Something In Common Part 13
Title: Something In Common
Part: 13/?
Authour: JSherlock
Fandom: Batman Begins
Pairing: Bruce Wayne / Jonathan Crane
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL
Summary - Life goes on after Jonathan is kidnapped.
Jonathan raised his hand against the strong light of the fading sun slanting through the shelled remains of The Narrows’ skyscrapers. He gulped in the fresh air, enjoying the hot summer breeze on his face. The wind brought the smell of sewage, cut through with smoke - someone was grilling burgers somewhere. His stomach turned a little - he was sick of meat. He could go for a salad. But Pamela hated to eat vegetables and rarely, if ever, served them.
She’s a carnosaur. Remember your Latin, Crane? Meat Lizard. Hunter. Predator. Weeds out the easy targets. Goes in for the kill.
He shivered as a half-remembered dream flitted through his memory. Something about his mother, god rest her soul. He patted the mask sticking out of his pocket, but didn’t put it on.
Like she got you.
“I miss the sun.” Ivy raised her face to the light, drinking it in. She held her arms open as if to hug the sunset.
“There are plenty of places to live outside of the New Narrows.” He adjusted his glasses and gave her a sidelong look. “As I recall, it is you who insisted we live in the hole,” he said, turning to take measured steps to the idling van.
“Well, can’t have you out and about all the time - you are an escaped criminal, master-mind of all you see here.” She encompassed the derelict city with an arm. “The police would snap you right up,” She purred, stroking his arm as he walked past her. He let it go, climbing into the van.
“And you as well.” He nodded to the driver - Bane - the newest minion. A bit slow on the up take, but brilliant thug.
“Yes, me too.” She settled into the seat next to him and slammed the door shut. With a bored voice, she directed Bane to head for Gotham proper. “But you would be the prize.” She gave Jonathan a once-over, nodding in agreement of her assessment.
“What’s our cargo?” Jonathan asked, securing the seatbelt, and settling in for what would be a very trying night. Why she’d insisted on coming - he’d been doing this for years now and could handle it. Hell, he’d started this up, single-handedly. Rope din the distributors, the sellers, the pushers, the supply - everything. It was city-wide, and growing beyond. He even had a SWAT team of gun men for protection riding in the back with the drugs, for fuck’s sake.
“The usual. Cocaine, E, LSD - all laced with my special additives,” Ivy said, flipping over pages from a clipboard she picked up from the dashboard.
“We’ll deliver to the sellers, take our cut and be done.”
“No fun tonight?” Ivy tossed the clipboard back onto the dash and crossed her arms and leant back, pouting. “It’s been weeks. I want to go out.”
“I’m not in the mood - I have patients back in the hole.”
“Home, Jonathan.”
“It’s the sewers of the Narrows - remodeled and fortified so that even Gotham police can’t get in. It’s not ‘home’.”
“Well, enjoy the fresh air, and some water.” Ivy handed him a water bottle from her purse, and he took a swig. “Thank you, Pamela.”
“You’re welcome.” She put the bottle back, and smiled at him. “Let’s go out to have dinner at least,” she said after a few minutes of silence.
“Fine.” Jonathan stared out of the window, blinking as the view out of the windscreen got a little bit fuzzy. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his tie. It didn’t help much. He winced as an overhead streetlight was too bright. He put his glasses back on, sighing softly as everything was still fuzzy around the edges.
Bane watched their interaction out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve laid out the route for us - there’s back-ups and getaway routes. And there’s a new seller - he wants to meet the bosses.” Bane said quickly to cut through the tension bubbling up. He shifted in his seat, driving faster, uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Bane, was it?” Jonathan took the map and studied the red sharpie lines the other man had traced, wondering if he needed a new prescription on his glasses. “Very good. You should get a bonus. You were recommended, and I can see why. You should get a raise.”
“Thank you, Dr. Crane.”
“How long will it take to get to our first destination?” Ivy asked.
“Twenty minutes, I think. If there’s no traffic.” Bane stepped on the gas.
