Fic: Victory in Ruin (part 1)
Fandom: Batman Begins
Title: Victory in Ruin (part 1)
Rating: PG-13 (eventually NC-17)
Summary: In triumph comes the downfall
Warning: Explicit Slash
A/N: This was written... ohh... a long long time ago for the Jonathan Crane ficathon.. It is still unfinished, and Ive got a second part floating around on my computer, but I think this has rather run out of steam.
kerikeri wanted 'Glasses, Alfred amusement, and the fountain,' none of which are in this first part....
Jonathan Crane was never one for the glitz and glam of the Gotham elite. He preferred his drafty apartment and sterile lab, with clean cutting edges, stark and white. The Polk Street Ballroom was most likely the last on his list of favorite places, no matter how often he was invited to this and other such places of high class culture.
The arched ceilings and numerous chandeliers hanging low and sparkling gold added to the almost royal sense of the place. And the guests themselves were blue blooded Gothamites, all decked in finery and standing in staggered groups, the chattering melding together in a hum of noise.
But here and there, Crane could spot an awkward stance, smile fixed and eyes bright with alcohol. All of them his fellow colleagues, those used to working their way into money rather than inheriting it. Though a good few spoke amiably to their supposed social superiors, others stood apart in their own small clusters. The most brilliant minds in the medical field, regressing to high school ineptitude, simply standing along the side and watching the rich and beautiful pass by.
Crane would not say he was one of them. Though his mind sympathized, Crane would not go as far as throwing himself in with the sorry lot. Instead, he smiled charmingly to pleasantries and laughed in time to terrible anecdotes before slipping out of the mob to the calm and quiet of the thinning borders where the other doctors stood.
However his success, Crane still despised it all, but the opportunity to push for finances of his own studies couldn’t be better. The head of the Gotham Medical board was celebrating his fortieth anniversary, and it seemed he was not the only one who thought attendance might gain favor of the board. Some succeeded more than others, but Crane had watched one by one as fellow doctors would approach Dr. Nathaniel Cross, walking away scorned and triumphant by turn.
In the meantime, Mrs. Cross’s impressive social contacts assured the type of event that would most likely be the crux of juicy gossip, said to be one of the largest and most expensive parties since the generations of past. Champagne was passed around with gusto and the night had barely begun. Already Crane could hear snatches of conversation, tones softened by the lull of alcohol.
“I hear that Mrs. Cross has been slumming. Nearing seventy years old, but screwing the twenty three year old gardener.”
“Oh that’s nonsense.” One of the ladies replied, abashed. “Why would the gardener sleep with such a wrinkly old prune.”
The first woman snorted delicately. “Dear, you’re too innocent for your own good. Money can convince a person to do anything.”
A louder snort followed the woman’s, and Crane turned to find Dr. Denise Barlotta beside him standing resolutely in her sleek and strapless black dress. Her dark hair fell loose in waves, handsome features disgusted and amused. “Oh to be a rich and wrinkly old prune. To hell with biochemistry and neurology.”
Crane smirked in reply. Arkham was considered a gamble by any standard of medicine, and at times Crane felt as though he was surrounded by closed minded idiots who could not see the true benefits that the hospital provided. Dr. Barlotta was one who fell between, and perhaps the only one Crane could find within himself to respect. She was no doubt brilliant in her field, researching the biological and chemical effects that insanity had on the brain. There were plenty of patients at her disposal, but her lack of initiative to further her studies caused him most of his annoyance. Had she possessed the gall to look past the thin and flimsy veneer of ethics, there was no telling what she could accomplish.
Crane on the other hand, had no such problems. A fact that made his relationship with Barlotta dangerous. He knew that she suspected his less than savory ideas and experiments, and he knew just as well that despite any camaraderie she may have shown him, she would quickly turn him in if she found her suspicions to be true.
It made for an odd interaction between them, but Crane found it almost refreshing. He had no worries that this would hinder him in any way, but only enjoyed it.
“Don’t tell me, you don’t enjoy the intellectually stimulating environment?”
She barked another laugh. “I’m hard pressed not to be stimulated into getting as piss drunk as the rest of them, maybe end up in a broom closet with one of the waiters.”
“And here I was sure you would be whoring yourself out to the rich stiffs for the promise of a charitable donation to Arkham.”
