If I stare at these any longer, they'll never leave my draft. This is mostly going to be DC/Batman Rogues stuff with a few favorites. Much obliged. Feel free to hit the links below. Writing blog of Lualie (AO3)- midnightsingvogel (tumblr)
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma (scriddler - established relationship)
Rating: G Words: 4920
Synopsis: Part 2 of 3 of There will be snow as part of my late Secret Scriddler:
âJonathan finds a way to distract his sick partner, who has grown more and more restless from his inability to enjoy his holiday, thanks to his cold.â
You can read the previous part here!Â
Edward shouldnât had allowed a song to distract him as much as it just did, the moment he opened the door. He had a sense he heard it before, and from the quiet scratching under the notes, it seemed it was playing from a turntable.
No, what Edward should had noticed first, were the candles.
Carefully, he followed them. They seemed to know the way.
âWe do everything for a reason, Mr. G. Even the basest of behavior can be explained through the means of pure sheer logic and understanding of human nature.â
âMaybe so, Dr. Crane. ButâŠâ
âHmmm?â
âMaybe⊠There isnât any reason, for him I mean⊠Maybe he was just⊠A bad person all along.â
The look the older psychiatrist weighted on him was inscrutable.Â
âYes,â he finally said in a soft voice, sending a violent chill down his core. âThat happens sometimes.â
In spite of his remaining questions, G had the festering sense that he should not stay under that gaze any longer that day.
Perhaps, he thought as he drove past the Gothic gates of the institute, it was what they meant, when they said these kind of places could get to you.
Still, the echoes of his voice chased him all the way home.
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma (scriddler - established relationship)
Rating: G Words: 4920
Synopsis: Part 2 of 3 of There will be snow as part of my late Secret Scriddler:
âJonathan finds a way to distract his sick partner, who has grown more and more restless from his inability to enjoy his holiday, thanks to his cold.â
You can read the previous part here!Â
Edward shouldnât had allowed a song to distract him as much as it just did, the moment he opened the door. He had a sense he heard it before, and from the quiet scratching under the notes, it seemed it was playing from a turntable.
No, what Edward should had noticed first, were the candles.
Carefully, he followed them. They seemed to know the way.
"Edward." Jonathan called, sliding a tray on the dresser outside of their room. He had tolerated the thuds for over an hour now..
At the sound of muffled groans, the doctor leaned by the closed door, supporting his weight with a hand over his head. He made sure to keep a careful distance from the door itself, least anything was thrown at him with frightening accuracy.
"I won't impede on your privacy unless I find your logic unreasonable, which you are entitled to be-"Â
THUD
A violent impact shook the wall at the level of his head. After a moment of silence, Jon stared at the now undisturbed door with a deadpan weariness.Â
"... Let's see,â he continued. âRight now, you are angry that your cold has only worsen for the past two days, giving me reason and taking away your choice to spend your holiday the way you wanted it to be."
There was no sound from the other side. No thudding, no groans. Nothing.
The morning after their amiable deal, Jon woke to an empty bed.Â
He vaguely recalled a feeling of motion, of Edward getting up at some point of the night. He remembered the dampness of his lustrous hair when he returned to him. The breathless his agitation as he laid down.
The drowsy familiarity compelled Jon to soothe away what he then believed to be a nightmare. Muttering nonsense to the beloved silhouette under his lips, pressing close, and closer, just a breath away, a single dried kiss to his temple as a testament of oblivion.Â
Jon's unraveling fingers, seeking his capable palm, clammy and clenched over one of the pillows.Â
Wordlessly, Jon lined the back of his hand against it, and closed his eyes to the sound of the other's breathing.
... So, not a nightmare it seemed.
After managing to coordinate his limbs out of the bedroom, Jon found the genius in the living room, wrapped in a-... several heavy blankets. He appeared to be focusing on notes spread across his laps, his green glasses stubbornly sliding down his freckled nose. One of his hands was sticking out of the warm fortress, holding onto an empty mug of what Jon presumed had been hot cocoa.Â
Without a word, Jon brushed a feather-light palm over the area where his head should be, sliding down a long arm to pry away the empty mug from the hand clasping it, and headed to the kitchen just as quietly as he came.Â
After several minutes of staring at the cupboards blankly, the old doctor joined him on the couch with a refill of cocoa and a cup of coffee for himself. Before Jon managed to even say a word, the soft mount gathered the documents in a neat pile, and bent forward to leave them on the coffee table, turning to him.Â
Casually dropping the blanket from over his shoulders, Edward's torso emerged with all the practiced panache of a Greek mythology figure, leaning both of his elbows back over the arm of the couch while two bright green slippers pawed obnoxiously at Jon's leg.
"Well good morning to you too, Edward." Jon threw him a side-long glance before his attention was drawn back to the hot beverages in his hands. Edward extended an imperious hand toward the mug that was obviously his, which Jon handed over a bit awkwardly. The faint ghost of a grateful smile was all that graced him for the gesture. Jon turned to sip at his own drink, a mirrored smirk of his own.
"So," Jon began, tilting his head to stare at the proud man, "have you formulate any plans for today?"
Edward inhaled royally, expending his chest as he practically made a show of stretching. The slippers reached further up over his thigh as he did so.
"You know, I was thinking, maybe a day indoor wouldn't be so bad," Edward stated carelessly.
"Is that so?" Jon rose a brow, cautiously amused.
"Tomorrow," Edward assured. A promising glint in his eyes, a thrilling grin that held no doubts as he rose his chin. "Tomorrow you will come with me, as per your words." He insisted on the last part with a threatening glare, which Jon held with ravenous defiance. "But today? Today, I'm keeping you company until your mythical patience tires out."
The tall man observed him a moment longer, noting the slightest sheen of sweat on Edward's forehead. Jon hummed fondly as the pompous man wiped it with a casual flick, as if this was of no relevance to his decision at all.Â
Jon serenely came to the conclusion that he was, frankly, not awake enough to deal his way out of this situation. Not to mention that calling out Edward on his bullshitting, no matter how tempting, would only prompt him to find more quarrelsome ways to regain superficial control over his current condition... An appealing compulsion to prod, most assuredly, but rather unwise at the moment.
...Then again, he had not entirely been joking about that cabin fever scenario...
Jon scoffed and turned back to his coffee, as it was slowly helping with the poor circulation in his fingers.
"Think of it this way." The redhead shrugged, one of his slipper hooking itself under Jon's leg. The nude heel sliding distractedly over it. "You'll get to be my personal pillow for the rest of the day~" Edward chimed cheekily.Â
"That hardly means anything," Jon countered, nonplussed. "I'm always your personal pillow."
"And a rather lousy one at that." Edward rubbed his face with a grimace. "I wake up with prints of your sternum all over my cheeks and the distinct impression that I've been sleeping face first into a pile of bristling sticks."
"Well then, I'm glad your impression of me happens to be accurate."
Edward fought to keep a displeased expression, trying to stay dignified for the sake of not getting sidetracked by Jonathanâs particular brand of humor. His sickness, however, had a different plan as a new wave of fever overwhelmed him enough to break through his composure, showing just how miserable he felt.
"I'll be right back," Edward said firmly, leaving the mug on the table while he fully extracted himself from his warm nest, suddenly unbearably hot to him. Jon watched him go, pondering on just what he should do with this situation.
When he returned, the puzzle mastermind invited the old doctor to select a movie they'd watch, as he felt his eyelids growing heavier. His brows furrowing as he visibly attempted to fend off unconsciousness.Â
Jonathan hummed, sitting down once he inserted his chosen movie in the DvD player. "I know you're not particularly fond of Misery, so I won't take offence if you get... distracted, through the film."
"... A rather predictable selection, I'll give you that." Edward grimaced tiredly, but welcomed the excuse to lay down when he saw it.Â
Jon didn't need to beckon him closer, the feverish man was already making quick work of draping them both with the extra covers and mismatching blankets, covering them somewhat efficiently. Jon felt more like a bed frame than an active participant of the embrace.Â
Edward grumbled against him. "Why must you choose that movie every time I get under the weather?"
"I believe in your ability to get on top of anything, darling." Jon said in his hair, poorly trying to navigate through the DVD's menu. "And I'm wondering if the possibility of having me as your live-in nurse can prompt you to get back faster on your feet."
Edward pulled away to stare at him in playful condescension. "Are you threatening me, Jonathan Crane?"
"Am I never?"
For as much as he liked to rant about how uncomfortable Jonathan's wiry body was, the redhead slept on him long and hard, pressed up against his chest. Jon watched the movie on mute, mostly reading the subtitles from the film commentaries when he wasnât distracted by how Edwardâs facial fats gathered in a boyish way whenever he changed position.Â
Edward was only awaken later by Jon, who escaped long enough to retrieve a book, cold medicine, and a glass of water. And then again a few more times to make sure he ate something.Â
As the medication seemed a lot more potent on Edward than expected, the redhead slept for most of the day and night, dutifully reminded by Jon how much time had passed every time he came back to consciousness. The older man watched as Edward's frustration only increased as more symptoms appeared.Â
After the fever came the congestion and the coughing... If earlier he could pretend that his so-called immune system could deal with the virus in record times, it was now clear that there would be no way around it.
What was first frustration became irritability, which paired mighty well with a sense of creeping suspicion, only met by Jonathan's amusement.
As he groggily peered at his surroundings through unfocused eyes, Edward must had come to the conclusion that he wouldn't, in any way, be able to forego his plans for the week.
It felt very likely that his entire holiday would be ruined, thanks to one ill-timed cold.
Much later that night, hazy green eyes hid nothing of his yet-unspoken accusations.
"You know..." Edward trailed off, tracing shapes on Jon's chest. "It is awfully convenient that I find myself sick after I've planned all of this for us."
Jon didn't even put down his book as he answered. "Have you been sick? I though you were merely indulging me of your company today."
"It is also," Edward continued, narrowing his attention on Jonathan's face. "Awfully convenient that you haven't displayed any similar symptoms yet, in spite of our proximity."
Jon stilled for a moment, reading him with a neutral expression. "I have not sabotaged you, Edward. Although I've entertained the thought. Believe me, it hardly does any good to my ribcage. However-" he pressed, rising his voice as to cut the next forthcoming accusation. "-You know I can't afford to be sick at my age. It's not my fault you were too busy to get a flu shot this year."
"Is that what the good Dr. Elliot told you?" the Riddler asked with open contempt, only half listening as he pushed his face back into the chest below. The old man winced.
