Fic: Georgian Nights (12/?)
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 procedures, romance, graphic sex, snark, mentions/descriptions of psycological disorders, graphic depictions of animal testing.
Word Count: 26,977 (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 VIII, Chapter IX, Chapter X, Chapter XI.
Chapter Twelve: Running Away From Yourself
Someone should sue Disney for planting the ideas in little kids’ heads that every girl has a prince and everything ends up happily ever after. - Unknown
“It's alright, you're going to be alright, I promise,” Jonathan whispered to Richard as he clung to the boy, grabbing the slender wrists in his hand, trying to keep Richard from harming himself. “Jeremiah!” he yelled, trying to be heard over Richard's screams for Bruce. “Get me the propofol from the cabinet,”
The boy nodded, shaking as he ran to the clinic to go get what his father needed, fighting through his own hallucinations and fears to accomplish the task. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped the vial, hurrying back and handing it to his father along with a syringe.
Jonathan measured out a dose of the anesthetic, injecting Richard with it as he tried to calm the boy, re-assuring him against the visions of death he was seeing. He looked up as Bruce ran in, wincing at the look in his boyfriends eyes. This was not going to go over well.
“We need to move him to the clinic,” Jonathan said, reaching down to pick up Richard, only to find himself slammed against a wall, Bruce's hand around his throat.
“You are not touching him, Crane,” Bruce rasped out and Jonathan wheezed, staring at Bruce, wondering if he had finally pushed Bruce too far, forcing him over that precious little line he swore to never cross.
He opened his mouth to speak and realized he couldn't, mouth moving, choking, breaking off as Jeremiah started screaming, clutching at Richard whose body was convulsing. Bruce suddenly dropped him, turning to his son while Jonathan leapt over the group in his dash to the clinic, ripping open the medicine cabinet and throwing boxes around, finally finding the epinephrine shots.
He returned in a rush, shoving Bruce out of the way and stabbing Richard's thigh with the syringe, free hand grabbing the boy's wrist to check his pulse while he rested his cheek over Richard's mouth, praying.
As Richard's breath stirred over his cheek, free of wheezing and stuttering, Jonathan released a breath, picking up the boy in-spite of Bruce's demands to release his son. He carried Richard to the clinic, laying him in a hospital bed and strapping him into it before rounding on his boyfriend, arm shooting out to keep Bruce from touching Richard. “Don't even, Bruce. You cannot remove him from this clinic unless you want to explain to whatever doctors you take him to why he can't walk,”
“As soon as the anesthetic has worn off,”
“He still won't be able to walk, Bruce. He had an allergic reaction to the medication, it's effected his muscle control,”
“Are you trying to tell me you fucking paralyzed my son?” Bruce roared, wanting nothing more then to rip Jonathan's head off and use it for a soccer ball.
“No, Bruce, I'm telling you there are side eff, JEREMIAH!” Jonathan shoved Bruce again, grabbing his son who was clawing at his face. “God dammit,” He glanced at the distance to the medicine cabinet, shoving Jeremiah at Bruce. “Keep him still,” he ordered, grabbing another vial of propofol since he had left the first one in the lab, struggling to get the medication into his son's vein as Jeremiah struggled. “Hold him still, please,” Jonathan begged Bruce, feeling utterly miserable as he jabbed his son again, finally getting the vein and injecting the medication.
“Papa,” Jeremiah whispered as he started to collapse, dragging Bruce down to the ground with him.
Jonathan knelt next to the pair, pulling Jeremiah into his arms, holding him tightly. “It's alright, Jeremiah, you're safe,” Jonathan whispered, stroking a hand through Jeremiah's blond hair. “You're safe,”
“I thought he had the antidote,” Bruce said, taking Jeremiah back as Jonathan made to stand, Bruce's words reminding him Richard still needed it.
“He has, but he still suffers hallucinations under stress, it's part of the brain damage,” Jonathan said, head jerking for a moment, ducking the bat that had flown past before he could remember it wasn't real. “We both do,” he added in a whisper. “Just lay him in one of the other beds, he'll be...well, he'll never be fine, but better when he awakes,”
Jonathan focused himself on the task of preparing the antidote for Richard, ignoring the bats flying around the room, or the way Bruce's breathing suddenly got deeper, a shadow floating around Bruce's body that had pointed ears and a long cape. He turned finally, holding up the needle. “May I give this to Richard or will you rip my arms off?”
“What is it?” Bruce growled, standing protectively in front of his son.