The jibe was slightly more harsh than normal teasing, but Barlotta merely pursed her lips, more than used to Crane’s sniping than any other. “Isn’t it funny that I was thinking the same”
Crane hitched a shoulder in a bored kind of shrug. “If it guaranteed results.”
She shook her head in slight disbelief, but keenly guided the subject to one frequent of late. “I was sure that you were receiving more grant money than any of us. Surely it isn’t all going to that fear study?”
“Funds have the funniest way of slipping through your fingers before you get a chance to really use them.”
“You mean you’ve already used up your grant money?” Her face was itching to know what on, brow furrowed and face puzzled. But any further inquiries were interrupted by the rapid boost in murmurs, the crowd parting at the entrance of one man. Crane thought back to his earlier comparisons of a Royal Court, only fitting that it should be stirred by the arrival of their crown prince.
Bruce Wayne, as chiseled and handsome as any movie star, a blond starlet at his arm. His late entrance most likely planned for the greatest effect, and Crane could barely stop himself from his look of sheer intolerance. A single blazing white smile, and he could hear the sighs akin to a shockwave traveling through the room, men and women alike. The blond smiled vapidly, soaking in the attention she received through Wayne, sidling closer to him than necessary.
“Now whoring for that, I wouldn’t mind.” Barlotta muttered snidely, “But I understand there’s a waiting list.”
Barlotta wasn’t too far from the truth with her little remark, and Crane recalled the parade of different girls seen with Wayne, each finding their fifteen minutes in the spotlight before being tossed aside. It was rather expected with a man of Wayne’s social stature and wealth - and tabloid writers were practically putting their kids through college because of him.
Watching him work the room, Crane couldn’t help his growing distaste. Any member of Gotham could tell you all about Bruce Wayne’s tragic childhood, about his murdered parents and his angry youth. But his triumphant return into the spotlight after years of absence made him that much more appealing. What made Wayne special was the way he seemed to love his life. There was no plastic quality to his smile, it was easy and smooth, and the flashy displays of money made sure everyone knew exactly who he was.
You couldn’t really miss him anyway, not looking the way he did. Crane wondered if he could break that smile, suddenly stirred.
“I suppose I can see the benefits. Having someone pretty and dumb.” Barlotta’s voice cut through his thoughts and he didn’t bother to glance her way. “Bruce Wayne’s not much better than the idiotic blonde that’s hanging off him. Imagine what it would be like to have him wrapped around your little finger.” This time she turned and caught his eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. “A person much smarter, able to run circles around him. Superiority. Control.”
Crane knew she was baiting him, but didn’t satisfy her with a scowl. “That would be like shooting a fish in a barrel. Then putting it through a grinder.”
“Well, I never said there would be a challenge to it.”
With a bubble of laughter erupting from where Wayne had disappeared into the crowd, Crane looked away finding instead the reason he had even come here. Dr. Cross caught his eye, waving him over with his hand.
“Ah Jonathan!” Dr. Cross called as Crane neared, smiling. “Come here my boy, I’m so glad you decided to attend. I do understand you hate to waste time away from your studies” Dr. Cross was a youthful man for his sixty seven years, white hair and prominent wrinkles around his eyes the only blatant sign of his age. He clasped his hand on Crane’s shoulder in a warm greeting and Crane politely smiled his reply.
“Well, I’ve made an exception in this case.” Crane said smoothly.
“Glad to hear it. Come, I want you to meet Martha Easton and Karl Bennet, they are both fellow Board members.” Firm handshakes and pleasant smiles. “This is the young man I’ve mentioned to you before. Fascinating research he’s conducting.”
Martha Easton raised her neatly plucked brow. “Yes, on the effects of fear on the human mind. We’ve heard good things from Nathan about it.”
“Research is progressing much better than we expected. At this point, we’re studying the emotional effects of brain dysfunction. If all goes well, we may be able to cure any potential phobia, induce more healthy reactions to such concepts as hate and perhaps even understand the root of criminal behavior.”
The two nodded, intrigued.
“Of course,” Crane proceeded without missing a beat, “we’re advancing rather rapidly. Funds are starting to dry up.”
Dr. Cross chuckled. “Well, I’ve seen some of your work Jonathan. I’d say it would warrant some extra consideration. I’ve no doubt that your name will be on the lips of every member of the medical field”
It was perhaps too easy. Crane smiled again, only none of the others caught the edge to it.
