Fic: Georgian Nights (8/?)
Title: Georgian Nights
Universe: Heavy Nolan with influences by others
Characters: Dr. Jonathan Crane, Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Crane (Kid from the Narrows), Dick Greyson, Original Female Character, Original Male Character
Pairing: Jonathan/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (full story)
Warnings: Graphic medical procidure, Romance, sex, snark, mentions/descriptions of psycological disorders, graphic depictions of animal testing.
Word Count: 18,947 (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.
Previous Chapters: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV, Chapter V, Chapter VI, Chapter VII.
Chapter Eight: Harvest
"Care less for your harvest than for how it is shared and your life will have meaning and your heart will have peace." - Kent Nerburn
Bruce grinned as he leaned back in his chair, watching the lower wheat field over the rim of his glass as he sipped the sweet tea, sweat rolling down his cheek. He hadn't the slightest clue what the group of people were doing downstairs in the field, but anything that involved Jonathan running around sweaty and without a shirt was a good thing in his book.
He was distracted from watching his boyfriend's muscles flexing in the later summer sun by a thumping coming from behind him and he turned, almost standing to assist Richard before sitting again, remembering his ward's independent spirit. "Take a seat, join me as we watch others work,"
Richard grinned, sitting next to his guardian, pouring himself a glass from the lemonade pitcher. "What are they doing down there?" he asked, glancing down at Jeremiah who seemed to be dancing around with a pair of hand-held sickles rather then actually working.
"Harvesting...I think it involves cutting down all of that wheat and then doing something else with it, but I wasn't exactly paying attention when Jonathan explained it," Bruce said with a shrug.
Richard snickered, sipping his drink, the silence falling between them like a heavy blanket in the Georgian heat. Richard swallowed thickly before opening his mouth. "Look, Bruce I..."
Bruce turned to look at his ward, curiously. "You...?"
"Damn, was hoping someone would interrupt me." Richard muttered before taking the plunge. "I'm sorry I called you dad last night. It was just a spur of the moment..."
"Richard, breath," Bruce advised as his ward started to run off in a sentence that mashed together. "It's alright, I understand how in such a situation you would want your father, I'm just sorry he could be there for you, but you know he would have been."
"I wasn't talking to my dad, I was talking to you," Richard clarified, finally looking up at Bruce. "I mean yeah, it would have been nice to have him around, but he's gone and I know that, even when half out of it. I've got you now, and that's okay. I know you don't want to be my dad or father figure or whatever and it's cool..."
"I never said that," Bruce muttered, before sighing, rubbing at his forehead. "Richard, I would be honored to have you for a son, you have to know that. You're a great kid the sort any man wishes his son could or will be...I would just never presume to take the place of your father, I can't be him, nor would I want to be."
"I wouldn't ask that of you," Richard said before leaning forward, towards Bruce. "But...can't we be our own family?" he asked softly, childlike curiosity peeking through. "I know it wouldn't really change anything and I'm not asking for it if it puts you in an odd position, but...it would be nice, to have a family again,"
Bruce reached out, gently taking Richard's hand. "We are a family, and if it really means that much to you...I can call my lawyers tonight and see what needs to be done. I guess we can't wait forever to send you home,"
Richard squeezed Bruce's hand gently, before leaping up and tackling Bruce. "I am home," he whispered, hugging his adoptive father tightly.
--
"Jeremiah, if you fling those around one more time I'm going to send you to go butcher pigs with Tom!" Jonathan called out as he leaned on his scythe, watching his son trying to juggle the sickles he was carrying.
"Sorry Papa!" Jeremiah called and slid the sickles into the straps on his shorts, running up after Jonathan, gathering armfuls of wheat as he went. He gathered them into several bushels, quickly writing out the tags for who they belonged to, before chasing after his father for more, using the small sickles to cut free any stalks that Jonathan had missed.
Around noon he collapsed face first into a pile of wheat, groaning melodramatically about dying and Jonathan was forced to stop long enough to drag his son out of the way of the scythe before returning to work. Jeremiah took advantage of his father's distraction long enough to tackle the taller man into the field of wheat before taking off as fast as he could, hearing the roar of his father after him.