"Well it ought to be, otherwise I'd be as miserable as you are right now."
"I'm not miserable," Edward mumbled miserably.Â
"Ah yes, my mistake. You're usually a lot more vocal when it comes to your health."
As they moved back to their bedroom, the following morning seemed hardly better on Edward, who elected to stay the day in bed.
There wasnât anything Jon could actually do to help, aside the necessities, and by the way Edward told him to shut the door behind him, he had a feeling he might as well get some work done while he had the chance to do so.
Jon wasnât sure when it began. The thuddings. He had lost track of time when he finally pull his head up, noticing the sunlight outside quickly diminishing.
Edward must had woken up, he thought. Or maybe he had been awake for a while, bored to death. Possibly sulking. Definitively sulking.
As the concussive sound didnât seem to stop, Jon took it upon his thinning patience to finally check on his partner, who was indeed in a state of utter boredom, leisurely taking all the bed for himself. Some kind of neon green tennis ball in his hand.
âWas that you trying to get my attention?â
Edward sneered with an apathetic sniff, ignoring how it whistled as he did so. There was a wetness in his voice, giving his confidence a whinny undertone. âHardly. Iâm merely testing how good my aim has gotten since the last time.â
âFor what purpose?â Jon blinked slowly.
âNever underestimate the value of a good aim.â
Jon thought of reminding him of who had won the last game of throwing darts they had together, but figured he should keep that topic for a better occasion.
âAnd how long are you planning those tests?â he asked, crossing his arms.
âI donât know.â Edward threw the ball and caught it swiftly. âHow long will you be working on yours?
âWell. I had my watch set for another hour but I might just have to extend it to a few more.â
âOh really now?â Edward feigned disinterest, purposefully demonstrating the perfectly calculated trajectory of his pitch as the ball bounced and landed right next to him on the bed. He picked it up and inspected it closely. âDonât let me keep you away, then. Iâll see how many bounces the ball can make to still retain enough force to knock out someone.â
âI reckon a straight shot to the face would be quicker.â
âNow Jon, I love your crooked nose very much. But me and my vanity wouldnât stand to make you handsomer than myself out of misguided aggression. Not when a single, well-calculated blow could make you drop down with minimal harm.â
"Theoretically. And not if you knock yourself out in the process.â Jon briefly caught the glare thrown at his direction before he closed the door. He smiled as he heard a muffled litany of swears from the other side of the door.
This altercation served nothing, seeing how Edward barely stopped for 15 minutes before picking up where he had left. With renewed vigour it seemed.
and so, here was Jonathan Crane, several hours later. Unable to enter the bedroom as the persistent sound had made itself sparse, but seldom stopped.
And oddly determined to hit the walls at the level of where his head should be. Hmm.
Jon waited a few more breaths. It was dead quiet as neither side of the door moved. As silently as his spindly bones could be, Jonathan reached for the knob. His fingers practically feeling the familiar cold radiating from the metal as he wrapped his hand around it.
An irritating ping from his right stopped him just as his index touched the handle. There on the dresser sat his phone, which he had somehow completely forgot about for the past couple of days. He wasnât close enough to read the text from where he stood, but he had little doubts as of who could had so conveniently left it there.
He stared wearily at the door for a little longer until an exasperated sigh found its way out of his chest. He walked to the dresser, picking up the device as he adjusted his glasses.
Knock Knock
There was a small icon of a baseball bat next to the words. Jon rolled his eyes, but did not comment out loud, not yet. He frowned as he tried to figure what his next move should be. Or just how to interpret this. For all he knew, maybe Edward had rigged the bedroom out of sheer boredom. He wasnât sure HOW, but he knew the man could be terrifyingly productive with the proper kind of restless energy.
Going back to the couch felt like a lot less hassle.
Short on words he-⊠well, that was an idea. Worth a try, at least..
Jonathan peered at the small icons at the bottom of his digital keyboard, selecting something that looked like what he hoped to be food. Wait. No. That was a⊠hot spring? He grimaced. He had to stop reading in dark rooms, his sight was failing him.
There was a light thud again on the wall. A good three feet to his left. Jon had the distinct impression it served as a taunt of sort.
There. He pressed the sent icon a bit awkwardly, sending what he hoped was the symbol of a meal.
He stood still for longer than he realized. The corridor outside of their bedroom was dimly lit, and so the phone produced a beam of light that nearly blinded him. Jonathan wasnât looking at the screen though. He had his attention fixed on a point beyond the wall, just as he had a feeling the ill genius on the other side was also listening closely.
At last, the phone pinged once more. Edwardâs reply consisting of nothing but an âokâ hand symbol, joined thumb and index. Hm. Stalemate, possibly. For now.
Heâll leave the food on the dresser, let him get to it on his own. For as much as he mused over the potential of a horror movie scenario, being taken out by an impromptu deathtrap would just take the fun out of it.
Still. Perhaps there was something he could do to smooth out the situation.
By some miracle, Edward had fallen asleep in spite of his last wave of fever. And he would had remained asleep for a few more hours if his phone hadnât lit up directly in his face, green light stabbing him with the notification of a new message.
Groaning displeasingly, his blurry eyes stared blindly at the screen as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
⊠candle?
Another ping.
⊠Several candles
It was finally then that he heard it.
There were the rumours of a distant tune playing from beyond the bedroom. If he had to take a guess, Edward presumed it came from the living room⊠Which was⊠probably where Jonathan wasâŠ
JonathanâŠ.
He rubbed his face over his aching sinuses, attempting to alleviate the pressure underneath. Now that he was sitting, he could feel the air wheeze through his nostrils again, somewhat. From the dried friction in his throat, it was safe to presume his charming voice would croak pitiful sounds if he attempted to speak in the near future, which had contributed to dampen his mood considerably earlier.
The foul taste of his last cold medication wasnât as revolting as the rampant heaviness that came over him as he sat by the edge of the mattress, staring at the shape of his legs against the near darkness of the room.
They were very good legs, he reminded himself. His eyes followed where the lines of muscles and fats should and shouldnât be, pondering on how they must had looked in his last âRiddlerâ outfit. It didnât improved his mood by much, but it did pull a yearning smile out of his current gloom.
Still, there was music, and quite a lovely sound at that. This would have to be sufficient distraction for now.
He went to fetch his wayward slippers, a warm blanket tightly wrapped around his shoulders. He tip-toed his way to the door. Â
Chances are, âcause I wear that silly grin
the moment you come into view;
chances are you think that Iâm in love with you.
Edward shouldnât had allowed a song to distract him as much as it just did, the moment he opened the door. He had a sense he heard it before, and from the quiet scratching under the notes, it seemed it was playing from a turntable.
No, what Edward should had noticed first, were the candles.
How did Jonathan find that many candles in the first place⊠If Edward wasnât so intrigued by the peculiarity of the scene, he would had made a point of reminding the old bird how much of a fire hazard this presentation was.
Carefully, he followed the candles. They seemed to know the way.
Just because my composure sort-of slips
the moment that your lips meet mine,
chances are you think my heartâs your Valentine.
Knowing Jonathan Crane, Edward might had just walked into a spiderweb, for all this was worth. He might be a master escapist but this better not-âŠ
⊠How much time did he spent on thisâŠ
As he came at the threshold of the living room, he noticed the room was lit with nothing but candles. A lot of them, of various shapes and sizes. It painted a soft eerie glow over the room, adding shadows where there were none prior. This was⊠Very Him, in an endearing way.
This only rose more questions, but none of them came forth as Edward laid his eyes on the lithe silhouette facing away from him.
Edward held his breath.
Two spindly hands seemed to inspect the jacket of a vinyl disk. In front of him hummed languorously an old turntable Edward had never seen in this house. It played the same crooning song that lured him out of the bedroom.
With great care, Jonathan leaned the jacket against the device. His left hand drummed lightly on the table in that mesmerizing grace of his, before smoothing itself flat against the surface, almost caressing it.
Guess you feel youâll always be
the one and only one for me
and if you think you could,
well, chances are your chances are awfully good!
The chances are your chances are awfully good!
As the song ended, Jonathanâs hand went to lift the headshell away from the disk. With the same attention to details, the uncanny man flipped the disk over, resetting the stylus to start at the beginning.
Only then did Jon turned back to him. The candlelight gave unreadable edges to his face.
He leaned back against the furniture, arms crossed.
âHello Edward.â
God, this is how he was going to die.
âHeyâŠâ Edward rasped. Very eloquent, Edward. He tried to clear his throat. âYou know, somehow I always knew I would end up a human sacrifice.â
Jon did not respond, but tilted his head curiously. The thin lines of his lips stretched slightly as he peered at the ill man.
âHow so?â
âObviously Iâm far too valuable for the common mortals. Anyone with an ounce of wit would know I would be the perfect offering for their hypothetical worships.â
As Edward began rambling, he could see the slow blinking of Jonâs piercing eyes, until a brief chuckle rattled his shoulders. The tall man pushed himself upright, stepping carefully over some candles in his way.
âI think the grandiosity of your ego will never cease to amaze me.â
Some of the furniture had been pushed away from the center of the room, leaving a wide space surrounded by burning lights. It seemed obvious to Edward that this appeared foreboding to a sinister fate. WellâŠ.. it WAS JonathanâŠ
Jon stood in the middle of the makeshift circle.
âI cannot say whether this will be your true fate or not in the future, but for now I find myself in lack of a partner, and i was hoping you could join me for a few dances.â
Oh.
He just had to go extra mile about it, didnât he?
That rude⊠outrageous⊠manipulative⊠brilliant fright of a manâŠ
Jonathan extended his hand, beckoning the redhead to join him.
In all these dramatics, Edward couldnât decide whether to qualify his unsettling smile as adoring or pure unadulterated sadism.
WellâŠ. That summed up their relationship well, in a way.
Edward walked past the candles, ignoring the offered hand. He gestured at Jon to raise his other arm so the feverish man could wrap his own around the sinuous torso, burying his forehead there with a heavy sigh that felt like a surrender.
Jon seemed to hesitate before lowering his arms around his shoulders, reluctantly mellowing in the embrace. One of his wonderful hand found its way into his hair, where it kneaded at the scalp underneath.
Edward could not see his face, but he didnât need to. Jonathan began to hum along the music, only missing a few notes to trail his lips over the top of his head, inhaling deeply as he did so.
