Something In Common Part Four and a Half
Author: jsherlock
Rating: PG
Title: Something In Common
Part: 4.5/?
Warnings: None for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL.
Beta: Slarti
Summary: 7 years after he is released, Dr. Jonathan Crane begins a new life, and delves into his employer's life.
And yes, this time I do mean I'm taking a break. If only to plan it out and write it, so I can post a part-a-day later. Of course, I could be lying again; I'm addicted to writing this.
Also notice that I have titled it! FINALLY.
The angles in the room were all wrong. From the way the walls met the ceiling to the stripe of moonlight that fell across the floor. Not to mention he felt lost, swimming in a veritable sea of sheets and duvet. And the empty space surrounding the bed seemed to disconnect him from the world. He was the proverbial island, even though he knew that Bruce was down the hall one way and Alfred down the other.
The wall clock ticked off the seconds in his office. With a frustrated sigh, he shoved the covers back and got out of bed. I hate the first night anywhere new. Besides, I shouldn’t be living here - I’m a criminal, a psychopathic murderer.
Stop beating yourself up about it and get over it.
Shut up. I’ll do as I please.
And right now he wanted to go get something to help him fall asleep; since he wasn’t going to get some sleep any time soon on his own. He pulled on a dressing gown over his t-shirt and pajama trousers as he trailed through his office. He straightened the pile of files he’d left on his desk to be looked at first thing in the morning, which was only three hours away. He looked at the door, half-expecting it to be locked, but it opened easily and without a sound when he turned the ornate handle.
The hall outside wasn’t dark, as he had expected. Tiffany lamps were set on ornamental tables every 10 feet or so. He ghosted down the hallway, hissing as his bare feet touched the icy marble steps of the staircase. Halfway down, he realized that he wasn’t sure just where they kept the medicine cabinet.
He hesitated on the landing, pondering what he should do. Well, I can’t go back to bed - I can’t sleep. I suppose I could go work on those files now, instead of tomorrow morning. But then, all I’ll have to do tomorrow is sit around looking pretty, and that’s boring as one of the non-drugged days back at Arkham, with only the therapy to occupy my time.
Somewhere deep within the mansion, a door slammed, and heavy, booted footsteps reverberated through the empty hallways. Jonathan froze, barely breathing.
You live here, Johnny-boy - you have every right to walk around at night.
“What are you doing up?” Bruce growled, having appeared from nowhere. Jonathan jerked around violently.
“I-I couldn’t sleep. I was going to go look for some sleeping pills, but I realized that I really have no idea where you keep them.” There was something menacing about the way Bruce towered over him, frowning, something frightening with a hint of familiarity. Jonathan backed up a step.
“You’re not supposed to know where we keep the medicine.” Bruce snapped.
Jonathan frowned back, pulling his dressing gown closer around him as a draft rushed down the staircase. “I realize that - but I cannot sleep.”
“Well, go back to your room and I’ll bring some tea and a couple of pills for you.” Bruce ordered, turning on his heel, and stalking down the stairs. Jonathan stared at his retreating form. Why the hell is HE still up, wandering around? I would have thought since Bette was back in town, he’d be with her. He realized that Bruce was fully dressed.
Jonathan did not go back to bed, but rifled through his desk, looking for a pen, so that Bruce found him absently doodling in his notebook when he arrived with a platter bearing two mugs of tea.
“What’cha drawing?” He asked conversationally, as Jonathan closed the notebook and slipped it into a drawer.
My, my, aren’t we charming all of a sudden?
“Things for mine and Mrs. Evans’ eyes only, Mr. Wayne.” He looked at the two mugs, as Bruce put the platter on the desk. “Did you want something that can’t wait until a decent hour this morning?”
“Not really. But seeing as we’re both up, I thought we could talk.” Bruce said easily, taking a mug, and sat in the other chair in the room across the desk from Jonathan. He sipped his cup of tea.
“Peppermint, Mentha piperita, is a soothing scent, since it relieves mental stress; brewed with Wood Betony, it’s the perfect drink of choice for insomniacs.” Jonathan said, taking his mug and inhaling the fragrant steam.
And irritable bowel syndrome, and other unpleasant stomach problems.
Bruce shrugged eloquently. “So, what keeps you up at this hour?”
“Nothing much. Can’t sleep. Too much to think about.” Bruce said.
Like how to pretend to go to polo?