Almost tripping up the porch steps, he slid into the kitchen, dancing around Susan. "Lunch? Is it lunch time yet? I'm starving, can we have lunch?" he recited at hyper speed, yelping as his father grabbed him around the waist, dangling him upside down.
"Sooo, is there lunch?" Jonathan asked innocently, laughing as he was swatted by a kitchen towel, carrying his son upstairs to wash up for the meal.
"And to think, you're dating him," Richard muttered from the dining table where he was resting his leg, smirking at Bruce. "I hope weirdness isn't sexually transmitted,"
"Richard!"
-
"So you take a handful, stand over the barrel, and beat the shit out of it," Jeremiah explained to Richard, demonstrating how to free wheat berries from the stalks in-order to prepare it for milling.
"Jeremiah, stop abusing the wheat!" Jonathan called from where he was standing with Marcus and Sarah, discussing how they were going to harvest the last two fields without Marcus being able to drive the combine harvester and thus receive the payment they needed for the work (Jonathan was more then willing to pay them anyway, but Marcus wouldn't hear of it).
Jeremiah made a face at his father. "Okay, so gently beat the stalks against the sides of the barrel," he muttered, before promptly beating the stalks so hard Richard started getting pelted with the wheat berries.
"You know, you could just...buy flour in the store," Richard muttered as he sat on a stool, beating his own stalks of wheat into the barrel, making sure not to fling the berries around.
"It's cheaper, since we're already growing it for market," Jeremiah said with an easy shrug, tossing the empty stalks into a pile to make dolls out of later. "Half of the wheat, most of the corn, all but a small bit of the tobacco and some of the pumpkins get sold either to wholesalers, big companies or Susan takes it to the farmers market for us. The rest we give to neighbors in exchange for what they grow or we donate to the shared harvest...or we eat it."
"Shared harvest?"
"Food bank, feeds poor people," Jeremiah said, remembering cold mornings in Gotham with his mother, standing in line for hours in hopes of getting bread that wasn't green and milk that wasn't chunky.
"Oh, that's kinda cool, I guess...I mean if you have it, might as well share, right?"
"Right," Jeremiah said, nodding. "Anyway, since we already grow it, dad sees no reason to not use it for ourselves, though I wish he'd sell more of the tobacco." he made a face at that, more viciously abusing the wheat in his hands.
"I think...dad...is working on him about it," Richard said, marveling at calling Bruce 'dad' for the first time intentionally.
Jeremiah smiled at Richard, before gathering up the used stalks. "Come on, I'll show you how to make straw dolls, they're kinda cool, plus girls like them for some reason."
-
"Right, so that's two Source-ray SR-130D/55C, two Voluson E8 Expert BT08 and four Hill-Rom 850 Centra's. Yes, the account is Wayne Enterprises, yes, however I need those shipped to Greensboro, Georgia. Just have it delivered to the local post office in care of Bruce Wayne..yes I'm aware of the size of what I'm ordering, but trust me, you will never find the place. No, really, the road is unnamed and there are three identical roads in the area. Yes, thank you." Bruce hung up his cellphone, shaking his head. "Had to pick the most backwater town he could find to set up shop,"
He took a seat on the couch, grabbing a weathered phone book, flipping through the pages before finally spotting the moving companies, hoping he would have an easier time with local drivers then he did trying to explain to various companies how to find an unnamed road in the middle of nowhere Georgia.
-
"I feel like an over cooked turkey," Jonathan muttered as he collapsed face first into Bruce's bed, hair still dripping from his shower. He hissed as the front of his body made contact with the cotton sheets, rolling over and promptly whimpering in pain.
Bruce rolled his eyes, grabbing the aloe vera gel he had set aside earlier and sitting up, squeezing a large quantity over Jonathan's chest before gently rubbing the thick gel into his skin, smiling as the other man moaned in pleasured relief. "I would have thought a doctor would know better then to spend twelve hours in the sun," Bruce said, re-coating his fingers before rubbing them across Jonathan's shoulders.
"Work had to be finished," Jonathan murmured sleepily, rolling over onto his chest once it was coated so that Bruce could work on his back."
