We Get Along: Part the Ninth

Part the Ninth

 

 

 

The days were fun in their own way, of course, since they pretended to hate and barely tolerate each other, exchanging a lot of dirty - or disdainful, on Jonathan's part - looks or starting silly rumours about the other that had no grounding in reality whatsoever or something else along those lines.  It was their private game that they were winning overwhelmingly, and they both enjoyed it.  Not, however, as much as they did the nights.

Jonathan more or less decided what was going to happen, which Edward didn't mind.  Jonathan had plans and he didn't.  He also had a personal interest in how a man who had never been in any sort of relationship thought how one should best be engaged in.  He seemed to base his every action off of mutual respect.  He demanded a high level of this from Edward, and in truth it was not hard to provide.  Sometimes he played around with the boundaries of it but he was usually prescient enough not to go too far. 

Jonathan, bless his shrivelled heart, became increasingly tolerant of Edward's shenanigans.  Many things he would have snapped into silence for in the past were now merely met with a tired look or a shake of the head or, if Edward was particularly exasperating, an eye roll combined with the usual two.  But it was something Jonathan needed of Edward, to increase his comfort level so that they could interact more easily.  Jonathan was slowly opening to him a little bit at a time, and the thrill was unlike anything Edward had ever felt.  Coming to know a person who kept themselves hidden was always an exciting challenge, but knowing that it came of an increasing trust and respect... it was somehow more rewarding than if it had been done any other way.  

Sometimes at night they would go to Jonathan's lab and work separately in silence.  Or near so, since Edward had a habit of filling that if ever it cropped up.  Initially this bothered Jonathan greatly, but he seemed to have accepted it was something Edward couldn't really help and tuned it out as he did everything else.  Many nights Jonathan would sit on Edward's bed and they would just talk until Edward fell asleep, and when Jonathan woke up sometime before morning rounds he would go to his own bed to keep the secret.  Edward preferred this because he got most, if not all, of Jonathan's attention, and there would be a subtle game beneath the conversation where one would figure out a clever way to get their hands clasped together, or to get Edward against Jonathan, or both.  Usually it was both.  Sometimes it was neither because Edward would suddenly get terribly, undeniably uneasy about his proximity to a man, especially one as tall as Jonathan was, and he would shift more to the other side of the bed and fold his arms together instead.  Jonathan would still push sometimes and once or twice Edward was able to fight off the anxiety, but more often it would kill the easy mood entirely and he would turn on his side and close his eyes.  Jonathan would not stay when that happened and neither of them were ever happy about it. 

Sometimes when they'd gotten to the leaning and the handholding Jonathan would caress his arm or press his face into Edward's hair, and that would feel nice enough that he would feel okay.  Jonathan then often would kiss him softly, always on his brow first, and Edward would try very hard to keep the memories that conjured up from bothering him.  But he couldn't.  Before his eyes again would be the light-slashed concrete wall and the tingling left by hands larger than his clasping his arms, and he would have to stop.  Jonathan would listen, of course, but he was getting increasingly frustrated.  Edward understood completely; he would have been frustrated too, if he had had the ability to through his shame and self-flagellation.  But more than that, he was becoming upset with himself for disappointing Jonathan.  It was Edward's fault that their relationship had come to a standstill, not just the physical aspect but also every other aspect possible.  He didn't have the full measure of Jonathan because Jonathan had a hard time allowing it; Jonathan didn't have his full measure because he was withholding it on purpose. 

He still, after all this time, could not bring himself to trust a man.  Not even this man, who had done nothing except be so patient as to rival the concept of Father Time himself. 

Edward thought he might be able to allow it this time; Jonathan had pressed their lips together and, while it didn't inspire a lot in him because he was overthinking and distracted, it went fine.  But then he closed his eyes at the same time Jonathan's hold on him tightened, and he stopped breathing.  His fingers scrabbled on instinct for Jonathan's arm, to wrench it free before he even had a moment to think about what he was doing, and despite the haze his desperation cast he was quite aware that something was different.  The tightness in his gut was not because of his imagination this time.

Jonathan got up, and his fists were clenched, and for a horrible moment Edward thought Jonathan was going to lash out this time.  He felt like a boy all over again, curled up and eyes closed so he at least wouldn't have to see it, hand half-furled on an arm extended in a useless gesture of protest.  His breath was frozen in his chest, his teeth on his tongue to keep him silent.  But it didn't come. 

Jonathan was standing, a foreboding shadow in the darkness, one arm bent against the wall and braced with a closed fist.  Edward lost his nerve for a moment, but managed a dry exhale of "Jonathan?"

"I'm going to kill him," Jonathan murmured, and his tone took Edward back to the winters he had left behind.  His voice held the same hopeless chill of a dry and bitter wind, of a steel-grey sky thick with snow that seemed as though it meant to fall forever.  Of being caught out at night as the air slipped steadily colder, shivering into a scarf that held the only warmth in all the world. 