“The antidote, same chemicals that Wayne Enterprises uses, I swear,”
Bruce stared at Jonathan for a long, hard moment before moving away from Richard, allowing Jonathan to inject the antidote, and check the boy's vitals. Jonathan stepped away immediately after, not wanting to provoke Bruce, instead checking on his son.
“Tell me about this side effect, Crane. Now."
onathan ran a hand through his hair, sitting on Jeremiah's bed. “It's a rare allergic reaction to the Toxin, only three of my patients ever suffered from it. It's a form of ataxia, much like tick paralysis it effects the lower limbs first, moving up, thankfully or else we would have had bigger problems such as Richard not breathing,”
“Why was he convulsing then?” Bruce demanded.
“The toxin is a neuro-toxin, it effects the brain, and in those allergic to it, it effects muscle coordination before it paralyzes them, hence convulsing, his brain lost control,”
Bruce was silent for a moment, watching over his son. “Why did you gas my son?” he finally asked, his voice broken with the hurt he felt.
“It wasn't intentional, Bruce,” Jonathan said softly, looking up at the other man. “I was in the lab, they startled me, I turned and accidentally released the gas. I would never hurt Richard, you know that,”
“No, Jonathan, I don't.” Bruce said, looking at Jonathan over Richard's bed. “I really don't and that bothers me.”
Jonathan blinked at his boyfriend before turning away, fighting against the urge to break down and cry. He desperately wanted to escape, to hide in the back of his mind and let Scarecrow handle this, too hurt and heartbroken to handle it himself.
But Scarecrow was gone, faded away under medication and couldn't protect Jonathan no matter how much either half wanted.
“When Richard recovers, we're returning to Gotham,” Bruce said, taking his son's hand, holding it tightly.
That had already been the plan, to return in week due to Richard's schooling and the fact Bruce had a company to go home to, but with the tone, the carry of the words, Jonathan felt his heart break even more, feeling the loss of Bruce before the man had already left.
Because he knew, Bruce wasn't going to come back.
“He'll fully recover in a week,” Jonathan said before standing and jerking the curtain around Jeremiah's bed, blocking himself off from Bruce, climbing into the bed next to his son and holding him close, tears sliding down his cheeks and onto Jeremiah's shoulder as he silently cried.
-
“That's good Richard, now turn slowly and walk back to me,” Jonathan said tonelessly, watching the teenager's progress as he worked at walking after staying in bed for almost a week.
Richard bit his lip, pain shooting up and down his legs as he forced them to move under him, stumbling slightly and catching himself on the parallel bars next to him, breathing hard. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain, shoving one foot in front of the other before panting, trying to force his other leg forward. He stumbled again and hands reached out, grabbing him.
“It's alright, you're doing fine,” Jonathan said, steadying the teenager. “Do you want to stop?” he asked softly, gently rubbing Richard's back, willing some of the boy's pain away.
Richard shook his head, forcing himself to take the step, and another, before he collapsed, clinging to Jonathan tightly. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, ashamed of himself.
“It's alright, Richard, I know it's hard.” He lifted the boy up, carrying him back to the walker and helping him into the seat of it. “You really are doing well,” Jonathan said with a smile, inspecting Richard's legs, gently massaging the muscles that were shaking even with Richard sitting, trying to relax them. “A few more days and you won't even tremble, I promise,”
“Still wish I could walk alone,” Richard muttered, angrily kicking the walker before wincing at the pain that shot up his thigh.
“Soon,” Jonathan said, ruffling the teen's hair before offering him a cup with a few aspirin, watching as the boy took the pills before pushing the walker as one would a wheel chair into the room he had been moved into near the clinic. “Get some res for me, alright?”
“Yes, Doctor Crane,” Richard said with a yawn, exhausted from his therapy. He watched Jonathan as the older man helped him into bed, tucking him in. He reached out, grabbing Jonathan's hand as the man turned to go. “Thank you,” he whispered softly.
Jonathan shook his head, gently taking Richard's hand. “Don't thank me, Richard. It's my fault you're in this mess,”
Richard shook his head, frowning up at Jonathan. “It's not your fault, we should have warned you we were coming in, Susan said you were working with the toxin,”
“It's still my fault, Richard,” Jonathan said, giving Richard's hand a squeeze. “But thank you, for trying to make it better.” He ducked down, impulsively placing a kiss on Richard's cheek like he would Jeremiah before leaving the room.
Richard watched him go sadly, wishing he could change what happened, take away the pain Jonathan and Bruce were now going through.
-
“Mr. Wayne?”