"You could have worn a shirt like everyone else, idiot," Bruce said, using both hands to gently massage the tired and over baked muscles.
"Too hot,"
Bruce shook his head again, simply massaging his boyfriend's skin, smiling as Jonathan hummed contently, his eyes drifting closed. Bruce trailed the cool lotion down over Jonathan's arms, before reaching up and sliding the man's glasses from his face, placing a gentle kiss on the skin just behind Jonathan's ear. "Sleep well," he murmured, setting the glasses aside and climbing into the bed, snuggling down with a book.
"Thank you," Jonathan whispered softly, opening an eye to look at Bruce before wrapping an arm around Bruce's hips, closing his eyes again and letting sleep claim him.
Bruce watched him for a long moment before returning to his book, only looking up as something shifted in the doorway. He glanced up, looking at Jeremiah who was standing there, clutching a teddy bear almost as large as he was, before he reached over, patting the bed.
Jeremiah bit his lip, shaking his head for a moment before glancing back behind him and running into the room, almost diving into the bed. He snuggled towards the foot of the bed between Bruce and Jonathan, curling close to his father as Jonathan shifted to make room for his son in his sleep.
Bruce smiled at them, turning back to his book again before being interrupted a few minutes later by a fake cough at the door. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow at Richard who gave him a grin.
"I had a nightmare," Richard said dryly, before jumping on the bed, almost hitting Jeremiah with his casted foot. He curled up close to the other teen, sandwiched between Bruce's thigh and Jeremiah's arm, wrapping an arm around his father before yawning. "What are your reading?"
"How to kill your son and hide the body if he won't shut up," Jonathan muttered, glaring at Richard over Jeremiah's head. "This isn't a big bed, how the hell are you two fitting in?"
"You're tiny," Jeremiah muttered. "And loud. Slee-eepy time," he sang before shoving a pillow over his father's head.
Bruce snickered and reached out, turning out the lamp before shoving the other three over so he could properly lay down, yelping as they shoved back and he fell out of the bed. Richard snickered as he scooted over to take Bruce's place, dragging Jeremiah with him, who dragged Jonathan more onto the bed.
Universe: Heavy Nolan with influences by others
Characters: Dr. Jonathan Crane, Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Crane (Kid from the Narrows), Dick Greyson, Original Female Character, Original Male Character
Pairing: Jonathan/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (full story)
Warnings: Graphic medical procidure, Romance, sex, snark, mentions/descriptions of psycological disorders, graphic depictions of animal testing.
Word Count: 18,947 (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.
Previous Chapters: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV, Chapter V, Chapter VI, Chapter VII.
Chapter Eight: Harvest
"Care less for your harvest than for how it is shared and your life will have meaning and your heart will have peace." - Kent Nerburn
Bruce grinned as he leaned back in his chair, watching the lower wheat field over the rim of his glass as he sipped the sweet tea, sweat rolling down his cheek. He hadn't the slightest clue what the group of people were doing downstairs in the field, but anything that involved Jonathan running around sweaty and without a shirt was a good thing in his book.
He was distracted from watching his boyfriend's muscles flexing in the later summer sun by a thumping coming from behind him and he turned, almost standing to assist Richard before sitting again, remembering his ward's independent spirit. "Take a seat, join me as we watch others work,"
Richard grinned, sitting next to his guardian, pouring himself a glass from the lemonade pitcher. "What are they doing down there?" he asked, glancing down at Jeremiah who seemed to be dancing around with a pair of hand-held sickles rather then actually working.
"Harvesting...I think it involves cutting down all of that wheat and then doing something else with it, but I wasn't exactly paying attention when Jonathan explained it," Bruce said with a shrug.
Richard snickered, sipping his drink, the silence falling between them like a heavy blanket in the Georgian heat. Richard swallowed thickly before opening his mouth. "Look, Bruce I..."
Bruce turned to look at his ward, curiously. "You...?"
"Damn, was hoping someone would interrupt me." Richard muttered before taking the plunge. "I'm sorry I called you dad last night. It was just a spur of the moment..."
"Richard, breath," Bruce advised as his ward started to run off in a sentence that mashed together. "It's alright, I understand how in such a situation you would want your father, I'm just sorry he could be there for you, but you know he would have been."