Jonathan wanted to kill him?

"I wanted to break you, at first," Jonathan continued, in much the same harsh and wintry way.  "Ah, had you been the man you should be it would have been a rare treat.  Normally I prefer to get to the point, but you... you were one of the few."

It had all been a game after all? 

He had hardly felt so weak and helpless before.

"But look at you," Jonathan said, his eyes clearly visible in the dark as he looked over his shoulder.  "You were shattered long ago.  A craven child masquerading as a functioning adult. It's pathetic.  It's disappointing.  You let him keep on living though long as he does he will always hold that fist over you in threat.  And you know that.  You know you won’t ever achieve your potential while still he lives.  I have tried to be patient.  I have tried to be helpful.  I have given you more of myself than ever I have given anyone.  And yet you still hide behind your problems so that you do not have to do the same.  I’m starting to wonder if you actually want to help yourself, or if you want any of this at all.  What is it, then, Edward?  Do you only allow those who hit you to get close?  Anyone else is just part of your game, is that it?”

Oh God.

“No,” Edward managed, and he sat up somehow though his hands were hard to control.  “No, that – “

“Then what?” Jonathan snapped.  “I can hardly touch you without you becoming apprehensive.  You only like to talk when you’ve nothing of substance to say.  How are we to have a relationship of any depth if you continually push me away?  I am trying damned hard and I am not seeing any effort from you.  This isn’t going to work if you keep on like this.”

“It’s my fault,” was all he was able to whisper, and he got up and fumbled with the door lock.  He needed to get out of there.  He didn’t know where he was going.  Somewhere.  He was terrified that Jonathan was going to do it this time, was going to hit him and pressure him like all the rest, and he needed to go.  There was one nagging kernel of rationality that told him he was being silly, but it wasn’t enough.  It never had been.  “It’s my fault and I’m sorry.”

“What?  Where are you going?”

He got the door open and stepped into the hallway.  He didn’t care if he was caught, not this time.  He didn’t want to go to Solitary, but he would achieve the goal at least of getting out of there if that were to happen.  It was hard to breathe and he hoped he got out of there before Jonathan decided to bring him back.

Jonathan wouldn’t bring him back.  Edward was overreacting.

He wasn’t!  Jonathan had just taken his time, that was all, when most people just snatched him up and were done with it.  Jonathan had wanted to take him psychologically too, he’d said so!

No, he had changed his mind.  Only at first had he wanted to break him.  It was different now.

It couldn’t be different.  Jonathan was lying.  Jonathan was lying to get what he wanted.

He was stuck standing there in the hallway, fingers pressed into his skull because the thoughts would not stop! 

“Edward.”

Shit.

“Edward!”

He had no choice now.

He ran. 

 

 

 

He moved through the darkness to Jonathan’s bed and sat on the end of it.  He was a little concerned that Jonathan was on his side and his glasses were under the bed, two things that never happened, but when he saw what was under there with the glasses it made a little more sense.  A prescription bottle of zolpidem.  It was made out to Jonathan himself, so he’d somehow gotten it into the Asylum and hidden it for later use.  Edward pressed his back to the wall and pulled the blanket over his legs.  Jonathan never used it anyway.

After sitting against the wall in one of the basement hallways, with time enough to calm down and focus on what was actually happening and not on what had happened with other people quite a while ago, he had started to think he’d overreacted.  A lot.  On the one hand, there was no way he could have helped it, but on the other… it was Jonathan.  Yes, Edward was reminded of things he had some horrible deep-seated fear of when Jonathan got like that… but he knew if ever Jonathan did somehow hurt him, it would be unintentional, and he would do his best to fix it.  As he always did.  Edward didn’t think he’d even care if Jonathan roughed him up a bit, as long as there was some measure of… recuperation afterward that was, if it weren’t for his damned father.  None of this was any easier for Jonathan.  And yet Jonathan was right.  He was doing all the work, and getting nothing for it.  Edward needed to actually put effort into this whole thing if he wanted it to be successful, and… and he did.  He did want that.  He wanted to feel safe when Jonathan held him, not scared!  He needed to stop being so complacent with himself!  Jonathan was right.  Edward was dragging his feet on this whole thing out of a baseless fear. 

Jonathan stirred, sitting up almost immediately, though his face screwed up just as quickly.  He pressed a hand into his forehead and leaned against the wall, groaning.                “Oh, God,” he mumbled.  “Now I remember why I stopped taking those.”

“Looks like a killer headache,” Edward agreed.  Jonathan’s fingers parted to reveal a bloodshot eye. 

“What… why are you here.”

Edward shifted positions a little.  He was beginning to lose feeling in his butt.  “I thought through what happened.  I feel like… like I overreacted.  Somewhat.”