______________________________
Where the hell is that bastard? It’s been a year since he disappeared. Why can’t I find him? Nobody seems to know where he is or what he’s doing. But there’s been a lot of drugs doing weird things to people. Could that be him? Or just a new poison in the system?
“Master Bruce?”
Bruce half-turned. “Mmm? Oh, sorry Alfred. I was just...thinking.” He stepped away from the window, the distant lights of Gotham twinkling in the evening.
“About?”
“Jonathan.” He continued getting undressed - shirt and tie flung over the back of a chair to join the jacket, shoes kicked off to land where they would.
“Again?” He came fully into the room, and helped himself to sit in a chair, ignoring the scattered clothes. “Look - you’ve been over that footage of him going with that woman from the park. The car was stolen and ditched. Nobody saw her face - imaging programs can’t get what little of her face that was caught on camera any less pixelated. Dr. Crane up and vanished with her - end of story.” He waved his hands in a ‘poof’ motion.
“No, Alfred. That’s not who he was. He wasn’t a man to just fall off the face of the earth - at least one scum bag would have seen him if he’s alive. But nobody has. Not since that day.” Bruce stopped in the middle of the room, clenching his hands into fists as he crossed his arms. “And then there was the car park. He had no recognition of me. Or Batman other than an enemy. How can that be? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Alfred raised his eyebrows, rubbing his knees slightly. “It is curious, though. Perhaps he’s gassed himself?” he mused aloud.
“I don’t know. It’s a possibility. And then there’s the other thing. He knew I was Batman. But it’s been a year, and nothing!” He rounded on Alfred, scowling darkly. “Not one angry mob of cops and or criminals has come storming Wayne Manor, calling for my blood.”
“You’re afraid he’s waiting to tell the cops.” Alfred sat back, waiting for the tantrum to pass over.
“No! Yes - he wouldn’t though.” Bruce ran a hand through his hair, wiping off the gel on his dress pants. Alfred rolled his eyes heavenward.
“You’re so certain, Master Bruce.”
“You cooked him breakfast - morning is the time of day when you truly know a man’s character. I don’t think he would have used me like that just to let everyone’s guard down. It’s not the person I saw emerging from those interviews and therapy sessions. He’s twisted and repressed. Unhappy, certainly. Damaged. But who isn’t?”
“Certainly not the man who dresses as a bat, no.” Alfred sighed, and got up slowly. “You’ll be going out again? The weather man said it would rain. He nodded at the window. No clouds yet, but keep a watch out.”
“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce smiled with a small shake of his head. “You can stop mothering me.”
“Give an old man some small amount of joy.”
____________________________________________________
If she strokes my thigh one more time - I’m going to smack her head against the dash.
He even raised his arm to do it, when Bane hit the brakes.
“We’re here!” the bigger man exclaimed, and slipped out to scout the location.
Jonathan scrambled out after him, glad he’d taken the window seat for the last leg. He stretched his legs as Ivy and the thugs unloaded the drugs. He watched Bane peer down an alley. He checked his watch.
“Hey! What the - ” Jonathan looked up sharply, just in time to see Bane's feet disappear into the ill-lit passage.
“Batman!” someone yelled - there was a spray of bullets and a shadow flitted into view and was gone again.
Maybe he’ll clock you again. After you stop.
Stop what?
Jonathan was moving. “Load up - move!” he barked. Somewhere behind him Ivy swore passionately. He sprayed a mist of his drug into the air as he groped for the handle of the door.
Getting the door open and inside, he revved the engine. Ivy leaped in from the other side, peering out at the dark.
A SWAT thug banged on the partition window, and Jonathan floored it, squealing away, taking a corner very close to two wheels.
“Well, that was fun.” Ivy said, inspecting her nails. She glanced at Jonathan. “Shall we go eat, then?”
“It nearly three in the morning. Nothing’s open. Maybe a drive-through.”
“Fine by me. But we need to ditch the van.”
“Why? It’s not like he can trace such a generic van - we’ll just switch the plates and tires. Don’t be such a drama queen.”
“Wasn’t me who was into theatre,” Ivy muttered.
“Pardon?” Jonathan turned his head to look at her in puzzlement.
“Nothing. Watch where you’re going.”