“Oh? Would you like to share?” Jonathan invited, with his voice soothing. He blinked, and laughed sheepishly. “You can put the psychiatrist in his own funny farm, and even take him out, but you can’t take the psychiatrist out of him.” Jonathan chuckled.
“So I gather.” Bruce looked over the rim of his mug. “But, honestly, it’s really nothing that keeps me up apart from nervous energy that I expend wondering how to continue what my parents started to do to help Gotham.”
“Ah.” Jonathan slurped his tea.
“You?”
“The angles are all wrong.” Jonathan said, and took a sip of his tea, cupping his long fingers around the mug.
“I beg your pardon?” Bruce raised his eyebrows in confusion.
“In the bedroom - I’m not used to it, yet.” Jonathan gave him a half-smile, cocking his head to the side. “I’m used to small, enclosed spaces.”
“Oh - would you prefer a smaller room?” Bruce asked, reaching out and putting his mug on the edge of the desk.
“No, I think I’ll get used to it.”
“So…what do you enjoy doing in your spare time? I always see you working, even on the weekends.”
“I enjoy my privacy, Mr. Wayne.”
“Well, you’re no fun to talk to.” Bruce jiggled his foot on a knee. “I like to read the comics in the newspaper and when Alfred isn’t looking, mess up his crossword puzzle.”
“I…like drawing and then analysing the pictures. I like guessing what makes people tick.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t go into psychology because I was following the tradition of the Crane family, Bruce.”
“Then what did your family do, then?”
“You haven’t found that out from the background check?”
“I lied: it wasn’t all that thorough.” Bruce said, taking his mug and chugging the rest of the tea.
“Well, most of them were in law enforcement, my father was a cop.”
“Retired?”
“Dead.”
The silence seemed endless.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bruce said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“No need. He died a long time ago.” Jonathan stifled a yawn. “I believe I’ve had enough of this ‘conversation’ and I’m going to bed. Good night.” He left the mug on his desk, and stood. He resisted the urge to grab his notebook and instead closed and locked the bedroom door behind him.
There. That felt better. Locked in, a familiar sense of security. He got into bed, and waited. There wasn’t any noise from his office. Then, the sound of mugs clinking, and the door being shut.
They keep the medicine downstairs.
Here are the websites I looked at to find out about peppermint:
Peppermint 1 Peppermint 2 Peppermint 3
Rating: PG
Title: Something In Common
Part: 4.5/?
Warnings: None for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL.
Beta: Slarti
Summary: 7 years after he is released, Dr. Jonathan Crane begins a new life, and delves into his employer's life.
And yes, this time I do mean I'm taking a break. If only to plan it out and write it, so I can post a part-a-day later. Of course, I could be lying again; I'm addicted to writing this.
Also notice that I have titled it! FINALLY.
The angles in the room were all wrong. From the way the walls met the ceiling to the stripe of moonlight that fell across the floor. Not to mention he felt lost, swimming in a veritable sea of sheets and duvet. And the empty space surrounding the bed seemed to disconnect him from the world. He was the proverbial island, even though he knew that Bruce was down the hall one way and Alfred down the other.
The wall clock ticked off the seconds in his office. With a frustrated sigh, he shoved the covers back and got out of bed. I hate the first night anywhere new. Besides, I shouldn’t be living here - I’m a criminal, a psychopathic murderer.
Stop beating yourself up about it and get over it.
Shut up. I’ll do as I please.
And right now he wanted to go get something to help him fall asleep; since he wasn’t going to get some sleep any time soon on his own. He pulled on a dressing gown over his t-shirt and pajama trousers as he trailed through his office. He straightened the pile of files he’d left on his desk to be looked at first thing in the morning, which was only three hours away. He looked at the door, half-expecting it to be locked, but it opened easily and without a sound when he turned the ornate handle.
The hall outside wasn’t dark, as he had expected. Tiffany lamps were set on ornamental tables every 10 feet or so. He ghosted down the hallway, hissing as his bare feet touched the icy marble steps of the staircase. Halfway down, he realized that he wasn’t sure just where they kept the medicine cabinet.
He hesitated on the landing, pondering what he should do. Well, I can’t go back to bed - I can’t sleep. I suppose I could go work on those files now, instead of tomorrow morning. But then, all I’ll have to do tomorrow is sit around looking pretty, and that’s boring as one of the non-drugged days back at Arkham, with only the therapy to occupy my time.
Somewhere deep within the mansion, a door slammed, and heavy, booted footsteps reverberated through the empty hallways. Jonathan froze, barely breathing.