They didnât dance, but Edward could feel them sway softly along the lulling haze of the song. Edward spoke quietly, âI didnât think you were the Johnny Mathis type.â
âI looked around the condo while you were gone. I wonder if they had the nuclear war in mind when they built this place.â
âSo youâve found the hidden vault.â Edward concluded, ridiculously pleased with how Jonathan shrugged above him.
âIf you call it a vault, rather closer to an impractical pantry. I was bored. Productivity decreases after a few hours of ongoing work.â
âIâm going to accept this as your way of saying you wished you had joined me when you had the chance.â
Edward could imagine him rolling his eyes. Still, it was hardly as satisfactory as the way his hair rose with a ghostly touch of his hand at the base of his neck.
âMy proposition still stands,â he murmured with measured fondness. âIâm all yours once you get back to your unstoppable, boastful self.â
To that, Edward said nothing. For now, he was enjoying the way Jonathan cupped his head almost tenderly with both hands. Tilting it to press slow and reverend kisses down the side of his face, turning it further the lower he went.
Edward came very close to whining at the sensation. He might had done so when the tall man reached the softness of his neck, mouthing secrets no one would ever know, not even him.
Edward thought of Gustav Klimt. Him and his lover in a passionate embrace, and felt his face burn from how much the thought appealed to him.
All too soon, Jonathan pulled away from the soft groove of flesh and moved to hold his head upright. Edward managed not to protest and cracked an eye open to look back at him.
The candlelight reflected in his eyes an unusual warmth.
âWhat was it about human sacrifice you were talking about?â Jon asked after a moment, his voice soothing.
Edward sighed loudly, âIâve had fevers all day, give me a break,â the genius grumbled.Â
Edward had no objections when Jonathan brought him back to his chest once more. He could practically feel him smirk as he lowered his lips to his ear.
âDoes this mean you havenât rigged the bedroom into a deathtrap?â
âWhy onâŠâŠ Oh. Oh, why didnât I think of thatâŠâ
âHm. Well. Glad I could inspire you Now letâs seeâŠâ he added without missing a beat. âLet me think which overrated writer I could desecrate with a death like yours...â Jonathan trailed off with wistful jest.
âOh you wouldnât dare!â Edward scoffed, although he was glad Jon could not see how foolish he smiled. âYour intellectual pride would not allow it.â
âThat is true. But Iâm sure I could find it in my heart to make an exception for one who deserves it.â
Edward laughed into the tall manâs shirt. âWouldnât a sacrifice defeats the purpose of sullying their fame?â
âHmmmm possibly. I have no clue how this works. Maybe Iâll try to bribe Banshee into telling me more about this procedure.â
They shifted softly. It felt warm but not uncomfortably so. Edward laughed in the back of his throat.
âYou know, considering her nature, I doubt she would be the agreeable kind if you asked her about it.â
âVery likely. I do need to stay alive for as long as possible in order to complete my work.â
Edward distractedly traced a finger along the tall manâs spine.
âIâd much rather live as well. I have much yet to do, and hopefully I can teach a thing or two to those who deserve my wisdom.â
âIf they survive.â
âWell yes that is a given of course. High rewards only come from high stakes, my dear.â
Jonathanâs chest shook a bit. The old doctor was probably sneering at his success rate. Before Edward could raise a question, he felt Jonathan resume his earlier work on the side of his face, tugging at his guts with every slow devouring kiss he pressed on his way down.
The music strung him along quite deliciously. He almost had to remember to breathe as chills ran through him.
âWell since weâre both aiming to live long and nefarious lives, Iâll see what I can do to help you keep up with me on your never ending journey to enlighten the world.â
Edward managed to scoff in irony. âAh yes. Your invaluable counsel. As for keeping up, I recall a certain someone spraining their ankle right in the middle of a heist.â
Jonathan paused his ministration to drum his nails unnervingly, but said nothing.
âAnd who didnât peep a word of it until we got back to the safehouse, at which point it had doubled in size. How you managed to walk on it at all is still beyond me, let alone carry supplies. Youâre very lucky a certain resourceful genius was there or else-
â-Yes, yes. I am very lucky.â Jon interrupted abruptly. Edward felt the ghost of teeth against his skin. He bit his lips smugly at the childish victory.Â
They floated in silence a moment, waiting to see who would talk first.
It's not for me to say, you love me
It's not for me to say, you'll always care
Oh, but here for the moment, I can hold you fast
And press your lips to mine, and dream that love will last
âVery lucky.â A voice said. It might had been Jonathan, but oh how low and warm and ghastly it tingled his ear, it could had been a hallucination.Â
But it was enough.
Edward pulled the tormenting lips to his, and everything melted in the soft glow of this very moment.
âI hope you catch it.â Edward whispered delectably between two breaths. He did not bother to register Jonâs expression as he moved to claim him once more.
As far as I can see, this is heaven
And speaking just for me, it's ours to share
Perhaps the glow of love will grow with every passing day
Or we may never meet again, but then it's not for me to say
I hope you enjoyed the read! Dont forget to comment or leave a kudo either here or on AO3, it makes a big difference. The two songs I used in this fic were Chances are and It's not for me to say from Johnny Mathis.
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma (scriddler - established relationship)
Rating: G Words: 3,163
Synopsis: Part 1 of 3 of There will be snow as part of my late Secret Scriddler:
âJon and Edward go spend a week on vacation, surrounded by nothing but snow and terrible ideas. What could go wrong.â
misc info: slice of life, lots of comfort, domestic fluff, old men bickering and loving each others. They have a lot of smack talk but itâs all in fun. The other parts will follow soon.
âTry not to slip and break your neck down the stairs.â
âAnd spoil you the honor of doing it yourself? I donât think so.â
⊠It wasnât what they had originally planned for.Â
One a jolly morning, it occurred to one of them, namely Edward, that the other might be interested in knowing he had plans that would be taking place at the Gala this year.Â
The disheveled doctor looked at him from across the table, loosely holding onto a piece of bread that might have been a toast in a different life, and drawled something along the lines of having a plan of his own targeting the same location.
As ironic as it may sound, the fact that they had lived under the same roof for quite some time didnât spare them from their respective habits for secrecy. Fortunately, in the end they did come up with something that would work to their mutual benefits but, still.
However, timing was everything in their business, and they were beaten to the punch when some unpredictable rookie barged into the ballroom and ruined the upper stage for any other competent rogues attending the event in disguise.Â
(and yes, Edward was positive he saw Selina winking at him among the attendees, casually slipping something into her purse⊠he was also extremely suspicious of whoever was manoeuvring the giant bird contraption on the highest balconyâŠ)
Edward looked at Jon, who rose an eyebrow at him. His part of the plan didnât involved making a fuss at all, although he would had been most happy to oblige if presented to the opportunity.
Sure they could had gone under everyoneâs noses and claim the spotlight properly while the security was handling the inexperienced fool but, it was rather embarrassing to crash the same event as someone else, especially when the first attempt had been followed by such a humiliating failure.Â
In the case of a simultaneous scheme. the best you could hope for was to show up at remotely the same time as the other present rogue, but even that was always an awkward sort of encounter, hence why most of their âesteemed colleaguesâ and themselves had the decency to organize their calendar as to avoid as many of these situations as possible. (although Jon still seemed to evade the logic of those arrangements)Â
It happened constantly, of course, but the outcome of those unwanted encounters widely ranged depending on who was involved⊠and their internalized degree of pettiness toward one other. (again, refer to a Jonathan Crane as exhibit A of disastrous headbuttings)
But, back to the point.
That night, instead of forgoing with the flashier parts of their joint-plan, and on a completely arbitrary decision, Edward decided that they needed a vacation.
âTheyâ as in -Edward-, but it was implicit Jon was intended to tag along.
And thatâs how they found themselves far, far away from Gotham.Â
âRemind me how you convinced Fries to lend you the keys to this place?â
In Jonathanâs opinion, they could had simply stayed in Gotham, like they always did, and had always been fine with thus far, but as soon as they came back from their aborted night out, Edward had began planning some idealized holiday trip full of⊠Sightseeing tours, and other activities of the likes.
At which point Jonathan felt compelled to see just what was his partner actually trying to achieve by dragging him along.
The place itself was remarkably cozy, for what Jonathan expected of a property owned by Victor Fries. He expected something closer to martial interior design, at best.
He didnât really buy it.
Edward came back and dropped a bunch of travelling bags onto the floor, huffing contently after the effort. His face was positively beaming under the purple goggles adorning it, his cheeks already flushed from the cold. It appeared he had attempted to minimize the numbers of trips outside by taking as much as his deft criminal hands could carry at once.Â
âWell?â he boasted brightly, removing his gloves and layers, but keeping the goggles. âIt wasnât like he was going to use it, was he? Should I remind you, he had plans for New Yearâs Eve, and so I offered my house-sitting services.â
ââŠOf all the places, I expected you to go for somethingâŠâÂ
The sight of all the snow on the balcony filled Jonathan with the dreadful need to stay indoor.Â
He could still feel a fading wetness under his socks from when he inadvertently stepped in a puddle of melted ice.
âWarmer?â Edward cocked a taunting grin. Jon didnât gratify him with a reaction. Yet.
At last, Edward managed to extract himself from his weather-appropriate clothes, momentarily getting stuck once he remembered the goggles he was still wearing. Under the winter coat was the green holiday sweater he changed into halfway to their destination which he also removed for good measures. Leaving him with nothing but the damp sweatshirt underneath.
⊠It wasnât a bad sight.
âAs much as I love the idea of a sun resort, thereâs only so much my delicate complexion can take again, Jon,â Edward huffed sarcastically. With a sweeping glance, he seemed to be satisfied with the number of bags clogging the hallway.Â
âEdward.â Jon blinked slowly, adopting an empathetic pose. âItâs not my fault you fell asleep under the sun.â
âOf course not!â he retorted over his shoulder, currently engrossed with the venture of taking off his boots without vertical support. âWell, some of us werenât busy doing god-knows-what in a scuba suit, terrorizing the vacationers while I was getting skin cancer.âÂ
Edward could physically hear the crooked grin on Jonathanâs face at the mention of their last trip together. Nether denying or confirming the accusation. The absolute bastard.Â
He pulled the second boot off, leaving it to dry over the heater.