---
Crane’s mood was rather lifted in the aftermath of his chat with Dr. Cross, though it was hard pressed to remain that way. The party had moved into the dining area - Crane seated with Barlotta along with two other socialite couples. The dinner had just been ordered, and while the other two couples talked amongst themselves, Crane and Barlotta sat in silence, unable to stop from overhearing the occasional burst of laughter coming from the table behind them.
Turning, Crane found a circle of socialites in the company of Wayne and his date, the former regaling a seemingly hilarious tale about his ski trip in Aspen.
“I don’t like to be pretentious, but I can’t say I’m that terrible of an athlete. But skiing brought down the ego a few pegs. I managed to fall over every single twig and root on that slope, which magically seemed to appear on exactly the path I took.”
“Oh Bruce, you’re making that up.” The voice couldn’t belong to anyone else but the blond.
“I have the bruises to prove it you know.”
“Well, be sure to show me later.”
Crane couldn’t stop the eye roll before Barlotta broke the silence between she and Crane.
“I suppose you’ve got that extra funding?” Her voice held a note of resentment mixed with admiration, turning his attention back to his own table. Certainly she had noticed his talk with Dr. Cross.
“Oh, funding is it? Are you a doctor then?” The woman seated across from Crane interrupted the conversation. Despite the fact that she had sufficiently cut off Barlotta before she could get any further with her questioning, he still felt a sharp annoyance.
“Yes, actually. I take it you’re not?” Barlotta had smirked, but the half hidden insult barely even brushed the woman as she shook her head.
“No no. My husband, Martin, he’s a CEO of Faulkwagon Shipping. They mostly ship things back and forth, but you could ask him about that. I’m afraid I don’t know much about business.” She laughed a little and Crane felt his lips press together. Her husband chuckled in time. “I’ll vouch for that.”
“I see.”
“So what is it you specialize in Doctor?” Martin asked, but his eyes barely glanced at him.
“Psychopharmacology. I study the effects of chemicals on the psyche. My research is based on the human reaction to fear.”
“Fascinating.” The reply too quick to have any real meaning behind it.
“What is it you fear, Martin?”
The man smiled. “A woman’s wrath.” His wife jabbed her elbow into his side, and the other couple laughed cheerily at the jibe. Crane smiled.
“A valid fear. But it’s very interesting, the effects of it. Why just the other day, a patient of mine scraped his own skin off with a shard of floor tile because he thought that maggots were crawling all over him. Its such a powerful emotion, fear.”
The other two couples looked uncomfortably at Crane before laughing nervously. “I guess that guy’s problem is a bit too intense for Lubriderm,” the man from the other couple offered and the mood lifted slightly, but Crane only cocked his head.
He couldn’t help feeling rather pleased with himself as the rest of the meal progressed with much of the same awkward silences peppered with talk. Crane stayed silent, only later realizing the absence of the voice behind him. It seemed Wayne had slipped out, though his date seemed nonplused as she leaned rather suggestively towards the man across from her, cleavage in full view. His wife didn’t seem as happy about it as he did.
Crane figured it was as good a time as any to catch some air. The presence of such idiots as these were grating his nerves and he pardoned himself politely before standing and making his way to the balcony.
The view, he had to admit, was breathtaking. Gotham twinkled below him, a city at rest, cushioned by the darkness of the sky. The Narrows were hidden from view, and he could understand why the higher class might like this place. It offered to hide the ugliness and show off the beauty, something they knew how to do all too well. It was telling that Crane hadn’t noticed the other man on the balcony right away, and silently he wondered at his luck.
Bruce Wayne was staring down, weight resting on his arms as he leaned forward on the balcony railing. The slightest push could send him hurtling forward and out of sight. The morbid thought caused Crane to smile before his eyes studied the other man’s face.
He was very different in the dark. Shadows caressed the angular face, and his expression was almost forlorn. It was odd to see the lips turned slightly down instead of curled into a ironic smirk.
“Taking a break from the circus, Dr Crane?”
Crane’s initial thought was how Wayne knew he was there without turning, and his second thought was just how he knew his name, but his mind ran over these things in only a second, and he responded with ease.
“I wouldn’t have thought you needed to do this same.”
Bruce shrugged amiably, his sad expression gone so fast, that had Crane been anyone else, he’d have thought he imagined it. The look now was slack, as though the champagne had relaxed him a beat before being buzzed. “Actually I saw the view from where I was sitting and couldn’t resist.”