_______________________________________________
A couple of hours earlier:
Bruce was listening to the police scanner when the van pulled into the alley ahead of him. He watched in curiosity, freezing when he recognized the man making the drug drop.
“Damnit.” He also saw the red-haired woman, and took some pictures, plugging them into the on-board facial recognition search program. When the van pulled away, he backed out, and shadowed it one street over.
“What the hell are you doing, Jonathan?”
He shook his head to clear memories of a night so long ago.
After a few drops, he saw his chance and parked. He got out and crept closer, listening to banal banter. He did note that Jonathan was not happy with the woman.
Yet she fawns all over him.
He froze as the henchman who had been driving came closer. With a studied move, he had him out cold on the ground. He looked up, and tried to get to Jonathan. He diverted his path as bullets pinged too close for comfort. He watched the van tear off, then went back to the man he’d caught. With his foot, he rolled him over.
“You’re going to tell me everything you know about Jonathan Crane. When you wake up.” With effort, he managed to man-handle the man into the Bridger, and drove off at full-speed. Gotham Police could handle a night by themselves.
______________________________
“If you bend the nail in the back...I’ll just slip right off.” He slithered off the little stand and fell in a heap, fake entrails spilling out under him. The audience collectively made a shocked noise. He smiled a little under the mask.
They should have figured that this was not a nice MGM production when we hacked off the witch’s feet to get the fucking shoes.
He stuffed them back into his shirt as Danielle wiped her ‘bloodied’ hand on her apron saying, “it doesn’t hurt, does it?”
He stood up, looming over Dorothy, staring silently. “No, I just shove them back in. No stitches, you see.” He stretched indecently, pulling up his shirt to show off some good special effect makeup. “It’s good to be free.” He cocked his head, and swung around to look at Danielle. “Did I scare you?”
“No, I thought you’d hurt yourself....” Danielle twisted her hands, staring out at the audience for a moment.
“Ah. But I didn’t scare you?” He slipped around her, to lean over her shoulder, seductively wrapping his long fingers with their fake long nails over her shoulders. She started.
“God, you’re creepy when you do that, Johnny!” she hissed. He grit his teeth.
It’s not like we haven’t practiced this a hundred times now, you stupid whore. Stop fucking it up.
“No, of course not!” She chirped.
“I’ll try harder next time, then.” He looked up at the descending crows on wires - they’d found stuffed birds from a taxidermist’s and hung them on small nooses. “As you see, I’ve all ready frightened them to death...”
“Poor things!” Danielle said, going to stand next to him, looking up at the birds.
“If only I had a conscious...” He turned to the audience and took a bow, explaining to them in a sing-song lullaby what he’d not do if he had one; but for now that he had to since he had none.
There was scattered applause from a horrified audience.
That’s not what I remember. I got a standing ovation for that number. He turned over, coming awake as the staccato knocking on his door sounded again.
“What?” He sat up groggily, scratching his stubble.
“It's time to get up.” Ivy said, opening the door and flipped on the lights. “Come on, Jonathan, your patients are waiting, I’m sure.”
He sighed, rubbing his eyes as the incandescent lights buzzed to light, pinging now and then as they flickered.
“As long as I get some green to eat. This meat-rich diet is making my body sick.” He looked up at Ivy, as she stood waiting.
“Fine. Breakfast’s in a half hour.” Ivy paused as she turned. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, you?”
“Perfectly, as usual.” She closed the door behind her and Jonathan listened to her heels click on the bare floor in the hallway.
He got out of bed, shoving his feet into the slippers waiting. He wiggled is toes inside the soft fleece and slouched into the bathroom, scuffing them on the concrete floor, imagining a soft, creamy carpet.
The light was all ready on - all the lights were connected. He measured himself in the mirror. His cheekbones stood out, and his eyes were sunken. I look a mess - where’s a good English breakfast when you need one?
Remember where, you idiot.
I’m not an idiot - its not my fault I have gaps in my memory - that horse threw me so hard...Pamela nursed me back to health.
Shave, and let’s get on with the day.
He picked up the straight razor with trepidation. “I’ll have to go buy myself an electric.”
