for a moment.
"I –" Edward pauses unsure if he should continue; expose himself like this.
Jonathan smiles, something that says 'Tell me, I'll keep your secret, you can trust me'.
"I don't have anywhere – anyone else. We once had an agreement..." Edward trails off, his speech as fragmented as his mind, which spins off into a hundred thousand memories.
"Edward?" Jonathan asks, concern lacing his voice in a parody of caring. "What do you need?"
"I... I need a Doctor." The words are uttered slowly, as if he has to concentrate on getting them out.
"Well you're at the right place; the Doctor will see you now." Jonathan bows and sweeps an arm out to invite Edward further into the warehouse he is currently using.
He watches as the genius staggers in; wheezing as if he is having an asthma attack and loosening his tie as if it is choking him.
Edward is pale. Well, he'd always been pale, but this is a particular type of pale that Crane tends to associate with patients who were running a fever that is close to burning them out.
He says nothing, but watches as Edward makes his way haphazardly to a chair, where he slumps down with undisguised relief.
"I have a rash you see." Edward starts, a carefree grin in place, as if this is just a joke. He lifts his hand up to show Crane; a livid purple rash and the skin cracked around the edges. "I thought I'd go to someone more...medically reliable, but you know it goes; you piss off one person and suddenly you're blacklisted..."
Jonathan waves a hand. "I don't care much for your social issues. What will I get if I help you out?"
"The shipment of Hawaiian Baby Woodrose you so desperately want," Edward doesn't care he is showing his proverbial hand "I can get it past the custom issues you're having. Now do you need to do a full blood count and a Burger's test or should I just wait to die on your door-step?"
"Don't be so melodramatic; I'll at least give you a cot to lie on. I've never watched someone die from Toxic Shock Syndrome yet." Jonathan causally walks over to the desk he's been working at. "I do assume that's what you're implying you have."
Edward looks up from where he is rolling the sleeve of his green shirt up to above his elbow. "Would I bother you for anything less?"
Jonathan considers not responding, but he hadn't had an intelligent conversation in so long. "Well there was that time with Lyme's Disease two years ago..."
"Oh I'm sorry, a tick bit me and I suddenly fell ill; what was I suppose to do?"
"Go to your GP?"
"Like he'd see me after the time I tried to the Vicodin scam."
"Shame on you for getting caught." There is quiet as Jonathan moves around pulling the necessary equipment out. "I'll be expecting the normal payment on top of the shipment you realise."
"Of course." Edward looks away as the needle is inserted into his arm. "As long as I'm alive to pay you."
"Even if you die, I'll still want paying." Jonathan flicks the blood canister while it is still in Edward's arm, just to see the flinch it produced. "But I'll allow you the concession of paying it after you're better if you are, in fact, right about this."
"You are a truly decent man Jonathan."
Crane doesn't answer; he just takes the vial of blood and pushes a cotton-ball into Edward's hand. Jonathan points at a cot that has been set up in the corner of the abandoned doll factory. "Sleep Edward. If you are right –"
"Things will get worse before they get better?"
"You will most likely die before the tests are completed. So sleep, or let your end come to you awake and painful."
Edward makes his way to the bed in a staggered path. He waits until the other villain has collapsed on the cot before he approaches with another needle.
Using the element of surprise, Crane jabs Edward with a sedative and watches with pleasure as Edward starts to fade. His eyes start to flutter and suddenly his whole body goes limp. Jonathan smiles before leaning in to get a better look at the rash on Edward's hand.
"Dear me Mister Nigma. This will cost you more than normal." Jonathan turns away and pulls out a cell phone. "I think this will be more than you would expect. Then again, what price would you put on your life, Edward?"
He doesn't get a reply.
Edward doesn't remember the next week.
Sure he wakes plenty of times, but only to the delirium of a temperature of 104°C and that coupled with the sheer amount of medical equipment and drugs Jonathan has him on means that Edward prefers to be unconscious.
More than once, Jonathan has awoken to the familiar cries of Edward, begging for the ghost of his father to leave him alone, that he had not cheated on the test, that he was just smart enough, he was good enough.
Jonathan feels... Well he feels something. The Doctor of Fear decides that he won't look too closely at the weighted ball that settles into his chest when he sees the tear-tracks on Edward's face when he comes to check the IV bag of medicine. Jonathan doesn't understand. He's seen Edward like this before, crying and screaming at ghosts and shadows, so why is this time so unsettling?
He smoothes a hand over Edward's forehead and pushes the sweat-slicked hair out of the way, before he places a freshly damp cloth there. When the unconscious genius tilts his head slightly so that he is closer to Jonathan, the Doctor feels that he possibly understands. He had not caused this. He has had no control over Edward's condition and knows there is nothing to learn from Edward being in such a state. What use is there of a test if you already know the outcome?
When he is sure that Edward is still asleep (and no he's not just been looking at Edward because he misses their conversations), Jonathan lifts Edward's hand to inspect the last abscess that has formed from the initial infection wound. With a quick movement of a scalpel he has it open and drained on a cotton ball. Satisfied with his work, Jonathan leaves Edward and goes back to the brewing of more hallucinogenics.
Now he is sure Edward will survive, he can begin to create the chemicals he will need for the new drug he wants to test on the Gothamnites.
Edward wakes up with a headache and an aftertaste in his mouth that speaks of chemicals. When he adds that to the warehouse he can see around him, it isn't surprising for him to instantly assume that Jonathan will be nearby.
But Jonathan isn't.
In fact, there is almost nothing to show that the Doctor had ever been there; the warehouse is clean of chemicals, blueprints, mugs - everything but a table with a paper bag and a piece of paper.
When Edward has disconnected himself from the IVs and washed himself the best he can in the basic bathroom, Edward makes his way, only slightly unsteadily, to the table.
'Congratulations Edward you survived. Continue to take the antibiotics for another three weeks and be glad you didn't go into organ failure.
I'll be expecting my money to be weird to the usual account and the shipment to be here within the week.'
There is a space on the paper, as if Jonathan paused before writing the next paragraph.
'As your doctor, I would advise you stay away indoors in the upcoming month. Your system could do without being caught in certain chemicals that will be in the streets soon.'
Jonathan didn't sign the note, but Edward smiles none the less. He pockets it as he starts to whistle.
End.
This is for ZenyZootSuit, who suggested I write a sick!fic and this is kind of what happened. : /
Hopefully the next one will be a bit nicer / fluffier. Again, if anyone has any suggestions, I'm much more likely to write.