“I’m sure your date would have enjoyed it too.”
Bruce smiled with a glance back through the french doors to where the others still were seated. “I think she was enjoying herself just fine inside.”
Crane knew she was, but didn’t bother saying anything of it. “So I didn’t ask how you knew who I was.”
“Oh yeah.” Bruce laughed, as if he’d forgotten, but Crane’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I just heard someone say your name, you were sitting right behind me.” The explanation was simple enough.
“Call me fortunate that Bruce Wayne noticed me.” His voice was dry, though he didn’t give it the bite he’d intended.
“I notice a lot of things, Doctor.” His dark eyes glittered like the buildings that stood behind him. “But admittedly, some things do go over my head. I heard you talk about psychopharmacology. Can’t say science is my strong point.” His smile was light and his expression akin to the vapid one he often wore. Crane couldn’t help but notice the subtle transition every time that Wayne spoke. A glint of something beneath the exterior of Bruce Wayne that so many thought they knew.
Crane was a man who reveled in the study of the human mind. Of emotions. Bruce Wayne was shaping up to be much more interesting than Crane had first thought.
“Perhaps it isn’t as far out of your understanding as you think.”
“You flatter me.” Crane couldn’t stop the small smile brought on by Bruce’s own. The flirting on Bruce’s part was rather obvious, but Crane wouldn’t let himself be caught up in it, and the smile faded. Any reply he would have made was halted as Bruce looked away.
“Well, I should leave you to your solitude Dr. Crane. The people await.”
“I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed at your return.”
Perhaps Crane had let his tone convey more than he had intended, for Bruce’s expression flickered once more and he nodded. “It was a pleasure meeting you Doctor.” His hand reached out to clasp Crane’s, lingering a moment longer before retreating. His eyes were dark with something subtle and he turned. Crane watched him through the glass as he headed towards his date. Yet instead of seating himself near her, he bent low, whispering something in her ear and raising with an apologetic smile. His date looked somewhat insulted but only nodded, turning her head to the man seated across from her with a flirtatious smile.
Wayne walked away towards the exit without a backwards glance, but Crane had a feeling he wanted to.
Title: Victory in Ruin (part 1)
Rating: PG-13 (eventually NC-17)
Summary: In triumph comes the downfall
Warning: Explicit Slash
A/N: This was written... ohh... a long long time ago for the Jonathan Crane ficathon.. It is still unfinished, and Ive got a second part floating around on my computer, but I think this has rather run out of steam.
kerikeri wanted 'Glasses, Alfred amusement, and the fountain,' none of which are in this first part....
Jonathan Crane was never one for the glitz and glam of the Gotham elite. He preferred his drafty apartment and sterile lab, with clean cutting edges, stark and white. The Polk Street Ballroom was most likely the last on his list of favorite places, no matter how often he was invited to this and other such places of high class culture.
The arched ceilings and numerous chandeliers hanging low and sparkling gold added to the almost royal sense of the place. And the guests themselves were blue blooded Gothamites, all decked in finery and standing in staggered groups, the chattering melding together in a hum of noise.
But here and there, Crane could spot an awkward stance, smile fixed and eyes bright with alcohol. All of them his fellow colleagues, those used to working their way into money rather than inheriting it. Though a good few spoke amiably to their supposed social superiors, others stood apart in their own small clusters. The most brilliant minds in the medical field, regressing to high school ineptitude, simply standing along the side and watching the rich and beautiful pass by.
Crane would not say he was one of them. Though his mind sympathized, Crane would not go as far as throwing himself in with the sorry lot. Instead, he smiled charmingly to pleasantries and laughed in time to terrible anecdotes before slipping out of the mob to the calm and quiet of the thinning borders where the other doctors stood.
However his success, Crane still despised it all, but the opportunity to push for finances of his own studies couldn’t be better. The head of the Gotham Medical board was celebrating his fortieth anniversary, and it seemed he was not the only one who thought attendance might gain favor of the board. Some succeeded more than others, but Crane had watched one by one as fellow doctors would approach Dr. Nathaniel Cross, walking away scorned and triumphant by turn.
In the meantime, Mrs. Cross’s impressive social contacts assured the type of event that would most likely be the crux of juicy gossip, said to be one of the largest and most expensive parties since the generations of past. Champagne was passed around with gusto and the night had barely begun. Already Crane could hear snatches of conversation, tones softened by the lull of alcohol.