“No.”  Jonathan shook his head.  “No, you… most people react like you do.”

“Exactly!” Edward snapped.  “I’m better than them!  And if my boyfriend wants to kiss me he should be able to do that!  Without me breaking down over some moron whose opinion I care about far more than I should!”

“… boyfriend?”

Edward threw up his hands.  “I don’t let my buddies kiss me, Jon!”

Jonathan shook his head and buried it in the wall again.  “I don’t know, Edward!  I’ve never been in a relationship before.  I haven’t the foggiest what does and doesn’t happen!”  His fingers seemed to dig into his forehead.  “I went too far.  And if this last… God, I don’t even know how long it’s been, but… Edward, if this is too much for you I will drop it right now.  I feel as though I overstep your boundaries constantly at this point.  I’ll get over it.  I realised there’s something that’s far more important to me and that is what I hope I still have.”

“What?”

"Even," Jonathan said, gesturing vaguely, "solely as allies, I have always received from you something I never thought I could hope to have.  Respect, Edward."

Edward frowned, a little uncomfortable with this line of thought.  "A lot of people respect you.  Believe me, I hear everything."  Including the lack of respect towards himself, though the flip side was that he was always underestimated.  But Jonathan shook his head before Edward had finished.

"They respect Scarecrow.  Not me.  Not Jonathan.  You didn’t have to help me when I got here, but you did.  I fully expected to get the same here as everywhere else.  Not you.  No, you needed all the information before you could judge me.  You waited a damn long time for it, too.”  He crossed his arms across his chest.  He looked exhausted, despite the zolpidem.  “In truth, part of me is still waiting for the joke.  I’m still waiting to figure out just what use you’ve been planning to implement me for.”

“None,” Edward said.  “You don’t believe I get any respect, do you?  Every third person on the street thinks I work for Joker, or I’m a lookalike, hell, some people think I retired.  But that isn’t even the point.  You and me, we’re smarter than everyone else in this dump.  You might not be a genius, like me, but you know how to work for it.  That is very valuable, my friend.”   He shook his head.  “There’s no joke, Jonathan.  How could there possibly be, when the joke was always me?”

Jonathan looked so sad.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

Edward spread his hands.  “I’m not.  It’s common knowledge.  Common wrong knowledge, but an elaborate scheme that will show everyone just how wrong they are is a lot of planning.  But no one will ever forget when I’m ready to show them, that’s for certain.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jonathan said tiredly, and he winced, moving his arms to cover his stomach.

“What?”

“I’m starving.”

He must not have appreciated Edward’s incredulous stare because he rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t say it.”

“I was beginning to think you existed entirely on air.  Come.  We’ll fix that.”  He jumped off the bed – all right, he got his feet stuck and fell off the bed – and extended a gallant hand once he’d gained his footing.  Jonathan only frowned.

“What on earth are you talking about.”

“We’re going to get some food, Jonathan.  Let’s go.”

“We can’t just leave!”

“Of course we can!” Edward declared.  “Hurry up, my arm is getting tired.”

Jonathan just gave Edward a look that was decidedly unimpressed.  “You are fully aware that I cannot see it.”

Now Edward rolled his eyes, bending over and retrieving the glasses that he then slapped into Jonathan’s hand.  “Come on Jonathan, we haven’t got all night!”

“And just where do you think we’re going?”

He pulled Jonathan to sitting with a little more violence than he intended.  He always forgot the man weighed about as much as a bag of feathers.  “Out to eat.  I told you that.”

“Eddie, do we have to do this right now?” He was rubbing at his head again.  “I don’t know if I’m up to one of your little adventures.”

“Jonathan, there’s no need to be a grumpy old man about it.  We’re not going that far.  We’re getting you some food.  Let’s go.”

“I am not old,” Jonathan argued, but he stood up and followed Edward into the hall. 

“Oh, did I say that out loud?”  Edward checked the corridor ahead and then pulled Jonathan after him.  “Your shoe size is what, twelve?”

“Eleven and a half,” Jonathan answered resentfully.  Edward rolled his eyes.  He seemed to be doing a lot of that today.  He held up a hand for Jonathan to stop.

“Wait here.”

“For what?”

“Will you shut up for ten minutes, Jonathan!  Do me a favour and never take zolpidem again.  You have become unbearably cranky.”  Edward unlocked the door of one of the guard rooms and procured the both of them some shoes.  They were both going to have to make do, somewhat; he could only find sizes twelve and eight.  Edward was actually lucky to get the eight at all.  He usually had to stuff paper in the toes of a nine and hope they didn’t fall off.  He brought the shoes back outside and proffered the larger ones to Jonathan.  “They only had a twelve.  Unless you wanted a ten.”

“No,” Jonathan said, accepting them and dropping them to the floor with a clunking noise.  “Twelve is fine.  I just like to pretend it’s eleven and a half.”

