Fic: Georgian Nights (2/?)
Title: Georgian Nights
Universe: Heavy Nolan with influences by others
Characters: Dr. Jonathan Crane, Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Crane (Kid from the Narrows)
Pairing: Jonathan/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (full story)
Warnings: Graphic medical procidure (Eventual: Romance, sex, snark, mentions/descriptions of psycological disorders)
Word Count: 4,046 (as of curent chapter)
Summary: Three years after the events of The Dark Knight and Bruce finds Dr. Jonathan Crane somewhere he least expected...Georgia.
Chapter Two: Of Relationships, Friendships and Other Worthless Things
Lust is easy. Love is hard. Like is most important. ~Carl Reiner
Jonathan took a deep breath, slowly releasing Jeremiah. "Why don't you go grab Teddy and see what Susan is cooking for dinner, alright?" he asked the boy gently, giving Jeremiah a smile that was a touch strained, trying not to let on how dangerous a situation they could be in.
"Alright, papa!" Jeremiah agreed easily, dashing upstairs to grab the overly large teddy bear before dragging it downstairs and into the kitchen where Susan was waiting, fingering a large butcher's knife in case Jonathan needed her help.
Jonathan watched him go before turning, taking a large step backwards, putting space between himself and Bruce, resiting on the balls of his feet. "He is my son," Jonathan said simply, watching Bruce's eyes, waiting for a clue as to where he might have to dive to avoid any grabbing.
"You have no children," Bruce said firmly, taking a step towards Jonathan, a smirk curling over his lips as the younger man stepped away and to the side. "You've never been married, never had a long-term relationship, not to mention gayer then a fruit bat."
Jonathan raised an eyebrow at Bruce's choice of wording, not bothering to deny what the other man thought of his sexuality. It wasn't a secret, he just didn't bother with caring who knew or what they thought. "Except for the fact I have had one long term female relationship, you are correct. And no, Jeremiah is not my biological son, but he's still mine."
Bruce frowned, more at his information being inaccurate then Jonathan's words, before his brain caught on to the last half of the statement. "No, he is not. Tucker Mathews went missing two years after the event in the Narrows, kidnapped."
"Event...cute word," Jonathan crossed the front hall towards the dining room, kneeling next to a small side table, rooting around in a locked drawer until he came up with a green folder, all but throwing it at Bruce, watching as the papers rained down around the billionaire. "Jeremiah Crane was adopted two years ago out of the New York State child services to myself, with the support of Susan and Tom Williams. He is, by all legal and personal means, my son."
"His grandmother reported him missing," Bruce said, gathering the papers, studying them.
"She would, woman didn't give a damn about him until she discovered a rich doctor was looking after him," Jonathan muttered, an obviously bitter story behind his words. "Look, not that it's your concern considering, but I don't relish what happened, Mr. Wayne. The...event...was not my intention nor desire. I can't take back what happened, nor can I fix everyone that was effected, but I can help one child, that child. I can take him away from the pain and abuse he suffered at his family's hands, I can give him a home, stability, I can do my best to repair the damage my drug had on his mind...and most of all, I can give him my love. Is there a crime in that?"
"I will be checking into this, Crane," Bruce said, waving the papers.
"I count on it,"
The pair stared at each other over the dining table, a deep gulf of things and words between them. Jonathan licked his lips, wondering if Bruce was still going to attack him, vault over the table and forcibly drag Jonathan and Jeremiah back to Gotham to settle this there...or even just settle it by beating the ever loving shit out of the good doctor.
"So, you'll be stayin' for supper then?" Susan asked from the kitchen, carelessly holding the butcher knife, a touch of warning in her eyes as she looked at Bruce. She vanished into the kitchen before Bruce could answer and Jonathan snorted, causing Bruce to look at him in question.
"It wasn't a question," he advised, heading towards the stairs. "There's a shower downstairs, I would advise you to use it before she remembers we're covered in blood."
--
Bruce followed Susan's directions down into the basement of the house, weaving his way through cloth covered items, pausing at some of the more unusual shapes before curiosity got the better of him, wondering just what Crane was hiding.
The first cloth fell away to reveal what appeared to be a stack of boxes marked 'syringes', and with a flick of the wrist, the tape parted, the dim light exposing just what was marked on the box, neatly packaged, sterile wrapped syringes, needles and boxes of blood collection vials. Another cloth and an out of date EKG machine was uncovered.
There were more cloths, more boxes and even, stashed in a corner, a handful of hospital beds that had obviously seen better days. It seemed that Jonathan Crane was gathering supplies, enough for a make-shift clinic. Though, judging by the dust and the age of the equipment, he had been gathering it for a while...and most of it second hand.