âBut you did stay with me afterwards,â Edward conceded, walking back toward him. âAn appropriate alibi, to say the least.â
Jonathan continued to observe him, appraising him silently with that bewitching gaze of his.Â
âOh, you know I had nothing to do with those odd incidents at the pool.â
âThis.â Edward jabbed two fingers in his chest. Fondly. âThis is why we canât have nice things, Jon.â
âAnd so, to deter me from causing any incident to ruin your holidays again, you picked the least appealing location I could find myself into?â
âPffff, deter you??â Edward scoffed. One finger casually hooked at the hem of his collar and pulling him down toward him. âMy dear, Iâm not even expecting you to set a foot outside.â
âThen why here?â
âIâm house-sitting, Iâm telling you! Whether you join me in my recreations is completely optional.â
âIâm glad we agree,â the tall man gritted. He was allowing Ed to pull him for the time being. âI had planned to work on my new formula concepts this week.â
The Riddler shrugged casually, pecking his cheek. âI know, I know. Dreadful boogeyman that you are.â Edward finally let go of his shirt, turning to the bags behind them.
âNow. Thereâs much to unpack and little daylight left.â He grabbed a selection of bags, heading for the kitchen. âFeel free to go back to your work if you believe it cannot wait any longer.â
âEdward.â
Jon had not moved until Edward stopped to look at him again. When he did so, Jonathan breathed deeply, straightening his back with a slow awkwardness.
âLet it be known that I wouldnât be here if I didnât want to.â Jon offered, then looked at the array of bags before him. âAnd, that any suggestions you might provide for my researches would be most welcomed.â
Edward stared at him a moment, and exhaled sharply. âNoted and acknowledged. Now help me put the groceries away. why wonât you?â
The brilliant man escaped to the kitchen, chased by the ghastly image of the God of Fear smiling upon him.
Jonathan could hear a percussive sound coming from the bedroom. It didnât had a rhythm per se, but its remarkable consistency had been hard to ignore for the past hour.
The two first days had gone⊠surprisingly well, or at least without too many incidents.
thud
The first night had been quite pleasant, mostly on the account of Jonathan allowing himself to spend the evening chatting with Edward. Or rather, them both indulging the other with their latest topic of interests and the underlying layers of mutual spite they shared for it.Â
The first thing Edward had done when they arrived had been to thoroughly inspect every inches of the condo, making sure it wasnât bugged in any way. With their instincts reassured, they both eased into conversation smoothly.Â
After all, one could never be cautious enough in their line of work, even with colleagues you had good relations with. Jon knew Edward would not hesitated if the payoff was worthy of his involvement.Â
It was⊠well. Those moments, those conversations were always worthwhile. Jon simply hadnât realized it had been a while since they both stopped to enjoy each otherâs company.
At some point toward the late afternoon, the master of mysteries was truly clueless as to where he had inadvertently left his glasses earlier (the bedroom, it turned out. Itâs always the bedroom), and so had designated Jon to read him the steps of a recipe in the cooking book they found smugly tucked in the living room.Â
Upon further inspection, Jon noted that a few pages had been torn off, and rather thoughtlessly at that. But given the kitschy retro aesthetic of the book itself, Jon had a suspicion Edward must had found some incriminating recipes involving spam in any conceivable way. Literally in -any- conceivable way.Â
The resulting dish didnât exactly look like the expected result, but Jon made sure to move the direction of the book away from Edward, just as to avoid the chances of him getting fixated on the alternative outcome. Needless precautions as they both knew Edward would deem it an improvement over the original recipe.
Still.
It had been⊠pleasant, even fun. Siting from the other side of the counter, instructing the genius with directives he would have to put together in an impromptu game of interpretation. The commands sending him in a flurry of steps around the kitchen, either mumbling or criticizing the choice of words.Â
It did spent quite a bit of his creative energy. When Edward finally came to a stop, breathing deeply so to calm himself down, he found Jonathan quietly leaning forward on his elbows, folded hands tucked under his chin. Pale knowing eyes locked onto him with a devouring gaze.
thud
Jonathan rubbed the bridge of his crooked nose.
Although they had been without âincidentsâ, they were stillâŠ. themselves, and tensions had somewhat escalated due to poor circumstances and their respective tempers.Â
Jonathan returned to his work the very next morning-⊠afternoon, and hence had declined Edwardâs invitation to wander out into the cold that day. Something to do about sightseeing the local tourist traps or maybe was it something along the lines of visiting informants in the sector. Whether they were his or Friesâ, it seemed to come down to the same thing in his leisure list of nefarious tasks.Â
As per their agreement, Edward shrugged and left him to his dark bidings. However when he received a similar response on the second day, his reaction was significantly less agreeable.Â
What was it he had in mindâŠ. Skiing? Really?
Jon knew he could get skis on his feet just fine, but his few intimate face-to-face with odd-located trees has taught him that he should never trust these contraptions for an extended period of time. Â
âAlright then,â Edward argued insistently. âHow about snowboarding? Think of it as a warm up for the next time youâll somehow fit a horse in one of your schemes.â
âWhat does this have do to with Horseback riding?â Jon snapped.
âEvidently, it requires you to use your stabilizers and abdominal core! Iâm not exactly sure what strange magic keeps your body from frailing apart, but Iâm certain you could excel at it just fine if you put your mind to it!
Jon fixed an unpleasant glare on him. Speaking in that low threatening voice that only seemed to grow in volume the longer you listened to it.
âIf I do come with you, which I do not intent to do, I can promise you I will watch you jump out of the ski-lift, by yourself, and I wonât even wave as it carries me back down to the embarking station.âÂ
âItâs a terminal, Jon. And? So? What else is new!? It wouldnât kill you to try something new!â Clearly annoyed, Edward shook his head, throwing his hands in exasperation âOh and you never wave anyway!â
Jon flipped a page.Â
thud
The heated exchange was left unresolved as Edward was expected elsewhere and already fashionably late enough as it was.Â
They had both significantly calmed down by the time Edward came about, much later after the sun had set.Â
With his cheeks still red from the cold, Edward found Jon sitting on the same stool as the first night they shared in their temporary abode, the same he had grown accustomed to see him occupy for the following days, as they were both creatures of habits when it came to little things like that.Â
The room was quiet, and perhaps brighter than Jonathan would normally prefer. Still, there he was, idly sipping at the brown mug he had also wordlessly chosen as âhisâ since they arrived.Â
Seemingly lost in thought, Jon felt two arms wrap silently around his middle, something warm pressed against the exposed part of his neck. His back slowly draped with a familiar softness he hadnât realized he had yearned for until that moment.
âHad fun?â Jon asked quietly after the hands that claimed him felt somewhat warmer. He caught himself contemplating every single sensation from the embrace.Â
His answer was a muffled grumble, punctuated with a sigh. What Jon had assumed a forehead was replaced by a freckled chin leaning over his shoulder, humming almost contently.
âRiddle me this: I am a man of cold with little to cherish, If I stand in the sun, truly Iâll perish. What am I?â Edwardâs voice recited the riddle with a deceiving casualness. Â
âHm. I see weâre taking the gloves off now,â Jon noted sarcastically at the personal jab.Â
âOh no, no.â Edward replied with a smug laugh, his voice a conspiratorial hush against his ear. âIâm always wearing gloves.â The redhead made a show of inspecting his perfectly manicured hand from over his shoulder.Â
Jon scoffed, something like amusement, or weariness, leaning a bit more comfortably against the other man. His fingers ran over the hand still laying over his middle, retracing the shape of an old scar he had grown fond of over their years together.
âIt must be why I enjoy seeing you without them, darling.â
Jon saw the dark reflection of his own crooked smile in the window facing them. From the captivated gaze staring back at him over his shoulder, Jon knew Edward had seen it as well.
What started with an exasperated sigh turned into delighted huffs, followed by beloved lips peppering his lean shoulder and neck with a trail of arguments, halting just behind his ear.
âYou know I canât afford to get any frostbites?â he teased, both of his hands covering as much of his torso as they could. âWhat would I do if you melted at my feet?â
âUnlikely, unless you put your mind to it, hmm?âJon echoed from earlier, flat-toned, dropping to a low threat. âand we both know what you would do.â Jon rose his mug to take another sip, stopping halfway, adding. âAnd that would imply you being the sun.â
âAm I not?â
âWould you ever limit yourself to a single star?â
A wicked grin answered him in the frosted glass.
thud
âDarling.â
âMhm?â
They had moved to the bedroom some time after further âconvincingâ from Edward. Jonathan obliged the suggestion with acute interest.Â
âI wasnât sure how to say this earlier but, youâre really hot.â
âYouâre welcome.â
âOf course. No, Iâm serious, youâre literally burning.â
Green eyes stared at him, blinking slowly.
âI donât know where this is heading, Jonathan Crane, but you either take those implications back, or youâll get those creeping fingers in an ice box at the nearest hospital.â
âYou caught a cold,â Jon continued, undisturbed.Â
âWeâŠ. are literallyâŠ.â Edward groaned in frustration, struggling to keep any trace of wavering out of his tone. âJon. I spent the whole day outside. Of course Iâm going to be exhausted-â
â-Extended exposure to cold and touristic environment-â
â-Gotham had one of the worse case of flu not even a month ago, not to mention the immunity any citizen develops if they manage to live there long enough!â Edward argued, almost harshly. âDo you REALLY think I would catch something as benign as a common cold while on vacation? Of all times???â
âHow do you know you didnât catch it before we left?â
âOH, That. is. it! Move, Iâm taking a shower.â Edward forcibly removed himself from the bed. âYou can deal with your own predicament by yourself!â
âEdwardâ
âWhat?â
Jon shouldnât had enjoyed the chaos as much as he did. There was something to be said as he contemplated the force to be reckoned with that was his partner, practically fleeing the scene rather than accept the telltale signs of sickness.
âIf Iâm wrong and youâre in perfect condition tomorrow morning, we can go out and do whatever your heart desires.â
âOh, now itâs convenient for you to hold this over my head, isnât it?â
âYes.â Jon shrugged shamelessly. For just a second, he saw the glimpse of his own death in those furious green eyes. âI mean it as a positive suggestion, of course. After all, this could easily turn into a case of Cabin FeverâŠâ he trailed off, glancing carelessly at him.
Edward leaned against the door frame in all his hedonistic glory, crossing his arms. âOh you would love that, wouldnât you?â he cocked his head threateningly, bathing in the hungry grin his partner answered with.
Followed a few seconds of cautious eyeing and ominous tension between the two peculiar men, ending with the riddler shaking his head as he turned to the annexed bathroom. âCome and join me in 15 minutes,â he paused, adding casually. âUnless you would fear me acting on those delirious thoughts, hm?âÂ
And with a charming wink, he closed the door, leaving a musing Jonathan behind.