“I like to pretend I fit into eights, but that’s not going to change anything.  Come on.”  He waved Jonathan down the hall after him.  Leaving Jonathan by himself temporarily, Edward traded his Asylum glasses for a pair of his custom ones after a moment in the basement.  He then got the two of them out one of the ancient smoking doors, technically boarded up but accessible to any inmate thrifty enough, and they walked around the outside of the Asylum.  Walked wasn’t really the right word, for Edward at least.  Edward had to treat the encroaching shrubbery more or less like an obstacle course.  Jonathan didn’t even seem to notice it was there.

“Edward,” Jonathan said, after they had reached the cornerstone, “I… my behaviour was out of line.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Edward told him, as he tripped over a final bush.  Jonathan grabbed his arm in an automatic sort of way, not looking at Edward at all but seeming to have expected it.  “Sometimes you just have to be your ornery self.  I get it.”

Jonathan laughed, just a little.  “I’m really not that old.”

“I know how old you are.”  Edward had of course looked into Jonathan's file a long time ago and learned he was approaching his late thirties; their age difference was substantial but as long as they held the same honesty and respect for each other they had been striving for since the beginning, that would not be a problem.  Edward was actually a little grateful for the altercation that night.  He felt like he could breathe easier, somehow.  Maybe it was due only to his own decision to commit to this, instead of wait for Jonathan to prove his suspicions correct.  His irrational, unfounded suspicions, based on something people nothing like Jonathan had done.  He would do better.  And he would do it right now.

He grabbed Jonathan’s hand.

Jonathan instantly stopped walking and looked down at their hands as though Edward had removed his entirely.  During this little staring session Edward realised it was the first time he had done any such thing.  Every other time Jonathan had been the instigator.  Jonathan had already expressed his discontent with not being able to control such situations… maybe Edward should have taken a page from his own book and asked first.

He looked away and went to extract his hand, but Jonathan seemed to recover and disallowed it.  They stood there in strained silence for a long moment.  The moon was barely visible behind the cloud cover, bathing everything in an unsettling greyness.  Edward set his teeth and tried to stop staring vaguely at the horizon as he wondered if this had been a good idea after all.

“Lead the way, then,” Jonathan said finally, and it wasn’t quite true but Edward felt as though his voice allowed him to take his first breath in a few minutes.

It wasn’t that hard to leave the Asylum if you did so at the proper time; people who worked the night shift weren’t the brightest bulbs nor the most attentive ones, and tonight the person at the guard post was one of the sleepier fellows.  The Asylum was perpetually underfunded and the administrative staff generally kept quiet that things had broken, but nothing got past Edward.  The broken thing in question, which had been dysfunctional for about three months now, was the front gate alarm.

“It can’t be this easy,” Jonathan murmured as Edward pushed hard on one side of the gate.  It was automated, but gave if one applied enough force.  Edward shook his head.

“The amount of things that don’t work around here would astound you.”

“The front gate?”

They made it through the sliver of freedom that Edward managed to gain and continued on, to the bridge.  There was no one on it, of course; many a Gothamite believed that the Asylum was haunted by the ghost of old Amadeus himself.  It was dark, however, and casual pedestrians at this hour often took a deadly plunge.  Edward changed the lens on his glasses and led Jonathan onto it.

“They figure the bridge is deterrent enough if anyone figures out the alarm is broken.  It is, really; it’s a long walk during the night and during the day impossible.”

“Then why are we just sojourning and not escaping entirely?”

Edward smiled up at him.

“Because we can.”

Jonathan sighed.

“You and your games.  And your gimmicks.  In all seriousness are those lenses necessary?”

“Of course,” Edward said, containing his glee with difficulty.  “They’re night-vision lenses.”

From his silence Edward figured he had quieted Jonathan with his brilliance once again.  Standing a little straighter, he asked, “You didn’t think I would own average glasses, did you?”

Just then he got his foot stuck in a pothole and would have hit the asphalt entirely if not for Jonathan’s hold on his hand.  He righted himself and stared in another direction, biting his lip.  Jonathan laughed.

“You deserved that.”

Maybe.

Just off the bridge was their destination, a small diner that was open quite late because the people who worked there had no better place to be.  That, and it was frequented by Asylum staff and inmates on their way out.  Edward released Jonathan’s hand as they came up to it, pushing open the door for Jonathan who crossed the threshold without a word.  Edward reset his lenses and took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust, then followed.

From behind the counter where she was no doubt scrubbing at one of the perpetually dull pieces of cutlery the place used, the server who took care of these late evenings looked up and smiled when she saw him.  She immediately came out from behind the counter, moving around the cracked tables whose edges were all peeling plastic and particleboard, set with yellowing placards carefully righted between smudged salt and pepper shakers.  She was an older woman on the larger side and had never once failed to greet Edward with enthusiasm.  It was one of the many reasons he paid her so much.