“I hear that Mrs. Cross has been slumming. Nearing seventy years old, but screwing the twenty three year old gardener.”
“Oh that’s nonsense.” One of the ladies replied, abashed. “Why would the gardener sleep with such a wrinkly old prune.”
The first woman snorted delicately. “Dear, you’re too innocent for your own good. Money can convince a person to do anything.”
A louder snort followed the woman’s, and Crane turned to find Dr. Denise Barlotta beside him standing resolutely in her sleek and strapless black dress. Her dark hair fell loose in waves, handsome features disgusted and amused. “Oh to be a rich and wrinkly old prune. To hell with biochemistry and neurology.”
Crane smirked in reply. Arkham was considered a gamble by any standard of medicine, and at times Crane felt as though he was surrounded by closed minded idiots who could not see the true benefits that the hospital provided. Dr. Barlotta was one who fell between, and perhaps the only one Crane could find within himself to respect. She was no doubt brilliant in her field, researching the biological and chemical effects that insanity had on the brain. There were plenty of patients at her disposal, but her lack of initiative to further her studies caused him most of his annoyance. Had she possessed the gall to look past the thin and flimsy veneer of ethics, there was no telling what she could accomplish.
Crane on the other hand, had no such problems. A fact that made his relationship with Barlotta dangerous. He knew that she suspected his less than savory ideas and experiments, and he knew just as well that despite any camaraderie she may have shown him, she would quickly turn him in if she found her suspicions to be true.
It made for an odd interaction between them, but Crane found it almost refreshing. He had no worries that this would hinder him in any way, but only enjoyed it.
“Don’t tell me, you don’t enjoy the intellectually stimulating environment?”
She barked another laugh. “I’m hard pressed not to be stimulated into getting as piss drunk as the rest of them, maybe end up in a broom closet with one of the waiters.”
“And here I was sure you would be whoring yourself out to the rich stiffs for the promise of a charitable donation to Arkham.”
The jibe was slightly more harsh than normal teasing, but Barlotta merely pursed her lips, more than used to Crane’s sniping than any other. “Isn’t it funny that I was thinking the same”
Crane hitched a shoulder in a bored kind of shrug. “If it guaranteed results.”
She shook her head in slight disbelief, but keenly guided the subject to one frequent of late. “I was sure that you were receiving more grant money than any of us. Surely it isn’t all going to that fear study?”
“Funds have the funniest way of slipping through your fingers before you get a chance to really use them.”
“You mean you’ve already used up your grant money?” Her face was itching to know what on, brow furrowed and face puzzled. But any further inquiries were interrupted by the rapid boost in murmurs, the crowd parting at the entrance of one man. Crane thought back to his earlier comparisons of a Royal Court, only fitting that it should be stirred by the arrival of their crown prince.
Bruce Wayne, as chiseled and handsome as any movie star, a blond starlet at his arm. His late entrance most likely planned for the greatest effect, and Crane could barely stop himself from his look of sheer intolerance. A single blazing white smile, and he could hear the sighs akin to a shockwave traveling through the room, men and women alike. The blond smiled vapidly, soaking in the attention she received through Wayne, sidling closer to him than necessary.
“Now whoring for that, I wouldn’t mind.” Barlotta muttered snidely, “But I understand there’s a waiting list.”
Barlotta wasn’t too far from the truth with her little remark, and Crane recalled the parade of different girls seen with Wayne, each finding their fifteen minutes in the spotlight before being tossed aside. It was rather expected with a man of Wayne’s social stature and wealth - and tabloid writers were practically putting their kids through college because of him.
Watching him work the room, Crane couldn’t help his growing distaste. Any member of Gotham could tell you all about Bruce Wayne’s tragic childhood, about his murdered parents and his angry youth. But his triumphant return into the spotlight after years of absence made him that much more appealing. What made Wayne special was the way he seemed to love his life. There was no plastic quality to his smile, it was easy and smooth, and the flashy displays of money made sure everyone knew exactly who he was.
You couldn’t really miss him anyway, not looking the way he did. Crane wondered if he could break that smile, suddenly stirred.