âOh, darling. Youâd make the experience most enjoyable.â
Synopsis: Detective Nygma had no say whether he wanted any part of this. What was supposed to be a case of missing people in a small town quickly turned into a most bizarre affair.Â
There is no way to tell whether the threat comes from the forest cradling them in its overwhelming embrace⊠or if true evil lies where everyone can see.Whoever Edward decides to believe, the people who sought his help or the shadow haunting his dreamsâŠÂ
There is one thing the detective knows for sure.
Thereâs something very, very wrong with this town.
PSA: As a writer I like to keep things fresh with various types of fic and I try to divide my attention between different genres (eg. fluff, angst, smut, pure shite lmao) because I like to expand both my abilities and my understanding of characters and dynamics. Y'all are under no obligation to read a fic which doesnât appeal to you and I cannot stress that enough! Hate AUs? Consider mine with as much regard as youâd give a common housefly. Sex repulsed? Chuck my smut in the fucking SEA! Never put yourself in an uncomfortable situation just because you feel like you should. I wonât be offended or angry. I get it. I have things I cannot handle in fic too.
That said, if you know that you donât like a particular style of fic then please please please donât make yourself read it (or comment on it). I always try to tag as widely as possible to ensure people know what theyâre in for and I donât want people to be caught unaware by potentially upsetting material (eg. needles or violence).
Regardless of how much I believe that readers hold a good deal of responsible for their own consumption, to find that something Iâve created has caused someone upset genuinely hurts me in a number of ways despite how much my head tells me that I did everything I could in terms of putting it out there.
Iâve had this issue a few times in the past through many different types of fic and I just wanted to put this out there again. Donât feel compelled to read something which hurts ya cause itâs just gonna end up greatly upsetting us both and I really donât want that xx
Synopsis: Detective Nygma had no say whether he wanted any part of this. What was supposed to be a case of missing people in a small town quickly turned into a most bizarre affair.Â
There is no way to tell whether the threat comes from the forest cradling them in its overwhelming embrace... or if true evil lies where everyone can see.Whoever Edward decides to believe, the people who sought his help or the shadow haunting his dreams...Â
There is one thing the detective knows for sure.
There's something very, very wrong with this town.
Follow the story on AO3
Small towns. Edward never bothered with small towns.
Glory Hills was, contrary to what its name might suggest, a rather humble town. It might had seen success a long, long time ago when it was first founded toward the late 19th century, but that qualification hardly applied on this dying town, slowly bleeding out of its younger population who preferred seeking opportunities in distant cities. Smart kids.
It was rather isolated from the outside, for a start. The town had settled its economy on various resources over the years. A bit of lumbering. A bit of mining. A bit of hunting. Farming was not the most efficient with the type of soil they were living on but, somehow the land had never failed them, or so heâs been told. They tended to rely on themselves foremost and only required, or sought, external assistance for the occasional lack of said necessities. The closest neighboring town being 20 minutes away on the highway is probably one of the reasons they set to be self-reliant on the first place. That, and a stiff stubbornness in regards of modernization.Â
They did have Wifi though. So that was a comfort. It was spectacularly spotty, however.
Though, it could be said the scenery was quite compelling at various time of day, if you had a thing for that sort of rustic aesthetics. The slight groove it was built into was cradled by hills and the looming forest furnishing them. There was a creek originating from the dark folds of said woodland. Since his arrival, he had been told that if everyone stopped and paid attention to it, they could hear the sound of rushing water, humming like a voice. compelling, growing, engulfing.... Â
.... Moving on. to Edwardâs annoyance, the townâs inhabitants were not particularly warm to outsiders. Or perhaps it was the late Septemberâs chill affecting their manners and.... hospitality.
There was, however, one thing Edward did knew about small towns. They kept their history very close to their chests.Â
All he had to do, was ask the right questions.
âAnd here we have a painting of Mayor Mansfield, who was in office for nearly 20 years before passing his seat to his son-in-Law, Mayor Redfields Senior, who you might recognize as our current Mayorâs grandfather.â
âAh yes. Tell me, Mrs. Redfields. Did you-â
â-And finally, here we have a portrait of the Redfieldsâ Manor, up on the eastern hill. You see, Glory, as we call it, had a change of heart in the 20s, and we were extremely lucky to have a type of soil that favored certain kind of flowers. The Mansfields, who originally built the manor in 1923, made the economy boom through commercialization of our local variety. That business lasted... oh, ten years? Give or take. Then the flowers actually spread outside of the area and, itâs been regarded as little more than weed by the locals. Still, every spring, you can see them everywhere, particularly on your way up the hill to the manor! It is luxurious and rich and covering the lands like the blood of our nation!â
Edward nodded amiably at the stout woman, tightening his fists behind his back as he awaited for his client to finish âan important callâ. Mrs. Redfields must had been in her late 50s, with a obvious habit of smoking for the looks of her teeth and a subtle yellowing of her fingers... Unless the nearby spittoons were actually indicative of a tobacco chewer. Either way.
Her eyes were somewhat sunken deep in her skull. They were alert and alive with the newfound opportunity of sharing the history of their town to any politely inquisitive visitors, and had commandeered the conversation ever since Edward had uttered his first unfortunate question.Â
At any another time, perhaps Edward would had enjoyed this kind of tour. But he had the growing impression that his client had either forgotten he was expecting to see him or, plausibly, that the lady herself had not actually informed her husband of his arrival as soon as she saw the possibility to ramble the excess of information held into her thinning cranium and never had the chance to spill at any of the jaded locals.
Which, to an extent, Edward sympathized with. However, he was not above hypocrisy.Â
Before he could make his 5th attempt at placing a word in the conversation, the tall doors leading to the Mayoral office opened on a balding man with a permanent wrinkle up on his forehead. His brows were knitted as he ran his eyes across the hall. âMargaret, have you seen- OH! Oh, Detective Nygma, welcome! I was expecting you earlier, I was worried you might have gotten lost on your way here...â
Edward tried not to shot his eyes through the lady next to him who, he could see from the corner of his eyes, was puffing her chest, standing as tall as her height permitted. Shamelessly daring anyone to question her reasoning. Â
âIt is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Mr. Redfield.â Edward crossed the distance swiftly, shaking the manâs hand. His palms were sweaty and left a sticky sensation over his own.
Mayor Redfields briefly grinned apologetically, though it was not very convincing a grin. Everyone was quite aware of that, and he did not try further. âLet us begin, then. Please, come in. Have a seat.â
The Mayorâs Office was, in a similar taste as the rest of the house, old-fashioned with a hint of decay around its edges. Edward made sure not to point them out and focused on the content of the office itself, which featured books and papers at various places obviously not made for books and papers. It was messy, is what he was trying NOT to say.
Many pictures of those infamous red flowers as well, whom the redhead could recognize as Morning glories.
The detective sat in a pink-cushioned chair with his legs crossed, his hands patiently folded until he heard the ridiculous favor he had been asked to perform for this man.
âI must say, Mr. Redfields, your friends were... quite convincing when I was told I was required to assist you in this.... case.â
âAh... yes. Itâs been quite a thorn in my side for the 2 past years-.â
âWhich Iâve come to understand,â Edward cut him, grinning unpleasantly. âhas to do with disappearing citizens? Would you mind elaborating on that, or should I go the old-fashioned way and interview each and every single one of your constituents? However, I trust you could offer some valuable insights?â
He should had been mindful of the condescension in his tone, but his patience had ran thin until this conversation. He had lost valuable time, and he would gladly appreciate a quick briefing on what he needed to know to begin his investigation and get done with this hellhole.
He saw the other man straightening himself, leaning his elbows over the desk. âOf course... Well, there have been a few... disappearances, in the past few years. Some we just assumed people who left and never returned, having shown signs of those kind of behaviors in the past. However..... We recently found how... one of our most skilled hunter have met a most... dreadful end. It-... It has been a week now so, of course our police department have investigated the crime scene and removed the corpse from itâs.... confinement.â
âConfinement?â The detective emphasized, observing every detail of the man in front of him. From his shifty eyes to the shaking of his hands.
Redfields fetched a cloth he used to wipe the pearls of sweat on his forehead, rising to retrieve a folder from one of his drawers.
âWe took pictures of everything, of course. Iâve... not looked at them much myself. It is a rather upsetting sight for me. Acker was a good friend of mine...â he trailed off, looking anywhere except at Edwardâs perceptive glare.
Edward leaned to take the folder, opening it to reveal.... a rather peculiar death.
Well.Â
âIntriguing.â Edward carded through each pictures. Taking a moment to notice the details of every frame. âMr. Redfields?â
The older man turned to him in mild astonishment, as if he had only noticed him now. âYes?â
âHas this ever happened before?â
Edward kept a close eye on the man, and what he saw only made him more.. curious.
âNo! No... This is, not anything I have ever seen. You.. You can clearly see the branches had gone-..... oh godâ
âItâs quite alright, sir. Please sit back down.â
And the man did just so, looking particularly upset. He resumed wiping at his bald head while Edward looked at the pictures a second time over.
Admittedly, if this murder had been staged, which it must had been... someone had put incredible efforts to make it look like a tree had somehow engulfed the man into its trunk, branches and leaves sprouting out of his permanently escaping corpse. His arms reaching out for an escape he had obviously no power to reach...
What was most striking was the utter look of terror in the manâs expression. If all of this was true, the hunter had seen some unspeakable horror.... Well. Theoretically, dying in that fashion would be quite horrifying, you didnât need to be a genius the likes of him to know that much.
Which was nonsense, really. But, a possibility.
âAny idea how he had got himself stuck in there? Unless that is a hobby around these parts...â
âOh, no, no... We, truly do not know.âÂ
Something in his voice made Edward shot his eyes back on him, this time, the mayor found himself pinned from a severe glare.Â
This was the second time the man had lied to him, and he was itching to find answers.
âTruly?â the detective repeated, irking a brow at him.
âWell..... well there is...â
âI need all the information I can work with, Mr. Redfields. So I suggest you tell me whatâs troubling you so much.â He kept his sight on him for a spell, then tilted his head. âUnless you want me to find out for myself?â
Redfields didnât answered right away, but managed to mutter an explanation.
âIt all started when my great-grandfather became mayor of this town...â
From the depth, It hummed to his ears like a rumor through the leaves. It traveled like shimmer through the thickest of branches.Â
It pulled at his core, at the bones at his feet, at the roots feeding on them.