"I wasn't talking to my dad, I was talking to you," Richard clarified, finally looking up at Bruce. "I mean yeah, it would have been nice to have him around, but he's gone and I know that, even when half out of it. I've got you now, and that's okay. I know you don't want to be my dad or father figure or whatever and it's cool..."
"I never said that," Bruce muttered, before sighing, rubbing at his forehead. "Richard, I would be honored to have you for a son, you have to know that. You're a great kid the sort any man wishes his son could or will be...I would just never presume to take the place of your father, I can't be him, nor would I want to be."
"I wouldn't ask that of you," Richard said before leaning forward, towards Bruce. "But...can't we be our own family?" he asked softly, childlike curiosity peeking through. "I know it wouldn't really change anything and I'm not asking for it if it puts you in an odd position, but...it would be nice, to have a family again,"
Bruce reached out, gently taking Richard's hand. "We are a family, and if it really means that much to you...I can call my lawyers tonight and see what needs to be done. I guess we can't wait forever to send you home,"
Richard squeezed Bruce's hand gently, before leaping up and tackling Bruce. "I am home," he whispered, hugging his adoptive father tightly.
--
"Jeremiah, if you fling those around one more time I'm going to send you to go butcher pigs with Tom!" Jonathan called out as he leaned on his scythe, watching his son trying to juggle the sickles he was carrying.
"Sorry Papa!" Jeremiah called and slid the sickles into the straps on his shorts, running up after Jonathan, gathering armfuls of wheat as he went. He gathered them into several bushels, quickly writing out the tags for who they belonged to, before chasing after his father for more, using the small sickles to cut free any stalks that Jonathan had missed.
Around noon he collapsed face first into a pile of wheat, groaning melodramatically about dying and Jonathan was forced to stop long enough to drag his son out of the way of the scythe before returning to work. Jeremiah took advantage of his father's distraction long enough to tackle the taller man into the field of wheat before taking off as fast as he could, hearing the roar of his father after him.
Almost tripping up the porch steps, he slid into the kitchen, dancing around Susan. "Lunch? Is it lunch time yet? I'm starving, can we have lunch?" he recited at hyper speed, yelping as his father grabbed him around the waist, dangling him upside down.
"Sooo, is there lunch?" Jonathan asked innocently, laughing as he was swatted by a kitchen towel, carrying his son upstairs to wash up for the meal.
"And to think, you're dating him," Richard muttered from the dining table where he was resting his leg, smirking at Bruce. "I hope weirdness isn't sexually transmitted,"
"Richard!"
-
"So you take a handful, stand over the barrel, and beat the shit out of it," Jeremiah explained to Richard, demonstrating how to free wheat berries from the stalks in-order to prepare it for milling.
"Jeremiah, stop abusing the wheat!" Jonathan called from where he was standing with Marcus and Sarah, discussing how they were going to harvest the last two fields without Marcus being able to drive the combine harvester and thus receive the payment they needed for the work (Jonathan was more then willing to pay them anyway, but Marcus wouldn't hear of it).
Jeremiah made a face at his father. "Okay, so gently beat the stalks against the sides of the barrel," he muttered, before promptly beating the stalks so hard Richard started getting pelted with the wheat berries.
"You know, you could just...buy flour in the store," Richard muttered as he sat on a stool, beating his own stalks of wheat into the barrel, making sure not to fling the berries around.
"It's cheaper, since we're already growing it for market," Jeremiah said with an easy shrug, tossing the empty stalks into a pile to make dolls out of later. "Half of the wheat, most of the corn, all but a small bit of the tobacco and some of the pumpkins get sold either to wholesalers, big companies or Susan takes it to the farmers market for us. The rest we give to neighbors in exchange for what they grow or we donate to the shared harvest...or we eat it."
"Shared harvest?"
"Food bank, feeds poor people," Jeremiah said, remembering cold mornings in Gotham with his mother, standing in line for hours in hopes of getting bread that wasn't green and milk that wasn't chunky.
"Oh, that's kinda cool, I guess...I mean if you have it, might as well share, right?"