“Edward!” she proclaimed, giving him the usual boisterous hug, which he returned as always.  He liked this, but it always made him a little sad for some reason.  Fine, he knew the reason.  He just didn’t like to think about it.

“Good evening, Ainsley, my dear,” Edward said, and he kissed her on the brow for the hell of it.  He didn’t do that every time he saw her, but on occasion he got the notion and she had never seemed to mind.  “How are things?”

“Boring,” she answered, and winked.  He knew that actually meant she hadn’t talked to anyone interesting lately, which was fine.  A little bothersome, but fine.  She looked to Jonathan.  “And who is this?”

“Friend of mine,” Edward said noncommittally.  “He’ll have a coffee and myself my usual, if you please.”

“Of course,” Ainsley said, and she turned away in quite a confident fashion that Edward appreciated.  She disappeared behind the kitchen wall to retrieve the coffee pot, where the night time kitchen staff liked to keep it.

Edward usually sat at the counter, mostly so Ainsley could take care of work and chat at the same time and partially because doing so made him feel taller, but he suspected Jonathan wouldn’t feel similarly about such a seat.  He slid into a booth at random instead, and Jonathan joined him on the other side.  There seemed enough room for his legs where the table itself didn’t interfere.

Jonathan folded those long fingers together and stared out of the window.  There wasn’t much to see, mostly because they were not all that clean.  He seemed cold suddenly, as though he’d somehow seen something outside he disliked.  Edward frowned.

“What?”

“You were flirting with her.”

Oh, not this again.

“So?  She knows it’s not serious and so do I.  We’re just having fun.”

“She’s not even attractive enough to meet your standards in women.”

Edward tried very hard not to roll his eyes.  He didn’t succeed.  “Jonathan.  Your jealousy, while flattering and reassuring, is unfounded.  And by the way yes, she is.  Confidence makes even the most homely of ladies beautiful.  And she has plenty of that.”

Ainsley reappeared with the drinks and a pair of menus, which she deposited in front of them with a flourish.  Edward smiled and thanked her as Jonathan ignored her entirely.  When she’d gone Jonathan murmured, “I do not like sharing.”

“You’re not sharing,” Edward told him, unsure whether he should be flattered or wary of such a comment.  He wasn’t an object for Jonathan to possess, after all.  “If I wanted to have her I would already.  But that would be unprofessional.”  In truth, he’d considered it, but that would have taken some of the levity out of their interactions.  He valued that a great deal more than he would any intimate relations.

Jonathan frowned at him.

“She works for me,” Edward clarified, opening the menu though he’d already memorised it long ago.  “All the people who work the night shift do.  And some of them during the day.”

Jonathan idly turned the cover over on his own menu with one finger, and Edward wondered how long it would take him to read it.  He was still looking at Edward, he could feel it.  “What does working for you entail?”

Edward shrugged and took an experimental sip of his drink.  It was still a little too hot.  “Passing along information.  It’s an easy job for a place like this.  Lots of Asylum staff come in here on their way home.  Plenty of escapees needing something to eat after disappearing and skulking around here in hiding for a few days before they move on.  That sort of thing.  They listen to the rumours and sell them to me.  I pay very well.”

Jonathan eyed the photographs on the page in front of him before turning it.  “You must have a great deal of money.”

“It’s hard to be successful without it.”  It was also very hard to acquire suitable clothes.  The availability of green suits was surprisingly sparse.

“Do people often inquire about loans?”

“Yes, but not directly.  I have people to take care of that for me.”  He smiled as sweetly as possible, which was pretty damn sweetly if he said so himself.  “But friends needn’t ask for such things.  I will happily fund you if you ask nicely.” 

Jonathan tried not to smile.  He didn’t quite make it.  “Are you going to make me say ‘please’ if such an occasion arises?”

“It would be nice.”

Ainsley returned, and Edward had to admire that she had outstanding customer service even when the most impolite of all people were put under her care.  Jonathan quite vaguely and not at all in her direction ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, though when he said he did not want the fries Edward interrupted to say that he would have them.  It wasn’t really that he was hungry more than that since he was there he might as well have some real food.

Jonathan was magically able to look away from the window when they were alone again and took a long drink of his coffee.  He seemed relieved to do so, though Edward wasn’t sure why.  He said, his voice low, “She truly means nothing to you?”

“No,” Edward said, as honestly as he could.  “Well, I mean yes, she does, but not in the same way that you – “

As soon as he heard it he shut up, sitting back stiffly against the cracked linoleum of the booth seat and looking in the direction of the kitchen.  From it he could just barely hear the steady cadence of some beat or other.  At night the kitchen staff could listen to music as loudly as they liked and they took full advantage of this.