From the Unseen to the cursed... and in their silence, bound into completion.Â
It led him back to their civilization, breathing in the foul stench.Â
And his whole kingdom inhaled as one.
Something new had come into Glory Hills.
The air tasted of rust. Stained those who stayed too long on these grounds. It moved around them, it moved from them. Seeping into their clothes and drowning their thoughts with the promises of mortality and decay.
âSo what you are telling me... is how this town has been haunted by a creature of the woods for the last century?â the redhead was incredulous. He was also irritated. He was going through a lot at the moment.
Folk tales..... of all things.
âWell... It never came to this before. They stayed near the perimeter of the forests... Acker was a good man, he would had never gone to... to that place...â Redfields rubbed both of his meaty hands over his tired eyes. He looked near exhausted. âThey never bothered us like this before.â
Edward made a note to... entertain the idea. Although the thought alone was royally insulting his intellect. He let the silence grow between them until the other man managed to look at him again.Â
âThat place youâre referring to being the crime scene?â
âYes...â
âI suppose you were not expecting me to shy away from a crime scene on the account of it being haunted?â
âIt isnât haunted, Mr.-â
â-Detective.â
â.... Detective Nygma, but no... Despite my beliefs, I know we must find answers first...â
Edward nodded at his conclusion. The mayor filled him in on additional details, showing him a map of the events which Edward borrowed shamelessly as he stood to take his leaves. The sun was setting and he had half a mind to go back to his...... âresidenceâ before going to the next logical step of his investigation.
Hitting the local bars.
âThe answer is evident to me, Mayor Redfields,â Edward approached almost amiably, putting on his emerald green coat and favored bowler hat on, a cane he had begrudgingly left behind when Lady Redfields had pried it out of his hands with aggressive hospitality. âdo you believe the disappearances are connected to this affair?â
âOh no well, not all of them Iâm sure... We do lose a few kids every year to the appeal of the city.â He tried to grin, like this was some kind inside joke which Edward did not have a witty banter to reply with.Â
âI will see you tomorrow at noon. Until then, Mayor Redfields.â
The man offered once more that esquisse of a smile as Edward turned to open the door, leaving behind this troubled man who, even if he hated to admit it, had quite a mystery on his hands.
Perhaps, aside for all the nonsense of it, Edward has found a puzzle worth his time in this dreadful place.
As the eccentric "detectiveâ left the driveway of their home, Geordan Redfields stood where he was last seen for as long as he could hear the sound of wheels on the crumbling pavement. As he turned to walk back into his office, he found his wife Margaret standing there with a basket of fresh baked goods, a look of disgruntlement as she held it with one hand, the other on her bony hip.
âYou forgot the basket, Dan.â She sighed, almost dropping it carelessly on a table-stand. âHow is he going to stay plump if you let him run around so much?â
âPatience, my flower.â Geordanâs attitude at completely changed as soon as the man left. He exhaled loudly and ambled back to plant a kiss between her brows, her eyes throwing lightnings at him, he had no doubts.Â
âWe still have a month ahead of us, do we not?â
Authorâs notes:Â Hey guys, thank you for reading this. I owe a great lot to my friends and those who encourage me no matter the moods.Â
I'll see you guys on the next cliff hanger. I love you all, please stay warm <3<3<3Â
ps: Comments are appreciated. Dammit. I love yaâll but give me some damn feedback so I know what you want.Â
A surprisingly uneventful weekend with each otherâs company.
At least as much as Jon could actually stand to watch Edwardâs favorite shows, until the next argument would pop over whoâs turn for the remote was it. Which would bring back the usual âThis is my place, Jon.â followed by an unmistakable âYou donât even watch the damn thingâ, and where Edward would detach his eyes from his laptop screen with a pointed âOf course I am. Iâm more than capable to multitask between quality work and easy entertainment. Canât you?â one condescending brow sent at Jonathanâs open book, nestled between his open palm and stomach.
A leg (Edwardâs, definitely) shifted underneath the cozy blanket between them, pressing a set of toes against Jonathanâs outer thigh.
Jon rolled his eyes, weighing his options as he reached for his forgotten mug of bitter coffee, and possibly grin at the thought of pulling apart the content of said âentertainmentâ, if it could qualify as such.
The truth being they both enjoyed that part the most. As if they picked their shows solely in order to peeve each others. Surely Edward was doing that on purpose.
Instead of arguing, Jonathan settled for slipping his hand underneath the cover, over Edwardâs vulnerable ankle, and let his cold palm express his sentiment better than he had the patience for.
The man, the Riddler, this vessel of annoyance and immeasurable brilliance, positively hissed and kicked with a vengeance.
Jon didnât try to hide his grin. His eyes cast down once more, pretending to read while his callous thumb would absently coax his partnerâs anger into begrudged vexation. His fingers running over an old unknown scar, resting peacefully over oh so breakable bones and soft skin.
Jonathan hummed softly, barely avoiding the next kick that followed, almost as if determined to prove a point. Probably meant to prove a point.
But it seemed to stay there afterward. A compromise of sort.
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma (scriddler)
Rating: G Words: 2252
Misc Info: Fluff/comfort, old men in love, domestic fluff, perpetual bantering
You can find authorâs notes on AO3
Not everything had to be explained between them, but sometimes acknowledgement alone wasn't enough, and some efforts from both parties are required.
Edward has his rights to be worried. The first time it occurred in his presence, Jonathan Crane woke with a start. His breath caught in a dying gasp, and his hands a shaking mess clawing at the sheets.
Their buzzing schedules only allowed them a few shared hours of sleep every so often. Edward knew for a fact that the old psychiatrist wasnât prone to night terrors. Ironically, if anything, he would hastily scribble down the visions in a small leather-bound logbook, the same way one would write in a dream journal for further analysis.Â
Curiosity has always given the Riddler a fantastical nose for hidden secrets, as well as... unfortunate predicaments, from time to time. However, after the first few times of carefully deciphering the spidery notes, he quickly came to the realization that they were, frankly, a pale imitation when compared to Jonâs nocturnalâs activities. Concepts, keywords, the likes. If anything, his sinister partner didnât seemed to âdreamâ often.Â
Jonathanâs ragged gasps were particularly alarming this time, and within the quietude of the bedroom, it had stirred Edward fully awake.Â
Now, to wake Edward unnecessarily was a particularly risky venture, as he tended to be in an astoundingly foul mood as a result of irregular sleep patterns and a regal enjoyment of the act itself. However, cautious concern made the brilliant man reach a hand through the sheets, resting over the doctorâs heaving chest.Â
It was surprising sometimes, how gaunt his shape felt to the touch. No costume, simply clothed as a mean to retain any warmth. How was there still space left for lungs and a beating heart under these bones, the stretch of skin, and somehow enough muscles to roam over the rooftops of Gotham? Now that was an eluding riddle. Not a fun one, but still one bemusing mystery.Â
Edward made light of his discontentment by brushing his nails inauspiciously over the exposed skin, where the smoothness of his fingertips met the occasional scarred flesh below.
It took a moment before Jonathanâs cold hands covered Edwardâs, his unusually damp palms almost grasping over his. He pressed it to his chest as his lungs shuddered back to normalcy. It took longer still before his state seemed to settle.Â
There was an inquiry at the tip of Edwardâs tongue. Forcefully willing the crankiness of its tone a mile away, he made an attempt to ask the right words.
They never made it past the silent spell between them. At least, not before he felt motion next to him, thin lips ghosting through Edwardâs rustled hair, the next instant vanishing toward the edge of the bed. Creaking, rattling, and creeping back to wherever he busied himself when he had projects to attend to.
From the look he wore the next morning-⊠Afternoon, the tall man must had found some solace in the comfort of his austere reading chair. Which was to say, he looked stiff and worse for wear, nursing a hot beverage with a look that rivaled Edwardâs own scowl when the restlessness of a project kept him awake for days. If anything, it was even more chilling with Jonathanâs ghastly glare.
âHave you found any sleep in that curiosity display of yours? Or was the quality of the couch too much for you to bear?â
From his tone alone, Jonathan could easily see through the boldly veiled concerns, noting its familiar snark. Against all odds, it did pull at the edge of his lips. He hid the reaction behind the cooling coffee in his hands..
âEarly crow gets the worm,â he quoted in a deadpan tone, fixing his gaze on something ahead. âBeside, the decoration of my study is up to my tastes, I reckon.â
There was a spark of satisfaction in Edwardâs eyes. The flare so evident it caught Craneâs attention as he looked back at him. Some tension seemed to leave his face, although most of it mellowed down to guarded introspection.Â
A short-lived victory it was, leaving the Riddler but with a sour taste. It was particularly irritating as he was attempting to rouse a conversation out of him. Just.. Really any signs that everything was alright, or as close to that as possible.
Edward huffed, pouring a decadent mug of coffee for himself. The fact that Jonathan wasnât rolling his eyes at the sight was almost worrisome.Â
âI must admit, itâs utterly puzzling how you can fall asleep in a room filled with various pieces of pickled body parts and empty eye socketsâŠâ There was no answer from Jon, not even at the cheesy pun. They had both acknowledged long before how their tastes differed. No hard feelings. Well. Some hard feelings, when it was Jon commenting on His tastes.Â
Edward took great pride in his interior design.
Hell, he could had even made a jab at them finding sleep next to one another to begin with but there he was, ruminating.
Seconds stretched and Edward grew more anxious, itching for a response. He called over his shoulder with some genuine curiosity. âActually, where did you get them?â
The words seemed to take a moment to click into place, before Jonathan spoke absently. âOh, they used to be mine. I just tracked them and took them back when you offered a room for my books.â
âTook. Them?â Nygma repeated, smiling ironically with the mandatory quotation marks. Silence again. So it was going to be this way, then.
It was clear from his behavior that he wasnât going to talk about it. Never mind that, if their positions were reversed, Jonathan would use every trick in his book to meticulously pry out answers out of him, regardless of kicks and hisses. Of course, Edward coveted the ravenous curiosity when he was the object of it, so the aloofness wasâŠ.. irritating.
If anything, his distance felt⊠unusual. He thought out a long string of elaborate cusses, growing nervous. At last, his lips pressed with stubborn resolved as he moved to stand directly in his line of vision, claiming long awaited attention. âWell?â
Crane went still and slowly leveled his eyes at him. His annoyance laced with a curious edge that was always there when he looked at him. For a second, the genius wondered if the doctor would lose his temper at him. He briefly considered what would be worse between it and being ignored.