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Part: 13/?
Authour: JSherlock
Fandom: Batman Begins
Pairing: Bruce Wayne / Jonathan Crane
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL
Summary - Life goes on after Jonathan is kidnapped.
Jonathan raised his hand against the strong light of the fading sun slanting through the shelled remains of The Narrows’ skyscrapers. He gulped in the fresh air, enjoying the hot summer breeze on his face. The wind brought the smell of sewage, cut through with smoke - someone was grilling burgers somewhere. His stomach turned a little - he was sick of meat. He could go for a salad. But Pamela hated to eat vegetables and rarely, if ever, served them.
She’s a carnosaur. Remember your Latin, Crane? Meat Lizard. Hunter. Predator. Weeds out the easy targets. Goes in for the kill.
He shivered as a half-remembered dream flitted through his memory. Something about his mother, god rest her soul. He patted the mask sticking out of his pocket, but didn’t put it on.
Like she got you.
“I miss the sun.” Ivy raised her face to the light, drinking it in. She held her arms open as if to hug the sunset.
“There are plenty of places to live outside of the New Narrows.” He adjusted his glasses and gave her a sidelong look. “As I recall, it is you who insisted we live in the hole,” he said, turning to take measured steps to the idling van.
“Well, can’t have you out and about all the time - you are an escaped criminal, master-mind of all you see here.” She encompassed the derelict city with an arm. “The police would snap you right up,” She purred, stroking his arm as he walked past her. He let it go, climbing into the van.
“And you as well.” He nodded to the driver - Bane - the newest minion. A bit slow on the up take, but brilliant thug.
“Yes, me too.” She settled into the seat next to him and slammed the door shut. With a bored voice, she directed Bane to head for Gotham proper. “But you would be the prize.” She gave Jonathan a once-over, nodding in agreement of her assessment.
“What’s our cargo?” Jonathan asked, securing the seatbelt, and settling in for what would be a very trying night. Why she’d insisted on coming - he’d been doing this for years now and could handle it. Hell, he’d started this up, single-handedly. Rope din the distributors, the sellers, the pushers, the supply - everything. It was city-wide, and growing beyond. He even had a SWAT team of gun men for protection riding in the back with the drugs, for fuck’s sake.
“The usual. Cocaine, E, LSD - all laced with my special additives,” Ivy said, flipping over pages from a clipboard she picked up from the dashboard.
“We’ll deliver to the sellers, take our cut and be done.”
“No fun tonight?” Ivy tossed the clipboard back onto the dash and crossed her arms and leant back, pouting. “It’s been weeks. I want to go out.”
“I’m not in the mood - I have patients back in the hole.”
“Home, Jonathan.”
“It’s the sewers of the Narrows - remodeled and fortified so that even Gotham police can’t get in. It’s not ‘home’.”
“Well, enjoy the fresh air, and some water.” Ivy handed him a water bottle from her purse, and he took a swig. “Thank you, Pamela.”
“You’re welcome.” She put the bottle back, and smiled at him. “Let’s go out to have dinner at least,” she said after a few minutes of silence.
“Fine.” Jonathan stared out of the window, blinking as the view out of the windscreen got a little bit fuzzy. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his tie. It didn’t help much. He winced as an overhead streetlight was too bright. He put his glasses back on, sighing softly as everything was still fuzzy around the edges.
Bane watched their interaction out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve laid out the route for us - there’s back-ups and getaway routes. And there’s a new seller - he wants to meet the bosses.” Bane said quickly to cut through the tension bubbling up. He shifted in his seat, driving faster, uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Bane, was it?” Jonathan took the map and studied the red sharpie lines the other man had traced, wondering if he needed a new prescription on his glasses. “Very good. You should get a bonus. You were recommended, and I can see why. You should get a raise.”
“Thank you, Dr. Crane.”
“How long will it take to get to our first destination?” Ivy asked.
“Twenty minutes, I think. If there’s no traffic.” Bane stepped on the gas.
______________________________
Where the hell is that bastard? It’s been a year since he disappeared. Why can’t I find him? Nobody seems to know where he is or what he’s doing. But there’s been a lot of drugs doing weird things to people. Could that be him? Or just a new poison in the system?