He had no idea why he’d said that.  It had just come out of his mouth without warning.  And he had needed a warning.  Dammit!  It had all been going so well, especially after the… unpleasantness earlier.  Why had he said that?  Why?

“What’s that you’re drinking?” Jonathan said, somehow as though Edward had not said something really – well, it wasn’t stupid, not entirely, but unneeded right now certainly – and Edward glanced at his cup for a moment before he answered,

“Hot chocolate.”

Jonathan’s smile, though barely existent, was somewhat… fond.  “I should have guessed,” he murmured, folding his hands around his own drink.

“What?”

“You are so very boyish.  You have a youth inside your heart.  That’s not an insult, by the way.  It’s very valuable.  Preserve it as best you can.  You won’t get it back.”

Edward folded his hands together around the cup and stared into it.

“I think someone made it for me once,” he said finally, unsure if he wanted to get into this.  “I can’t remember.”

“Your mother?” Jonathan said, somehow firmly and kindly at the same time.  He was scrutinising Edward again.  The psychologist in him wanting more pieces of the puzzle. 

Ah, why not.  Edward had been withholding things long enough.

“Maybe,” he answered, and he took a drink before continuing.  “I can’t remember her.  I used to try a lot when I was a kid.  Stared at the ceiling for hours trying to come up with just one impression.  Hair colour, a shirt she wore, what she smelled like.  But I never came up with anything.”  Sometimes he still did that, though rarely; it was frustrating to have something important like that unremembered.  He could never figure out whether he truly did not remember or if he was hiding it from himself for some reason only his very young self knew.

“Are you angry with her as well?”

He’d tried to be, many times, but it was hard to do so when there were many other people who had done things he could remember so close at hand.  “No.”

“She abandoned you.” 

Ah, what a subtle dig.  Cautious, but inquisitive.  Edward nodded.  “She did.  But I can’t blame her.  I got out as soon as I could too.”

Even after the food arrived, Edward’s fries tossed in salt and pepper just the way he liked, Jonathan did not let up.  “Even considering what she left you to?”

Edward nodded and sampled one of the fries.  It was delicious.  “Maybe I wasn’t the first.  Maybe she tricked him into having me to take the focus off her.  Who knows.  In any case I can’t be angry with someone who effectively doesn’t exist.”  He could, but it was difficult, and mostly a waste of energy to do so.

“If that’s what she did she disgusts me even further,” Jonathan said with vim, and he bit into the sandwich.  Edward frowned.

Jonathan was looking for reasons to dislike his mother?

“Why?  Are you going to track her down and give her a piece of your mind?”

“I would show her a piece of hers, certainly,” was Jonathan’s answer, and he had that predatory look on his face again.  Edward had to say that was very flattering.  Also unsettling, but mostly flattering.

They both ate in silence after that, broken only by Ainsley bringing Jonathan more coffee; he ignored her so Edward had to act as the proxy, though he doubted Jonathan liked that any better.  Oh, but talking to Ainsley was a joy!  It was that smile of hers, he decided as he moved onto the last few fries.  It rarely left her face.  The one time it had, Edward had taken quite a lot of action towards the reason.  Jonathan ate very slowly and seemed not to have any fondness for the crusts, but eventually he finished.

Upon their exit Edward acquired a takeaway coffee for Jonathan and when he stood to slip out of the booth Ainsley was there with the usual farewell embrace.  He held on longer than he'd really meant and smiled warmly at her once separated.  "I'll add that to your usual, my dear," he told her, and she grasped his hand with an answering smile of her own. 

"It was so good to see you again, Edward," she told him.  "Leave your... friend at home next time, perhaps?  I was looking forward to our chat."

Edward glanced in the direction of the door, where Jonathan was eyeing Ainsley with intense dislike.  He sighed.

"He's really not that bad.  Just difficult.  And picky."  He clapped a hand on her shoulder.  "I will return in a little while.  Have a wonderful evening."

He had to catch up to Jonathan then, as he had made his exit and disappeared, but after looking around for a minute he discovered the man had not gone far.  He was sitting on the bridge, legs freely over the edge. As Edward approached he took a sip of the coffee, but did not acknowledge when Edward joined him.  He sat, leaning back against the railing and folding his arms.

"Are you going to lecture me for being rude," Jonathan said finally.  Edward took a long breath.

"No.  You are how you are.  But your not liking people doesn't mean I dislike them."  Edward liked most people, from a distance that was.  Once he got to know them he usually felt differently.  "There's no need to be jealous, Jonathan."  Though it was extremely gratifying.

Jonathan looked out at the river, the crests of which were gently picked out by the sparse moonlight.  "I am well aware I have few redeeming qualities.  I've never done anything like this before.  It's... difficult not to think that someone who better meets your standards will come along."