After all, Jon rarely lashed out in anger, at least not out of his raggedy costume. At least a reaction would give him something to work with.
Crane moved deliberately, finally picking on whatever hints were waved in his face. Honing his glance as he took Edâs mug away from his hands and broke contact only long enough to lower it onto the nearby coffee table.Â
âYou want me to talk about what woke me up last night,â he said, matter-of-factly.
âWho, me? Oh, here I though you had a clear stance on psychoanalyses and the meaning of dreams, perhaps you could look into my wistful thinking?â
Jon was about to continue before whatever he had been about to propose died on his lips, and had him snap his mouth shut mid-word. He furrowed his eyebrows with his index pointing at his partner. âDonât insult me, Edward. My dream journal is solely for inspiration...âÂ
The familiarity in the looming threat felt like an unexpected relief. The dark-haired man stopped short as he saw Edward cracking a victorious smile.
They both knew the extent of Jonathanâs distaste for Freud, and if anything could get a rise out of him, it might just be it.
The tall man closed his eyes, rubbing a tired smirk behind his callous hand, willing away the extensive rant he had been about to delve into. Edward stood there with his arms crossed and smug satisfaction painted all over himself.Â
Taking pity on his weary partner, Edward pressed a hand to the back of the couch as he leaned down toward him, propping up his chin so as to make him gaze upon him.Â
The Riddler could understand why Jon was so fond of that gesture. It was something he enjoyed as well, particularly when he had the upper hand over his foolish foes. Towering above them so they would look at him and only himâŠ. And only him.
Jon realized the reversal of their usual game. Disgruntled at first, he seemed to give in a lot quicker than Edward expected, the visible exhaustion around his eyes mellowing into mild amusement. Not entirely pleased at this situation, but not turning away from him either. His piercing stare locked on him with eloquent irony.
Edward ran a thumb along his prickling jaw, smiling fondly at the self-proclaimed God of Fear, who looked up at him with weary amusement.
He would even say with adoration, but he had things to address first before revelling in the light of that gaze.
âI canât help you if you donât talk to me, you know..â The words were careful as Edward hushed them. There were also familiar, as things Jon had told him as well in the past. He waited for signs of stiffness at the prying, as Jon would do when he was the subject of prodding. âOr if you want me to leave you alone-..â
Edward was delighted as he witnessed the slightest shift at last, seeing Jon kicked back into a semblance of life. Cautiously, always. Precise and cautious. The Riddler swore he saw the old psychiatrist roll his eyes at his shameless ogling, shushing Edwardâs dazzling smile with a look. Before any taunting remark crossed his lips, Edward felt a wiry hand at the base of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
It wasnât anything big, nor passionate. It felt closer to an confession. An apology, if that word was part of their regular vocabulary. Or an acknowledgement. Careful, almost soft, which Jonathan knew made his heart skip a beat, regardless of the years.
Not one to be diverted, Edward was still expecting an answer. And so he settled more comfortably over his partner, straddling Jon who winced briefly at the transfer of weight. He rose a glance as Edward grinned down at him, one imperious brow rose at Crane when they fell in a warmer silence.Â
Edwardâs hands framing the outline of his collarbone in a soothing way.
There was again that reluctance back on his face, but he figured it was closer to a begrudged defeat. âYouâre very proud of yourself, arenât you?â Jon asked. Glaring at green eyes, almost devilish from sheer smugness. Did he even need to point it out?
Jon exhaled softly, and then once more. ââŠI canât answer you, because I-..â he started, glaring at his mug. A brief hollow look flickering in his eyes until he spoke again. âI have no idea what happened. I donât think any dreams had ever left me like thisâŠâ His words ran dry, leaving him speechless for a moment. Nygma realized Jon was now staring at his right palm, facing up. Flexing the muscles reflectively.
âDreams? Or was it a nightmare?â
âHmm.â Crane snapped into focus again, eyes no more cast downward. His wiry hand going to rest on the small of his back, reassuring. âI donât think it was a dream, but it wasnât a nightmare either. Unlikely to be repressed memories. But⊠Iâm not sure. It would need further analysis.âÂ
Again that displeased expression. Nearly the same face he had after that time he accidentally drank three-days-old coffee.Â
âWell at least it wasnât a stroke. I wouldnât even be surprised at your age.â
â⊠Iâd suggest you be careful with where this is going. I have better endurance than you do.â
âOh throwing a few uninvited guests out the window every other day isnât really working out.â
âWell. I wouldnât need to âwork outâ every other day if said uninvited guests werenât given full permission to step inside, by the front door might I add, and wait to surprise me in my library.â
âWell itâs cold and Iâm tired of our windows being rendered useless in the middle of winter. Itâs damaging both for my techs and your booksâ
Jon quickly revised how much he valued his collection. ââŠâŠ.. Fair enough. Although Iâd be glad if youâd let them in only once a week.â
âThem or Them?â
âI am not playing charades with you, Edward.â
âThis is anything BUT a charade, Jonathan.â he retorted, resting an offended hand over his chest. âBeside, they keep you entertainedâ, he added with a wink.
âLike hell they do, it took me a whole day to fix my library last time they payed me visit.â
âFine then, they keep you in shape.â
âIâd say youâre the one keeping me in shape, but I digress,â Jon muttered, rolling his eyes. He didnât miss the way Edward smiled at his remark, how radiant he looked as he drew him back on his lips, nor how Jonathan pulled him all the more closer in the embrace.
For now, this would suffice. This was warm and familiar.Â
Small chats broke the soft glow a few times before they both went back to their separate businesses. Hours and days went by and soon the episode was left behind. Not quite forgotten but in a way, metaphorically left to pickle in one of Jonâs curiosity jars.Â
Iâve been particularly busy for the past weeks and Iâm currently having a bunch of projects all at the same time, which means when I get home I rather spend my energy on getting ready for the next day. Hence why the activity has suddenly dropped here.
However. On a positive note, Iâm currently brainstorming two different scriddler timelines of events that might turn into something.. interesting, in the long run. At least, if Iâm satisfied with where all the collected pieces end up on.Â
(I think the question is, how extra do I want to be)
This blog will also eventually lead to my main, but for now feel free to send me ask or prompts!!
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma (scriddler - established relationship)
Rating: G Words: 1611
Synopsis: Every now and then, Jonathan is acutely reminded how time does not heal all wounds, but gives you better tools to cope. Edward is no tool, however. A fact Jonathan appreciates more than he will ever admit.
misc info: slice of life, comfort, domestic, this fic was inspired by @edwxrdnxgmapost a few days ago. Thank you for the inspiration, I needed that.
You can also read it here on AO3
This kind of the weather would usually bring fond memories to Jonathan Crane.
Not nice ones, other than perhaps the glimpse of a moment, a younger version of himself taking in a particularly pristine sight. A vision that appealed to his eyes alone, frozen in time, seemingly unseen by all who lacked an eye for details.
They never lasted, of course. Gone in a blink, ruined by a shout, renewed dread crawling up his spine in a visceral grip. Bitter reminders that he would never have the luxury to forget who he was.
Which, ironically, he had come to be thankful for. Thankful, but not forgiving. And that trail of thoughts would usually lead to a set of grim yet pleasant recollections of his past retaliations.
... But every now and then, neither his diligent work nor his methodical scheming were enough to give a positive spin on his restless ghosts. Every now and then, a familiar voice across the street would remind him of someone long dead and gone. Sometimes, the sound of rain clattering against his window would rouse imagines of flying terrors. An ageless angst scratching at the edge of his consciousness, settling into his bones where it made itself a niche a long, long time ago.
It was with great distaste that he had come to recognize this affected side of his psyche. And with great zealousness that he delved into the science of the human mind. To find a cure, to find an explanation. For himself, for others. Because understanding was the first step in healing. Because understanding was a weapon few had the chance to yield, and he proved to be extremely good at it. Â
However, understanding one-self didnât erase the vestigial imprints of a past upbringing, particularly in environments that would shame an individual for showing vulnerability of any kind. You could distance yourself from the past, but the past remained. And hence it made sense that someone who had fought and survived on their own, for the most of their life, would inherently feel a crippling sense of weakness toward showing this side of themselves, as they had been raised to lick their wounds in silence, or denied any veracity from their anguish.
Jonathan could recognize the logic of his anxiety, for example, and he knew it was not to be seen as a weakness, neither was seeking help to alleviate its effects. Those were truths he had come to repeat to his patients, to his (former)students, to his questionable friends. But he was nowhere near happy about it when he happened to be the one in that position
And it was with that conflicted irrationality of thoughts that he left his office, his legs leading him inexorably toward the riddling mastermind he shared his current lair with.Â
The man was found in one of their common rooms.... sketching. He seemed to be scribbling notes and mechanical designs for future projects, with a few stray question marks decorating the margins. There was an array of laptops surrounding him, warming the room unpleasantly. Well. Three laptops was still far too many, which Jon would normally dispute, should be kept in Edwardâs own workshop. To which Edward would retort that working in a different environment helped freshen up his ideas and hence they would normally bicker until one of them rolled their eyes and ignore the argument altogether In favor of something of equal bantering but-...
But, not tonight. And as he stepped into the room quietly, Edward raised a brow at his unusual lack of snark. Jon simply went to sit on the remaining side of the couch.
âI would move that one away, if I were you.â Jon said, pointing at the laptop sitting between them.Â
âAnd what if I donât?â
âWell, Iâm lying down whether itâs there or not so, thereâs always the risk that I might âaccidentallyâ throw one of your gadget on the ground in the process.â
The Riddler seemed intrigued, and gave a rich laugh. âOh, trust me, Jonathan. My âgadgetsâ are more likely to maim you than you are to damage them.â
âOh, well then donât mind if I-â
âNo-, you.â He snatched the device away, giving him a particularly nasty glare. Jonathan almost chuckled. Almost. Edward positively sneered.
Jon somehow shifted his elongated frame to lay beside the redhead, who begrudgingly offered a wayward pillow for his head.
âI recall you saying my laps were quite comfortable,â he offered with faux triviality.