Bruce shook his head, making a note of the equipment and manufacture's to check out later, before heading into the small shower stall, eager to get the blood off of him.
--
"Are you supposed to mix alcohol with your medication?" Bruce asked, looking up at Jonathan as the other man replaced the cap on the pill bottle, tossing the small handful of pills into his mouth to be followed by a swallow of beer.
"Nope," Jonathan said with a popping sound, taking another long swallow, trying to dislodge the pill that had gotten stuck in his throat. The pair looked at each other, sharing the smile of those that often did what was ill-advised. "Look, Mr. Wayne..."
"Bruce,"
Jonathan bit his tongue, before looking up at the stars. "Look, Bruce,"
Jonathan was interrupted again by the screen door opening behind them. "You staying 'round here, Mr. Wayne?" Susan asked, coming onto the porch and leaning against the rail, sipping from a small glass of whiskey.
"I'm renting out a farmhouse up the road for the summer, a vacation." he added, before she could ask.
Susan studied him for a moment, much in the manner her husband had when Bruce first appeared. "It's late," she said after a moment, taking another sip of her whiskey. "You'll be offering him a room, Jonathan."
"Yes, mother," Jonathan muttered sarcastically, ducking under the swipe Susan took at his head, leaning next to her against the porch railing.
"No, it's alright really..."
Jonathan shook his head. "Don't argue with her, safer for all in the long run." He sipped his beer, rubbing he back of his neck, wincing at the sunburn. "We have the room anyway, at least for a night." The tone in Jonathan's voice indicated that Bruce had best be gone by the morning.
"Breakfast is at five, don't be late." Susan said, finishing off her glass of whiskey before setting it on the railing, kissing Jonathan's temple. "I'm going to head home, Johnny, be safe."
"Night," Jonathan asked, giving her hand a squeeze before watching Susan head down the stairs to the battered blue truck parked on his front lawn.
"She doesn't live here?" Bruce asked, stretching his legs out in front of him.
"Na, her and Tom live up the road a bit, keep a small farm that's been trying to die on them for a few years now."
Bruce nodded, a small smile curling his lips. He wondered if Jonathan noticed his speech habits and accent mutated the later it got...or maybe it was the drunker they got, this wasn't their first beer after all.
"I'm going to check on Jeremiah, you can find a room upstairs at the end of the hall for you to use...mind the paint."
--
It was three am when Bruce stumbled downstairs, trying to work the kink out of his back from laying in a too small bed, stumbling into the kitchen for a drink of water. A light flared on the back porch and Bruce set down his empty glass, silently creeping through the back door to check it out, finding Jonathan sprawled on a porch swing, cigarette lazily dangling from his fingers as the doctor tried to get comfortable.
"You're going to be eaten alive," Bruce said casually, forgoing the water and stealing the large glass of tea Jonathan had left next to him, taking a sip.
"Yes, but as there is a billionaire hogging my bed and Jeremiah doesn't share well, I have no other place to sleep,"
Bruce paused mid swallow, almost choking as his throat stumbled. "Why am I in your bed?"
Jonathan tilted his head back, blinking at Bruce through the haze of smoke and not having his contacts in. "We only have two beds right now," he answered after a moment, before remembering his lit cigarette and taking a long drag.
"That's going to kill you," Bruce said, taking another drink of tea.
"So will life," Jonathan answered, going to take another puff before finding it missing. "Hey!" He rolled to his feet in order to chase after the red glow of the cigarette as Bruce threw it aside, grabbing it and dusting the dirt off the filter, taking the drag.
"I don't like smoke,"
"I don't like you, we're even." Jonathan muttered, spitting out a piece of grass that had gotten stuck to the end. He was silent for a long moment, before sighing, throwing the half spent cigarette in the dirt, watching it burn itself out. "I don't need this crap in my life, Bruce."
"What crap?"
"You. And whatever you came to Georgia for. The man your looking for, he died several years ago. I'm just trying to get by, take care of my son, and possibly make one damn good thing out of my life. So there's the answer to whatever you were looking for. You can go home, relax and feel good about your self, because you kept Gotham safe from the Scarecrow. You can get the fuck out of my life."
Bruce turned his own attention to the stars, biting back a snort at Jonathan's words, knowing that the other man had to understand there was no way in hell that was happening.
Jonathan pushed up the sleeves of his long shirt before reaching out, grabbing the glass of tea Bruce had stolen and heading for the back door. "I don't need an enemy, Mr. Wayne, I've had more then my fill of them."
"And just what do you need, Doctor Crane?" Bruce asked, turning to watch the other man head inside.