"I have a feeling this is less about standards and more about your appearance," Edward told him.  Jonathan had not looked at him once.   "I thought you didn't care about that."

"I didn't, until I did," was Jonathan's answer. 

He had never valued anyone's opinion before Edward had come along.

Edward folded his hands onto one thigh.  "Look.  I'm not going to stop doing it.  It's fun, and people who are flattered by me are far more willing to do what I want.  But people are like puzzles, Jonathan: you know what they look like on the outside but you don't know how they're made."

“What's your point."

"My point," Edward said, shaking his head at Jonathan's impatience, "is that it doesn't really matter the appearance of the puzzle, so long as the completion brings what you hoped it would.  And in your case, Jonathan, intelligence makes even the most comely of men beautiful."

"I thought that was 'confidence'," Jonathan said, but he was trying not to smile.  Edward moved onto his stomach on the edge of the bridge as carefully and yet as casually as he could. 

"It's both," he answered.  "Confidence is far easier to obtain offhand, however.  Intelligence, especially the sort you have, is far preferable.  Take Ainsley, for instance.  She's a wonderful woman and has confidence to spare for everyone who works at that restaurant, but she's not that smart.  Of average intelligence, which is fine for a casual acquaintance.  But that's not what you are."    

And with that declaration Edward rolled onto his back and put his head in Jonathan’s lap.

Jonathan, Edward could see, had no idea what to do about that.  His free hand, the left one, hovered uncertainly before Jonathan put his coffee in it and laid the other on Edward’s forehead.  Even though it had just been wrapped around a warm beverage, it was still cold.  It made Edward feel oddly sad, in a way.  To never feel warmth, not from people or objects or even oneself… just thinking of it gave Edward the impression of Jonathan standing alone in a darkness, where everything stayed just out of arm’s reach.  Close enough to see what he couldn’t have.

Oh, but things were going so well!  He didn’t want to think about any of that right now.  Right now he was going to think about how he could just see the outline of the bridge in the meagre light, and if he searched especially hard he could see some of the clouds above them.  They were alone in the dark, save for the lazy flow of the river below them.

“Have you ever tried to swim away from the Asylum?” Jonathan asked.

Edward yawned, though he tried not to.  He didn't want to be rude.  But he was getting tired.  "No.  I'm not a strong swimmer.  I know how.  But I don't get very far very fast."

"And yet you lie here on the edge of this bridge, knowing if you fell you would most probably drown." His voice was oddly distant, as though he were directing his words at someone else while keeping Edward in the conversation.

"I won't fall.  And if I happened to, I'd think of something.  It's what I do."

Abruptly Jonathan put the cup aside and moved his hand off Edward's head, everything indicating his getting up.  Edward sat and twisted a glance over his shoulder, confused.  He didn't believe he'd said anything this time.

"What are you doing?"

"It's late, and you're tired," was Jonathan's response.  "Returning to the Asylum is what I'm doing, and so should you."

Edward heaved a breath and stood up.  He'd liked being able to do that.  He had only met a few women willing to allow him to do so.  Or perhaps he just had a strong preference for women who took ownership of his lap.  He didn't mind, as many of them had had sensational hair, but so did he!  Why didn't anyone want to run their fingers through his hair?

He did so now himself because it had gone out of order on the bridge and followed Jonathan onto the empty stretch of road.  He would have taken Jonathan's hand again - he needed to practice, after all - if it hadn't been folded up.

He had said something to anger him, then?

"Jonathan?"

"Mm."

"Did I..."  Oh, he did not want to ask.  "Did I say something?"

“No," Jonathan answered immediately.  "I was imagining something a little too strongly, that's all."

"Really?"  That sounded... exciting.

Jonathan's face was sober.  "Nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"I was very close to throwing you off the bridge in order to see if you would become afraid."

Edward would have stopped walking to consider that if he hadn't had to move so quickly just to keep pace with Jonathan's strides.  "But you didn't."

"How ever did you notice."

"I said that," Edward said impatiently, "because you seem angry with yourself."

Jonathan walked silently for a few moments.

"I am," he finally said, "because I was... enjoying myself, and then I had to start thinking about fear again."

"Give me your hand back."

"What?"

Edward grabbed onto his arm, having to walk a little sideways to be able to look at him while he was doing so.  "Your hand.  Let me hold it.  That'll turn things back around."

"Let go of my arm, then.  You can't have both."

Edward could have begged to differ, but instead he did as asked and reclaimed Jonathan's hand.  And if he wasn't mistaken - which he never was - Jonathan was holding on a little more actively than he had been before.

Yes, Edward was coming on a little strong after months of never initiating contact at all.  But Jonathan's not knowing how to accept it was a little concerning.  He was usually fairly affectionate, and he knew that he should be as patient as Jonathan had been about this... but he didn't want to be.  And yet he had to do something about that, because if he didn't maybe Jonathan would walk away because Edward wasn't respecting his boundaries...