You live here, Johnny-boy - you have every right to walk around at night.
“What are you doing up?” Bruce growled, having appeared from nowhere. Jonathan jerked around violently.
“I-I couldn’t sleep. I was going to go look for some sleeping pills, but I realized that I really have no idea where you keep them.” There was something menacing about the way Bruce towered over him, frowning, something frightening with a hint of familiarity. Jonathan backed up a step.
“You’re not supposed to know where we keep the medicine.” Bruce snapped.
Jonathan frowned back, pulling his dressing gown closer around him as a draft rushed down the staircase. “I realize that - but I cannot sleep.”
“Well, go back to your room and I’ll bring some tea and a couple of pills for you.” Bruce ordered, turning on his heel, and stalking down the stairs. Jonathan stared at his retreating form. Why the hell is HE still up, wandering around? I would have thought since Bette was back in town, he’d be with her. He realized that Bruce was fully dressed.
Jonathan did not go back to bed, but rifled through his desk, looking for a pen, so that Bruce found him absently doodling in his notebook when he arrived with a platter bearing two mugs of tea.
“What’cha drawing?” He asked conversationally, as Jonathan closed the notebook and slipped it into a drawer.
My, my, aren’t we charming all of a sudden?
“Things for mine and Mrs. Evans’ eyes only, Mr. Wayne.” He looked at the two mugs, as Bruce put the platter on the desk. “Did you want something that can’t wait until a decent hour this morning?”
“Not really. But seeing as we’re both up, I thought we could talk.” Bruce said easily, taking a mug, and sat in the other chair in the room across the desk from Jonathan. He sipped his cup of tea.
“Peppermint, Mentha piperita, is a soothing scent, since it relieves mental stress; brewed with Wood Betony, it’s the perfect drink of choice for insomniacs.” Jonathan said, taking his mug and inhaling the fragrant steam.
And irritable bowel syndrome, and other unpleasant stomach problems.
Bruce shrugged eloquently. “So, what keeps you up at this hour?”
“Nothing much. Can’t sleep. Too much to think about.” Bruce said.
Like how to pretend to go to polo?
“Oh? Would you like to share?” Jonathan invited, with his voice soothing. He blinked, and laughed sheepishly. “You can put the psychiatrist in his own funny farm, and even take him out, but you can’t take the psychiatrist out of him.” Jonathan chuckled.
“So I gather.” Bruce looked over the rim of his mug. “But, honestly, it’s really nothing that keeps me up apart from nervous energy that I expend wondering how to continue what my parents started to do to help Gotham.”
“Ah.” Jonathan slurped his tea.
“You?”
“The angles are all wrong.” Jonathan said, and took a sip of his tea, cupping his long fingers around the mug.
“I beg your pardon?” Bruce raised his eyebrows in confusion.
“In the bedroom - I’m not used to it, yet.” Jonathan gave him a half-smile, cocking his head to the side. “I’m used to small, enclosed spaces.”
“Oh - would you prefer a smaller room?” Bruce asked, reaching out and putting his mug on the edge of the desk.
“No, I think I’ll get used to it.”
“So…what do you enjoy doing in your spare time? I always see you working, even on the weekends.”
“I enjoy my privacy, Mr. Wayne.”
“Well, you’re no fun to talk to.” Bruce jiggled his foot on a knee. “I like to read the comics in the newspaper and when Alfred isn’t looking, mess up his crossword puzzle.”
“I…like drawing and then analysing the pictures. I like guessing what makes people tick.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t go into psychology because I was following the tradition of the Crane family, Bruce.”
“Then what did your family do, then?”
“You haven’t found that out from the background check?”
“I lied: it wasn’t all that thorough.” Bruce said, taking his mug and chugging the rest of the tea.
“Well, most of them were in law enforcement, my father was a cop.”
“Retired?”
“Dead.”
The silence seemed endless.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bruce said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“No need. He died a long time ago.” Jonathan stifled a yawn. “I believe I’ve had enough of this ‘conversation’ and I’m going to bed. Good night.” He left the mug on his desk, and stood. He resisted the urge to grab his notebook and instead closed and locked the bedroom door behind him.
There. That felt better. Locked in, a familiar sense of security. He got into bed, and waited. There wasn’t any noise from his office. Then, the sound of mugs clinking, and the door being shut.
They keep the medicine downstairs.
Here are the websites I looked at to find out about peppermint:
Peppermint 1 Peppermint 2 Peppermint 3