“Master Bruce?”
Bruce half-turned. “Mmm? Oh, sorry Alfred. I was just...thinking.” He stepped away from the window, the distant lights of Gotham twinkling in the evening.
“About?”
“Jonathan.” He continued getting undressed - shirt and tie flung over the back of a chair to join the jacket, shoes kicked off to land where they would.
“Again?” He came fully into the room, and helped himself to sit in a chair, ignoring the scattered clothes. “Look - you’ve been over that footage of him going with that woman from the park. The car was stolen and ditched. Nobody saw her face - imaging programs can’t get what little of her face that was caught on camera any less pixelated. Dr. Crane up and vanished with her - end of story.” He waved his hands in a ‘poof’ motion.
“No, Alfred. That’s not who he was. He wasn’t a man to just fall off the face of the earth - at least one scum bag would have seen him if he’s alive. But nobody has. Not since that day.” Bruce stopped in the middle of the room, clenching his hands into fists as he crossed his arms. “And then there was the car park. He had no recognition of me. Or Batman other than an enemy. How can that be? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Alfred raised his eyebrows, rubbing his knees slightly. “It is curious, though. Perhaps he’s gassed himself?” he mused aloud.
“I don’t know. It’s a possibility. And then there’s the other thing. He knew I was Batman. But it’s been a year, and nothing!” He rounded on Alfred, scowling darkly. “Not one angry mob of cops and or criminals has come storming Wayne Manor, calling for my blood.”
“You’re afraid he’s waiting to tell the cops.” Alfred sat back, waiting for the tantrum to pass over.
“No! Yes - he wouldn’t though.” Bruce ran a hand through his hair, wiping off the gel on his dress pants. Alfred rolled his eyes heavenward.
“You’re so certain, Master Bruce.”
“You cooked him breakfast - morning is the time of day when you truly know a man’s character. I don’t think he would have used me like that just to let everyone’s guard down. It’s not the person I saw emerging from those interviews and therapy sessions. He’s twisted and repressed. Unhappy, certainly. Damaged. But who isn’t?”
“Certainly not the man who dresses as a bat, no.” Alfred sighed, and got up slowly. “You’ll be going out again? The weather man said it would rain. He nodded at the window. No clouds yet, but keep a watch out.”
“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce smiled with a small shake of his head. “You can stop mothering me.”
“Give an old man some small amount of joy.”
____________________________________________________
If she strokes my thigh one more time - I’m going to smack her head against the dash.
He even raised his arm to do it, when Bane hit the brakes.
“We’re here!” the bigger man exclaimed, and slipped out to scout the location.
Jonathan scrambled out after him, glad he’d taken the window seat for the last leg. He stretched his legs as Ivy and the thugs unloaded the drugs. He watched Bane peer down an alley. He checked his watch.
“Hey! What the - ” Jonathan looked up sharply, just in time to see Bane's feet disappear into the ill-lit passage.
“Batman!” someone yelled - there was a spray of bullets and a shadow flitted into view and was gone again.
Maybe he’ll clock you again. After you stop.
Stop what?
Jonathan was moving. “Load up - move!” he barked. Somewhere behind him Ivy swore passionately. He sprayed a mist of his drug into the air as he groped for the handle of the door.
Getting the door open and inside, he revved the engine. Ivy leaped in from the other side, peering out at the dark.
A SWAT thug banged on the partition window, and Jonathan floored it, squealing away, taking a corner very close to two wheels.
“Well, that was fun.” Ivy said, inspecting her nails. She glanced at Jonathan. “Shall we go eat, then?”
“It nearly three in the morning. Nothing’s open. Maybe a drive-through.”
“Fine by me. But we need to ditch the van.”
“Why? It’s not like he can trace such a generic van - we’ll just switch the plates and tires. Don’t be such a drama queen.”
“Wasn’t me who was into theatre,” Ivy muttered.
“Pardon?” Jonathan turned his head to look at her in puzzlement.
“Nothing. Watch where you’re going.”