"Right," Jeremiah said, nodding. "Anyway, since we already grow it, dad sees no reason to not use it for ourselves, though I wish he'd sell more of the tobacco." he made a face at that, more viciously abusing the wheat in his hands.
"I think...dad...is working on him about it," Richard said, marveling at calling Bruce 'dad' for the first time intentionally.
Jeremiah smiled at Richard, before gathering up the used stalks. "Come on, I'll show you how to make straw dolls, they're kinda cool, plus girls like them for some reason."
-
"Right, so that's two Source-ray SR-130D/55C, two Voluson E8 Expert BT08 and four Hill-Rom 850 Centra's. Yes, the account is Wayne Enterprises, yes, however I need those shipped to Greensboro, Georgia. Just have it delivered to the local post office in care of Bruce Wayne..yes I'm aware of the size of what I'm ordering, but trust me, you will never find the place. No, really, the road is unnamed and there are three identical roads in the area. Yes, thank you." Bruce hung up his cellphone, shaking his head. "Had to pick the most backwater town he could find to set up shop,"
He took a seat on the couch, grabbing a weathered phone book, flipping through the pages before finally spotting the moving companies, hoping he would have an easier time with local drivers then he did trying to explain to various companies how to find an unnamed road in the middle of nowhere Georgia.
-
"I feel like an over cooked turkey," Jonathan muttered as he collapsed face first into Bruce's bed, hair still dripping from his shower. He hissed as the front of his body made contact with the cotton sheets, rolling over and promptly whimpering in pain.
Bruce rolled his eyes, grabbing the aloe vera gel he had set aside earlier and sitting up, squeezing a large quantity over Jonathan's chest before gently rubbing the thick gel into his skin, smiling as the other man moaned in pleasured relief. "I would have thought a doctor would know better then to spend twelve hours in the sun," Bruce said, re-coating his fingers before rubbing them across Jonathan's shoulders.
"Work had to be finished," Jonathan murmured sleepily, rolling over onto his chest once it was coated so that Bruce could work on his back."
"You could have worn a shirt like everyone else, idiot," Bruce said, using both hands to gently massage the tired and over baked muscles.
"Too hot,"
Bruce shook his head again, simply massaging his boyfriend's skin, smiling as Jonathan hummed contently, his eyes drifting closed. Bruce trailed the cool lotion down over Jonathan's arms, before reaching up and sliding the man's glasses from his face, placing a gentle kiss on the skin just behind Jonathan's ear. "Sleep well," he murmured, setting the glasses aside and climbing into the bed, snuggling down with a book.
"Thank you," Jonathan whispered softly, opening an eye to look at Bruce before wrapping an arm around Bruce's hips, closing his eyes again and letting sleep claim him.
Bruce watched him for a long moment before returning to his book, only looking up as something shifted in the doorway. He glanced up, looking at Jeremiah who was standing there, clutching a teddy bear almost as large as he was, before he reached over, patting the bed.
Jeremiah bit his lip, shaking his head for a moment before glancing back behind him and running into the room, almost diving into the bed. He snuggled towards the foot of the bed between Bruce and Jonathan, curling close to his father as Jonathan shifted to make room for his son in his sleep.
Bruce smiled at them, turning back to his book again before being interrupted a few minutes later by a fake cough at the door. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow at Richard who gave him a grin.
"I had a nightmare," Richard said dryly, before jumping on the bed, almost hitting Jeremiah with his casted foot. He curled up close to the other teen, sandwiched between Bruce's thigh and Jeremiah's arm, wrapping an arm around his father before yawning. "What are your reading?"
"How to kill your son and hide the body if he won't shut up," Jonathan muttered, glaring at Richard over Jeremiah's head. "This isn't a big bed, how the hell are you two fitting in?"
"You're tiny," Jeremiah muttered. "And loud. Slee-eepy time," he sang before shoving a pillow over his father's head.
Bruce snickered and reached out, turning out the lamp before shoving the other three over so he could properly lay down, yelping as they shoved back and he fell out of the bed. Richard snickered as he scooted over to take Bruce's place, dragging Jeremiah with him, who dragged Jonathan more onto the bed.