“I suppose I can see the benefits. Having someone pretty and dumb.” Barlotta’s voice cut through his thoughts and he didn’t bother to glance her way. “Bruce Wayne’s not much better than the idiotic blonde that’s hanging off him. Imagine what it would be like to have him wrapped around your little finger.” This time she turned and caught his eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. “A person much smarter, able to run circles around him. Superiority. Control.”
Crane knew she was baiting him, but didn’t satisfy her with a scowl. “That would be like shooting a fish in a barrel. Then putting it through a grinder.”
“Well, I never said there would be a challenge to it.”
With a bubble of laughter erupting from where Wayne had disappeared into the crowd, Crane looked away finding instead the reason he had even come here. Dr. Cross caught his eye, waving him over with his hand.
“Ah Jonathan!” Dr. Cross called as Crane neared, smiling. “Come here my boy, I’m so glad you decided to attend. I do understand you hate to waste time away from your studies” Dr. Cross was a youthful man for his sixty seven years, white hair and prominent wrinkles around his eyes the only blatant sign of his age. He clasped his hand on Crane’s shoulder in a warm greeting and Crane politely smiled his reply.
“Well, I’ve made an exception in this case.” Crane said smoothly.
“Glad to hear it. Come, I want you to meet Martha Easton and Karl Bennet, they are both fellow Board members.” Firm handshakes and pleasant smiles. “This is the young man I’ve mentioned to you before. Fascinating research he’s conducting.”
Martha Easton raised her neatly plucked brow. “Yes, on the effects of fear on the human mind. We’ve heard good things from Nathan about it.”
“Research is progressing much better than we expected. At this point, we’re studying the emotional effects of brain dysfunction. If all goes well, we may be able to cure any potential phobia, induce more healthy reactions to such concepts as hate and perhaps even understand the root of criminal behavior.”
The two nodded, intrigued.
“Of course,” Crane proceeded without missing a beat, “we’re advancing rather rapidly. Funds are starting to dry up.”
Dr. Cross chuckled. “Well, I’ve seen some of your work Jonathan. I’d say it would warrant some extra consideration. I’ve no doubt that your name will be on the lips of every member of the medical field”
It was perhaps too easy. Crane smiled again, only none of the others caught the edge to it.
---
Crane’s mood was rather lifted in the aftermath of his chat with Dr. Cross, though it was hard pressed to remain that way. The party had moved into the dining area - Crane seated with Barlotta along with two other socialite couples. The dinner had just been ordered, and while the other two couples talked amongst themselves, Crane and Barlotta sat in silence, unable to stop from overhearing the occasional burst of laughter coming from the table behind them.
Turning, Crane found a circle of socialites in the company of Wayne and his date, the former regaling a seemingly hilarious tale about his ski trip in Aspen.
“I don’t like to be pretentious, but I can’t say I’m that terrible of an athlete. But skiing brought down the ego a few pegs. I managed to fall over every single twig and root on that slope, which magically seemed to appear on exactly the path I took.”
“Oh Bruce, you’re making that up.” The voice couldn’t belong to anyone else but the blond.
“I have the bruises to prove it you know.”
“Well, be sure to show me later.”
Crane couldn’t stop the eye roll before Barlotta broke the silence between she and Crane.
“I suppose you’ve got that extra funding?” Her voice held a note of resentment mixed with admiration, turning his attention back to his own table. Certainly she had noticed his talk with Dr. Cross.
“Oh, funding is it? Are you a doctor then?” The woman seated across from Crane interrupted the conversation. Despite the fact that she had sufficiently cut off Barlotta before she could get any further with her questioning, he still felt a sharp annoyance.
“Yes, actually. I take it you’re not?” Barlotta had smirked, but the half hidden insult barely even brushed the woman as she shook her head.
“No no. My husband, Martin, he’s a CEO of Faulkwagon Shipping. They mostly ship things back and forth, but you could ask him about that. I’m afraid I don’t know much about business.” She laughed a little and Crane felt his lips press together. Her husband chuckled in time. “I’ll vouch for that.”
“I see.”
“So what is it you specialize in Doctor?” Martin asked, but his eyes barely glanced at him.
“Psychopharmacology. I study the effects of chemicals on the psyche. My research is based on the human reaction to fear.”
“Fascinating.” The reply too quick to have any real meaning behind it.
“What is it you fear, Martin?”
The man smiled. “A woman’s wrath.” His wife jabbed her elbow into his side, and the other couple laughed cheerily at the jibe. Crane smiled.