_______________________________________________
A couple of hours earlier:
Bruce was listening to the police scanner when the van pulled into the alley ahead of him. He watched in curiosity, freezing when he recognized the man making the drug drop.
“Damnit.” He also saw the red-haired woman, and took some pictures, plugging them into the on-board facial recognition search program. When the van pulled away, he backed out, and shadowed it one street over.
“What the hell are you doing, Jonathan?”
He shook his head to clear memories of a night so long ago.
After a few drops, he saw his chance and parked. He got out and crept closer, listening to banal banter. He did note that Jonathan was not happy with the woman.
Yet she fawns all over him.
He froze as the henchman who had been driving came closer. With a studied move, he had him out cold on the ground. He looked up, and tried to get to Jonathan. He diverted his path as bullets pinged too close for comfort. He watched the van tear off, then went back to the man he’d caught. With his foot, he rolled him over.
“You’re going to tell me everything you know about Jonathan Crane. When you wake up.” With effort, he managed to man-handle the man into the Bridger, and drove off at full-speed. Gotham Police could handle a night by themselves.
______________________________
“If you bend the nail in the back...I’ll just slip right off.” He slithered off the little stand and fell in a heap, fake entrails spilling out under him. The audience collectively made a shocked noise. He smiled a little under the mask.
They should have figured that this was not a nice MGM production when we hacked off the witch’s feet to get the fucking shoes.
He stuffed them back into his shirt as Danielle wiped her ‘bloodied’ hand on her apron saying, “it doesn’t hurt, does it?”
He stood up, looming over Dorothy, staring silently. “No, I just shove them back in. No stitches, you see.” He stretched indecently, pulling up his shirt to show off some good special effect makeup. “It’s good to be free.” He cocked his head, and swung around to look at Danielle. “Did I scare you?”
“No, I thought you’d hurt yourself....” Danielle twisted her hands, staring out at the audience for a moment.
“Ah. But I didn’t scare you?” He slipped around her, to lean over her shoulder, seductively wrapping his long fingers with their fake long nails over her shoulders. She started.
“God, you’re creepy when you do that, Johnny!” she hissed. He grit his teeth.
It’s not like we haven’t practiced this a hundred times now, you stupid whore. Stop fucking it up.
“No, of course not!” She chirped.
“I’ll try harder next time, then.” He looked up at the descending crows on wires - they’d found stuffed birds from a taxidermist’s and hung them on small nooses. “As you see, I’ve all ready frightened them to death...”
“Poor things!” Danielle said, going to stand next to him, looking up at the birds.
“If only I had a conscious...” He turned to the audience and took a bow, explaining to them in a sing-song lullaby what he’d not do if he had one; but for now that he had to since he had none.
There was scattered applause from a horrified audience.
That’s not what I remember. I got a standing ovation for that number. He turned over, coming awake as the staccato knocking on his door sounded again.
“What?” He sat up groggily, scratching his stubble.
“It's time to get up.” Ivy said, opening the door and flipped on the lights. “Come on, Jonathan, your patients are waiting, I’m sure.”
He sighed, rubbing his eyes as the incandescent lights buzzed to light, pinging now and then as they flickered.
“As long as I get some green to eat. This meat-rich diet is making my body sick.” He looked up at Ivy, as she stood waiting.
“Fine. Breakfast’s in a half hour.” Ivy paused as she turned. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, you?”
“Perfectly, as usual.” She closed the door behind her and Jonathan listened to her heels click on the bare floor in the hallway.
He got out of bed, shoving his feet into the slippers waiting. He wiggled is toes inside the soft fleece and slouched into the bathroom, scuffing them on the concrete floor, imagining a soft, creamy carpet.
The light was all ready on - all the lights were connected. He measured himself in the mirror. His cheekbones stood out, and his eyes were sunken. I look a mess - where’s a good English breakfast when you need one?
Remember where, you idiot.
I’m not an idiot - its not my fault I have gaps in my memory - that horse threw me so hard...Pamela nursed me back to health.
Shave, and let’s get on with the day.
He picked up the straight razor with trepidation. “I’ll have to go buy myself an electric.”
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