"A friend." Came the answer, followed by the slamming of the screen door.
Universe: Heavy Nolan with influences by others
Characters: Dr. Jonathan Crane, Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Crane (Kid from the Narrows)
Pairing: Jonathan/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (full story)
Warnings: Graphic medical procidure (Eventual: Romance, sex, snark, mentions/descriptions of psycological disorders)
Word Count: 4,046 (as of curent chapter)
Summary: Three years after the events of The Dark Knight and Bruce finds Dr. Jonathan Crane somewhere he least expected...Georgia.
Chapter Two: Of Relationships, Friendships and Other Worthless Things
Lust is easy. Love is hard. Like is most important. ~Carl Reiner
Jonathan took a deep breath, slowly releasing Jeremiah. "Why don't you go grab Teddy and see what Susan is cooking for dinner, alright?" he asked the boy gently, giving Jeremiah a smile that was a touch strained, trying not to let on how dangerous a situation they could be in.
"Alright, papa!" Jeremiah agreed easily, dashing upstairs to grab the overly large teddy bear before dragging it downstairs and into the kitchen where Susan was waiting, fingering a large butcher's knife in case Jonathan needed her help.
Jonathan watched him go before turning, taking a large step backwards, putting space between himself and Bruce, resiting on the balls of his feet. "He is my son," Jonathan said simply, watching Bruce's eyes, waiting for a clue as to where he might have to dive to avoid any grabbing.
"You have no children," Bruce said firmly, taking a step towards Jonathan, a smirk curling over his lips as the younger man stepped away and to the side. "You've never been married, never had a long-term relationship, not to mention gayer then a fruit bat."
Jonathan raised an eyebrow at Bruce's choice of wording, not bothering to deny what the other man thought of his sexuality. It wasn't a secret, he just didn't bother with caring who knew or what they thought. "Except for the fact I have had one long term female relationship, you are correct. And no, Jeremiah is not my biological son, but he's still mine."
Bruce frowned, more at his information being inaccurate then Jonathan's words, before his brain caught on to the last half of the statement. "No, he is not. Tucker Mathews went missing two years after the event in the Narrows, kidnapped."
"Event...cute word," Jonathan crossed the front hall towards the dining room, kneeling next to a small side table, rooting around in a locked drawer until he came up with a green folder, all but throwing it at Bruce, watching as the papers rained down around the billionaire. "Jeremiah Crane was adopted two years ago out of the New York State child services to myself, with the support of Susan and Tom Williams. He is, by all legal and personal means, my son."
"His grandmother reported him missing," Bruce said, gathering the papers, studying them.
"She would, woman didn't give a damn about him until she discovered a rich doctor was looking after him," Jonathan muttered, an obviously bitter story behind his words. "Look, not that it's your concern considering, but I don't relish what happened, Mr. Wayne. The...event...was not my intention nor desire. I can't take back what happened, nor can I fix everyone that was effected, but I can help one child, that child. I can take him away from the pain and abuse he suffered at his family's hands, I can give him a home, stability, I can do my best to repair the damage my drug had on his mind...and most of all, I can give him my love. Is there a crime in that?"
"I will be checking into this, Crane," Bruce said, waving the papers.
"I count on it,"
The pair stared at each other over the dining table, a deep gulf of things and words between them. Jonathan licked his lips, wondering if Bruce was still going to attack him, vault over the table and forcibly drag Jonathan and Jeremiah back to Gotham to settle this there...or even just settle it by beating the ever loving shit out of the good doctor.
"So, you'll be stayin' for supper then?" Susan asked from the kitchen, carelessly holding the butcher knife, a touch of warning in her eyes as she looked at Bruce. She vanished into the kitchen before Bruce could answer and Jonathan snorted, causing Bruce to look at him in question.
"It wasn't a question," he advised, heading towards the stairs. "There's a shower downstairs, I would advise you to use it before she remembers we're covered in blood."
--
Bruce followed Susan's directions down into the basement of the house, weaving his way through cloth covered items, pausing at some of the more unusual shapes before curiosity got the better of him, wondering just what Crane was hiding.
The first cloth fell away to reveal what appeared to be a stack of boxes marked 'syringes', and with a flick of the wrist, the tape parted, the dim light exposing just what was marked on the box, neatly packaged, sterile wrapped syringes, needles and boxes of blood collection vials. Another cloth and an out of date EKG machine was uncovered.
There were more cloths, more boxes and even, stashed in a corner, a handful of hospital beds that had obviously seen better days. It seemed that Jonathan Crane was gathering supplies, enough for a make-shift clinic. Though, judging by the dust and the age of the equipment, he had been gathering it for a while...and most of it second hand.