“A valid fear. But it’s very interesting, the effects of it. Why just the other day, a patient of mine scraped his own skin off with a shard of floor tile because he thought that maggots were crawling all over him. Its such a powerful emotion, fear.”
The other two couples looked uncomfortably at Crane before laughing nervously. “I guess that guy’s problem is a bit too intense for Lubriderm,” the man from the other couple offered and the mood lifted slightly, but Crane only cocked his head.
He couldn’t help feeling rather pleased with himself as the rest of the meal progressed with much of the same awkward silences peppered with talk. Crane stayed silent, only later realizing the absence of the voice behind him. It seemed Wayne had slipped out, though his date seemed nonplused as she leaned rather suggestively towards the man across from her, cleavage in full view. His wife didn’t seem as happy about it as he did.
Crane figured it was as good a time as any to catch some air. The presence of such idiots as these were grating his nerves and he pardoned himself politely before standing and making his way to the balcony.
The view, he had to admit, was breathtaking. Gotham twinkled below him, a city at rest, cushioned by the darkness of the sky. The Narrows were hidden from view, and he could understand why the higher class might like this place. It offered to hide the ugliness and show off the beauty, something they knew how to do all too well. It was telling that Crane hadn’t noticed the other man on the balcony right away, and silently he wondered at his luck.
Bruce Wayne was staring down, weight resting on his arms as he leaned forward on the balcony railing. The slightest push could send him hurtling forward and out of sight. The morbid thought caused Crane to smile before his eyes studied the other man’s face.
He was very different in the dark. Shadows caressed the angular face, and his expression was almost forlorn. It was odd to see the lips turned slightly down instead of curled into a ironic smirk.
“Taking a break from the circus, Dr Crane?”
Crane’s initial thought was how Wayne knew he was there without turning, and his second thought was just how he knew his name, but his mind ran over these things in only a second, and he responded with ease.
“I wouldn’t have thought you needed to do this same.”
Bruce shrugged amiably, his sad expression gone so fast, that had Crane been anyone else, he’d have thought he imagined it. The look now was slack, as though the champagne had relaxed him a beat before being buzzed. “Actually I saw the view from where I was sitting and couldn’t resist.”
“I’m sure your date would have enjoyed it too.”
Bruce smiled with a glance back through the french doors to where the others still were seated. “I think she was enjoying herself just fine inside.”
Crane knew she was, but didn’t bother saying anything of it. “So I didn’t ask how you knew who I was.”
“Oh yeah.” Bruce laughed, as if he’d forgotten, but Crane’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I just heard someone say your name, you were sitting right behind me.” The explanation was simple enough.
“Call me fortunate that Bruce Wayne noticed me.” His voice was dry, though he didn’t give it the bite he’d intended.
“I notice a lot of things, Doctor.” His dark eyes glittered like the buildings that stood behind him. “But admittedly, some things do go over my head. I heard you talk about psychopharmacology. Can’t say science is my strong point.” His smile was light and his expression akin to the vapid one he often wore. Crane couldn’t help but notice the subtle transition every time that Wayne spoke. A glint of something beneath the exterior of Bruce Wayne that so many thought they knew.
Crane was a man who reveled in the study of the human mind. Of emotions. Bruce Wayne was shaping up to be much more interesting than Crane had first thought.
“Perhaps it isn’t as far out of your understanding as you think.”
“You flatter me.” Crane couldn’t stop the small smile brought on by Bruce’s own. The flirting on Bruce’s part was rather obvious, but Crane wouldn’t let himself be caught up in it, and the smile faded. Any reply he would have made was halted as Bruce looked away.
“Well, I should leave you to your solitude Dr. Crane. The people await.”
“I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed at your return.”
Perhaps Crane had let his tone convey more than he had intended, for Bruce’s expression flickered once more and he nodded. “It was a pleasure meeting you Doctor.” His hand reached out to clasp Crane’s, lingering a moment longer before retreating. His eyes were dark with something subtle and he turned. Crane watched him through the glass as he headed towards his date. Yet instead of seating himself near her, he bent low, whispering something in her ear and raising with an apologetic smile. His date looked somewhat insulted but only nodded, turning her head to the man seated across from her with a flirtatious smile.
Wayne walked away towards the exit without a backwards glance, but Crane had a feeling he wanted to.