"You'd tell me if I was being too pushy, wouldn't you?" he forced himself to say, hating that he had to ask. He should know already, shouldn't he?

"Yes," Jonathan answered.  "The real issue is that someone wanting to touch me is... foreign."

Edward understood that, in a way.  He could find someone if he wanted at any time now, but when he was younger... well, that was a different story entirely.

He put his arm around the back of Jonathan's waist and kept it there until they got to the gate, at which time he had to let go.  Jonathan was stiff and had a distinct aura of discomfort but he did not tell Edward to stop.  He felt as though he could have wrapped his entire arm around the man with room to spare, which was unsettling honestly, but at the same time it made it a lot easier to walk like that.  Some people it was harder to do with than others.

They returned to their shared cell apart and in silence.

There were still several hours to go before the morning rounds came by to wake them up, thankfully, so Edward would be able to get some sleep before then.  Jonathan settled into Edward’s bedrail with a satisfied grunt, folding his hands over his stomach.  “That feels a lot better,” Jonathan said, his eyes closed.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t say I never help you out.”  Edward climbed into the bed next to him, and Jonathan immediately put one arm across his shoulders and pulled him close.  His smile was tired and small, but genuine, and Edward wondered just how it was that his eyes seemed to glow even in the dark. 

“It wouldn’t be true if I did, but I probably will anyway.  Just to make you angry.”

He didn’t even really think about doing it, but before he knew it he had pressed his mouth to Jonathan’s, directing Jonathan with a hand buried in the back of his hair.  Jonathan stiffened a little, his arm around Edward tensing, but only for a moment.  He shifted towards Edward, sliding his hand up behind Edward’s head, his response given with the utmost gentleness.  An oddly pleasant sensation ran through Edward’s stomach, as though it were melting, and he had to turn away for a minute.

“Should I have asked first?” Jonathan murmured into his ear.  It tingled.

“No,” Edward answered.  “No, I just… I needed a second.”

“It’s been spent,” Jonathan said, and Edward laughed and allowed Jonathan to seek his mouth.  For a few moments more.  But Edward was still tired, and as nice as Jonathan’s soft kisses were, he still needed a lot more sleep than Jonathan did.  For once, he was not having Jonathan stop because he was uncomfortable.  He was both proud of himself and a little embarrassed for being so.  It should not have been an achievement, but it was. 

He definitely wanted to be at ease more often.  He would work on it.  Jonathan’s affections were… special, unlike any he’d felt before.  He wanted more of them, in an almost desperate way.  And yet he would never have them if he wasn’t willing to take the discomfort that came alongside dealing with his misgivings.

“Going back to sleep, little prince?”

“Yeah,” Edward answered, and Jonathan wrapped his hand around Edward’s arm again.  Jonathan’s body was hard, yes, but it was solid.  He felt unbreakable.  And Edward was under that protection he offered, and that iron will that had kept Jonathan able to pursue him this long though Edward had been less than reciprocal.  It was so comforting.  Not safe.  Not yet.  But comforting.  “Jon, you know something?”

“I know a great deal of things, but not which one you’re talking about.”

“You really have beautiful eyes.”

“… do I?”

“Yes.”  Edward wrapped his free arm, the one that wasn’t more or less pinned to Jonathan’s ribs, around his chest.  “They… hold light, somehow.”

“I was always told they were… eerie.”

“They are.  The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Thank you,” Jonathan said finally, and he held Edward ever tighter.  “I… never imagined I’d hear such a thing.”

“You lucky devil,” Edward mumbled, and Jonathan kissed the top of his head softly.

“Hush.”

 

 

Author’s note

I know it might seem a stretch that people working at the Asylum would slack off during the night shift, but I worked the night shift at a fast food place for four years and probably half the people I worked with barely did a thing.  They would go to sleep in the corner and ignore everything entirely.  So that’s where I got that from.  It would be nice to think it’d be different in a higher-security situation, but I can’t imagine those who work at the Asylum are very motivated to do a good job.

I work in a restaurant and Ainsley is based on two servers I know.  The one who left was always super happy and friendly, and the other one is based on a server who’s quite happy to chat up the customers.

I’ve always seen Edward as this slick ladies’ man whom you know something’s a bit off about but he’s charismatic enough you can’t bring yourself to care.  You wouldn’t want to date him, but a one-night stand would be a couple of hours’ worth of entertaining shenanigans.  He’s young here so he doesn’t have much of a reputation or baggage enough from supercriminality to make people wary enough to stay away.  A lot of people for some reason think he can’t get a woman, but canonically he’s had at least a few, one of them the day he met her.

The Catwoman’s Revenge DLC for Arkham Knight tells us that the Riddler likes hot chocolate, which I like because I never agreed with the belief he would drink a lot of coffee.