âThey surely cannot be compared to mine, or so Iâve heard.â
âA mystery to none. However?â
âIâm going to be there for a while. I though I could be considerate of your thighs.â
âOh how very thoughtful of you,â he offered sarcastically, rolling his eyes.Â
But he was smiling, actually putting his work aside (for now) to lean over him, one arm pressed against the back of the couch, the other twirling a strand of dark peppered hair. âBut enlighten me, my friend. What can I do for you on this fine stormy evening?â
Jon took a moment to consider his reasons, and went on to a whole new topic. âIâm actually quite impressed you havenât turned on that ridiculous electrical fireplace of yours.â
âWell-... Thereâs no need for a fire, Jon. Anyone with an ounce of logic would understand that, what with all of this equipment running at once...â He trailed off, but added dramatically. âAlthough, with a bit of warning I could prepared a thematic scenery to exasperate you further, Lenore.â
âAnd come to find you draping the furnitures? How dreadful.â
Edward laughed delightfully. âNow now, we both know you love it.â
The tall man didnât answer at that but chuckled deeply, closing his eyes. After a moment, he quietly fetched the hand above him, keeping it close to his chest. This had the simultaneous reaction of silencing the man in green. Jon felt the other freckled hand combing through his wiry scalp soothingly.
âI need to know what Iâm working with, if you donât mind.â Edwardâs voice was soft, but with an unmistakable purpose.Â
Edward Nygma was a man of many talents. Many one could ponder over on a daily basis. His life and personal knack for trouble had led him to hone a remarkable set of skills, and personality traits, that proved themselves immeasurably useful-Â
Well, not all of them useful. Inconvenient at best, but that was for a different rant.
There was the undeniable fact that the man bolstered about himself a great deal, but only a fool would think he was not paying attention, not using the exact tone, with the exact tilt, for his exact goal. To you, the exact person he knew you were when you entered the room. Said fool(you) would found themselves led astray under his persuasive words faster than one could possibly conceive.
It was an ability that Jon had refined as well, for his own nefarious deeds. He could recognize the cleverness with which the freckled man earned the reputation of an efficient silver-tongued businessman over the years. For better or for worse, depending where his interests laid.
And sometimes, his interests laid with Jonathanâs.
Jon rested still for a moment, focusing on feeling the fading scratches on the palm resting underneath his own calloused grip. The hand in his hair softly tracing the outline of his ear.
âBad night, perhaps?â he inquired, although he knew the answer already.Â
âSomething like that.â Jonathan drawled, bracing himself despite any rational reasoning. Bickering was a lot more familiar than asking for his assistance.
A moment of calm settled. Jon found a haven in the tactile familiarity between them. When at last Jonathan spoke, his tone was shaped with stoical clarity, as he preferred to view his state in a clinical light.
âPerhaps you could indulge me in any remote subject until this storm passes.âÂ
He did not try to see the reaction on his partnerâs face, as he had very little care in it at the moment. He presumed the man considered his request from the thoughtful thumb was drawing half circles against his skin.Â
âPerhaps I could,â he said, his voice the same calming quality as earlier. âAlthough, the weatherman claimed it would be thundering all night. Do you have any strong arguments as to make it worth my time?â he asked in jest, effortlessly pleased with the idea.
âAside retrieving the use of your hands?â
âOh now itâs a hostage situation, I see how it is.â
Jonathan smirked, amused by the thought. He shifted the caged arm so as to run his nose against the sensitive skin, following the junctions of palpitating veins threateningly. He knew Edward was holding his breath as a shiver ran past the limb in his grasp.Â
Only then did he crane his head to look back at the riddle mastermind. Jonathanâs pale gaze bored into emeralds as he ran his own calloused thumb over the tender flesh of his forearm.
âEdward,â he began softly. âYour voice would be a most welcomed indulgence for me tonight, if you could oblige,â he finally asked, remaining as matter-of-factly as possible.
Jonathan then released him at last, folded his hands over his gaunt middle and sighed deeply, closing his eyes once more.
Edward had yet to move, reclaimed freedom be damned, his freed fingers softly drumming with irritation, as if to match the rhythm of his own beating heart.Â
After a silence, Jon could hear him settle more comfortably, seemingly resolved on keeping his hand where it was resting for a while longer.
They fell back into the familiar setting theyâve come to adopt every now and then, when Jonathan would come to seek for his assistance. Edward reciting the flow of his latest interests with a voice meant to soothe an interlocutor, and Jonathan listening intently, letting the sound cover the clattering windows, the vague echos of chatters bordering his consciousness, the shrieks of the winds...
Jon knew he must had fallen asleep after a while. He could briefly recall the faint sound of scribbling. A soothing on-and-off-toned tenor humming the lullaby he had taught him a long, long time ago. One dark and stormy night.
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma (scriddler - established relationship)
Rating: G Words: 1175
Synopsis: Part 2 of 3 of Wish I knew you. Jon has to wait for Edward to get ready, it gives him some time to reflect. Edward is weak to compliments well-aimed.
{This is only one segment of the full chapter, you can read the whole thing here.}Â
misc info: slice of life, introspection, they banter a lot, also very damn indulgent fluff Iâm so sorry.
5 minutes.
Jon had been pacing the room with his hand behind his back. Every now and then, his eyes would catch his reflection in a small, slightly tarnished mirror hung at the level of his nose, and his hands would inexorably tug at his dark red tie in a futile attempt to make it look better.Â
As the minutes passed, he grew annoyed at his own apprehension and went to knock on the bathroom door. A calloused knuckle hitting on the cheap door with three distinct raps.Â
 âIâd like to point out that your coquetry has us running late on schedule.âÂ
His voice came slightly muffled from the other side, but Jon could hear the roundabout disregard the other man seemed to take in the information with.
âNobody of importance arrives at any events exactly on time, Jonathan.â A short pause, a satisfied hum. âBesides,â he added, opening the door as he leaned against its frame. His hair styled with practice, crowning a set of dangerous emeralds in a subtle sky of freckled stars. âWhat is the point of crashing a party if there is no efficient crashing to do?â He laughed at the very absurdity of it, disappearing again to resume his work with apparent anticipation. âWe will arrive at the right time and leave a lasting impression.â
âAlright, Elizabeth Taylor. Itâs your funeral after all.â Edward graced him with an audible huff, which pulled at the older manâs lips a little.
Edward had left the door opened this time, and Jon leaned as his partner did the moment before, observing him quietly. The freckles scattered beautifully over his shoulders and limbs, as far as to dot the back of his hands and downward. The occasional scars connecting the marks in a curious array of constellations, full of stories and secrets.
10 minutes late, and Edward was still standing in his bright green undergarments. Jon recalled a few instances of hazardous fires and burnt fabrics when the man had first tried to home-print the question marks on them.
âSee anything you agree with?â Jon looked up at his partner and found him glancing back smugly, returning to work without waiting for an answer he already knew.
âYou look fine, Eddie,â he stated coolly, bored by his wait and his partnerâs vanity.Â
âWell you can look Fine, Jonathan,â Edward replied with condescension, although it left him in favor of a slow appraising look at the tall man. âVery Fine. But I aim to be dazzling, no less.â
âAs if you arenât always.â
The redhead huffed, waving at the psychiatrist to leave him to his work. Jonathan turned back to the room with a wicked grin of his own, knowing the genius mastermind would be blushing furiously in the other room.
20 minutes.
Edward finally stepped out of the bathroom, adorning a blood red suit. He stood there a moment, adjusting his cuffs with the panache of someone who knew they were to be admired.Â
It wasnât the first time Jon saw him wearing a different color than his trademark lime green, and the cool-headed man gave him a patient look. âNot quite what I was expecting you to wear, admittedly.â
âOh shush, you. Iâm keeping the sequin suit for my next ploy.â He went to fetch a few additional accessories laying on the nightstand, putting them on methodically. Two golden rings on his right hand, forming the shape of a question mark together. A hand-crafted neon green and purple digital wristwatch on his left side.Â
Jon saw him almost hesitating, but nonetheless reached for a small pair of gold and green earrings, matching his cufflinks. By the time he had them on, the self-proclaimed master of fear had walked behind his partner, wrapping his long fingers around his shoulders and neck as he whispered to his ear.
âYou are wearing the spandex underneath, arenât you?â he teased, earning a laugh from Edward.
âOh, why must you torment me, mister âI could be an undertaker, but I lack the hearse so Iâll go steal one. Be right backâ,â the redhead mocked over his shoulder.
Jon failed to comment on that, which gave the shorter man time to turn and face his disgruntled grimace. His hands wrapped themselves with possessive pride over his middle.
The tall manâs mood mellowed into pensive contemplation, running the knuckle of his index under the side of his jaw, tipping his partnerâs head slightly. Edwardâs smile alone could outshine a limelight.
âYou look like the devil itself,â Jon said at last. He would deny how even he could hear the faintest traces of veneration in his voice as the words fell from him.
Edward had not missed them either, and chuckled darkly as one of his hand moved to rest over his chest, quite appreciating the moment. âWell, Death has never looked better than you do, my dear.â
Jon felt that familiar warmth again, where the hand on his torso was tracing the outline of his matching tie. Jon pealed the hand off and brought it to his lips, where he pressed all the unspoken words he would not utter awake, his haunting eyes never leaving the mesmerized green stare below him.
The former psychiatrist could barely hear him breathe at all.
âAlthough,â Jon said, breaking the moment. Lowering his freckled hand over his angular collarbone. âthis implies that youâve met a personification of Death before, which is something I reckon you donât believe in.â
Edward frowned deeply. He was coming back to reality with a profusion of indignant blinks. âWell excuse me, I was not aware that youâve met an entity claiming to be the Devil.â
âThatâs.... hmm,â Jon said slowly, reluctantly recalling his religious education. âNevermind. Though, maybe I should ask Banshee if there is actually something like that on her side of things.â
Edward was now shaking his head. âHold on, even if she could, thatâs not even the same system, hypothetically!â
âHypothetically. Also. Edward?â
âWhat?â
âWould you care to take a look at this?â he asked with irony, tapping a nail over Edwardâs âmiracle of technologyâ wristwatch.
Edward froze and huffed in annoyance, attempting to cover his momentary embarrassment with his remaining dignity.Â
Jon gave a wicked smirk, and bent down slightly to take a hold of his partnerâs jet black tie. He made a show of fixing it, only much tighter than it would normally need to be.
âDonât you think weâve killed enough time?â Jon cooed, merciless.
Edward swallowed loudly under the knot, his embarrassment renewed with a sheepish laugh.
âAh, yes.â The riddle mastermind swatted his hands away, his voice slightly strangled, which he fixed right away. âWe ought to go now, are you ready?â
âLet me think about it.â Jonathan crossed his spindly arms, looking around casually just to spite him.
Edward threw his hands dramatically, and headed for the door. âWell take your time, then.â