Bruce shook his head, making a note of the equipment and manufacture's to check out later, before heading into the small shower stall, eager to get the blood off of him.
--
"Are you supposed to mix alcohol with your medication?" Bruce asked, looking up at Jonathan as the other man replaced the cap on the pill bottle, tossing the small handful of pills into his mouth to be followed by a swallow of beer.
"Nope," Jonathan said with a popping sound, taking another long swallow, trying to dislodge the pill that had gotten stuck in his throat. The pair looked at each other, sharing the smile of those that often did what was ill-advised. "Look, Mr. Wayne..."
"Bruce,"
Jonathan bit his tongue, before looking up at the stars. "Look, Bruce,"
Jonathan was interrupted again by the screen door opening behind them. "You staying 'round here, Mr. Wayne?" Susan asked, coming onto the porch and leaning against the rail, sipping from a small glass of whiskey.
"I'm renting out a farmhouse up the road for the summer, a vacation." he added, before she could ask.
Susan studied him for a moment, much in the manner her husband had when Bruce first appeared. "It's late," she said after a moment, taking another sip of her whiskey. "You'll be offering him a room, Jonathan."
"Yes, mother," Jonathan muttered sarcastically, ducking under the swipe Susan took at his head, leaning next to her against the porch railing.
"No, it's alright really..."
Jonathan shook his head. "Don't argue with her, safer for all in the long run." He sipped his beer, rubbing he back of his neck, wincing at the sunburn. "We have the room anyway, at least for a night." The tone in Jonathan's voice indicated that Bruce had best be gone by the morning.
"Breakfast is at five, don't be late." Susan said, finishing off her glass of whiskey before setting it on the railing, kissing Jonathan's temple. "I'm going to head home, Johnny, be safe."
"Night," Jonathan asked, giving her hand a squeeze before watching Susan head down the stairs to the battered blue truck parked on his front lawn.
"She doesn't live here?" Bruce asked, stretching his legs out in front of him.
"Na, her and Tom live up the road a bit, keep a small farm that's been trying to die on them for a few years now."
Bruce nodded, a small smile curling his lips. He wondered if Jonathan noticed his speech habits and accent mutated the later it got...or maybe it was the drunker they got, this wasn't their first beer after all.
"I'm going to check on Jeremiah, you can find a room upstairs at the end of the hall for you to use...mind the paint."
--
It was three am when Bruce stumbled downstairs, trying to work the kink out of his back from laying in a too small bed, stumbling into the kitchen for a drink of water. A light flared on the back porch and Bruce set down his empty glass, silently creeping through the back door to check it out, finding Jonathan sprawled on a porch swing, cigarette lazily dangling from his fingers as the doctor tried to get comfortable.
"You're going to be eaten alive," Bruce said casually, forgoing the water and stealing the large glass of tea Jonathan had left next to him, taking a sip.
"Yes, but as there is a billionaire hogging my bed and Jeremiah doesn't share well, I have no other place to sleep,"
Bruce paused mid swallow, almost choking as his throat stumbled. "Why am I in your bed?"
Jonathan tilted his head back, blinking at Bruce through the haze of smoke and not having his contacts in. "We only have two beds right now," he answered after a moment, before remembering his lit cigarette and taking a long drag.
"That's going to kill you," Bruce said, taking another drink of tea.
"So will life," Jonathan answered, going to take another puff before finding it missing. "Hey!" He rolled to his feet in order to chase after the red glow of the cigarette as Bruce threw it aside, grabbing it and dusting the dirt off the filter, taking the drag.
"I don't like smoke,"
"I don't like you, we're even." Jonathan muttered, spitting out a piece of grass that had gotten stuck to the end. He was silent for a long moment, before sighing, throwing the half spent cigarette in the dirt, watching it burn itself out. "I don't need this crap in my life, Bruce."
"What crap?"
"You. And whatever you came to Georgia for. The man your looking for, he died several years ago. I'm just trying to get by, take care of my son, and possibly make one damn good thing out of my life. So there's the answer to whatever you were looking for. You can go home, relax and feel good about your self, because you kept Gotham safe from the Scarecrow. You can get the fuck out of my life."
Bruce turned his own attention to the stars, biting back a snort at Jonathan's words, knowing that the other man had to understand there was no way in hell that was happening.
Jonathan pushed up the sleeves of his long shirt before reaching out, grabbing the glass of tea Bruce had stolen and heading for the back door. "I don't need an enemy, Mr. Wayne, I've had more then my fill of them."
"And just what do you need, Doctor Crane?" Bruce asked, turning to watch the other man head inside.
"A friend." Came the answer, followed by the slamming of the screen door.