Bruce looked up from where he had been staring out the window before standing, offering the two men in front of him a seat in the chairs before his desk. “Please, sit, General,” Bruce said, forcing a smile onto his face.
Bruce had been back in Gotham for two weeks now, and he still couldn't drag his mind away from the events in Georgia. Richard had completely recovered with no side effects, and from the mentions from his son, even Jeremiah was healing from the break down the boy had suffered...yet something still seemed unfinished to him.
“What I can I do four our military?” Bruce asked as he took a seat, eyes darting between the two across from him.
“We were informed by one of our arms suppliers that your company is the only laboratory in the country that can manufacture this compound on a large scale,” the general said, sliding an envelope across Bruce's desk.
Bruce raised an eyebrow, slitting open the envelope and pulling out the file inside, flipping through the pages before his other eyebrow matched the first and he raised his eyes, looking at the men again. “You want the antidote to the Fear Toxin created by Doctor Crane?”
“Quite a bit of it, enough to inoculate all branches of the military as well as most of the high ranking government, on a continuous basis, as well as extra doses for it's victims,”
“Might I ask why?”
“That is classified information, Mr. Wayne,”
“And you're asking my company to prepare for large scale chemical warfare, General,” Bruce countered, setting the file on the desk.
The two men shared a look, silently communicating before the older one nodded. The General turned back to Bruce. “Doctor Crane is currently creating a low grade weapon for us, an arolized version of his Fear Toxin that can be used to subdue subjects,”
“You're planning to poison them, to contain them?” Bruce asked, intrigued and disgusted at the same time.
“Would you rather we shoot them, Mr. Wayne? The toxin is non-lethal when properly administered as and easily reversed with the antidote if given within the proper time frame. “
“It's also one use only,” Bruce pointed out, jotting some notes on a post-it, mind churning.
“Not anymore,” the older man said. “It has been discovered that the current inoculations wear off, three years of immunity and then the toxin will effect the brain again, yet still can be cured by the same antidote, a genius design really, insuring Wayne Enterprises never has to re-create the chemical, yet has a constant supply of those needing it,”
“It wasn't our design,” Bruce muttered.
“No, it was Doctor Crane's, though I doubt he did it intentionally when he first created the toxin. So, will you be willing to contract with us?”
“I will have to discuss it with the bored and CEO, may I get back to you?”
“Of course, Mr. Wayne. Your secretary has our number.” The men stood, shaking Bruce's hand before heading for the door. The older man allowed the General to leave ahead of him before turning back to Bruce. “No matter your decision, we will be following this plan, Mr. Wayne, so don't think that your decision will sway us. I am aware of your recent problems with Doctor Crane, do not let your personal life spill into your professional one,”
“How would you know what is going on with Doctor Crane and myself?”
The man smiled, though there was little humor in it. “I'm CIA, I know what color underwear you're wearing, Mr. Wayne,” he said before stepping from Bruce's office.
Bruce shook his head, taking a seat, turning the information over in his head. Jonathan was working with the military, creating a new version of Fear Toxin.
Jonathan had not been working on the toxin for his own personal (or rather, Scarecrow's personal) use, though he had never denied it when Bruce accused him of it.
Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair, having a suspicion that he had screwed up royally and not sure how to fix it.
--
“Greensboro Medical, Doctor Crane speaking,” Jonathan muttered around a French fry, trying to grab a bite of food between patients, slapping Jeremiah's hand away from his milkshake. There was silence on the other end of the line, long enough for Jonathan to pull the phone away from his hear, double checking that it was still connected. “Hello?”
“I miss you,” the voice was so soft that it took Jonathan a moment to realize it was Bruce and he pulled he phone away from his ear again, staring at it in disbelief.
“Bruce?” Jonathan asked, and mentally kicked himself for the hopeful note in his voice.
“There is a plane waiting for your at the Greene County Airport, it's leaving in half an hour...please, Jonathan, I need to see you.” Bruce hung up and Jonathan blinked at the phone, sighing as he set it down.
“Jeremiah, go pack for the weekend, be quick,” he muttered, angry at himself but unable to stop himself from standing and heading upstairs to get his own bag ready, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of going to Bruce...to returning to what they might have had.
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 procedures, romance, graphic sex, snark, mentions/descriptions of psycological disorders, graphic depictions of animal testing.
Word Count: 26,977 (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 VIII, Chapter IX, Chapter X, Chapter XI.
Chapter Twelve: Running Away From Yourself
Someone should sue Disney for planting the ideas in little kids’ heads that every girl has a prince and everything ends up happily ever after. - Unknown
“It's alright, you're going to be alright, I promise,” Jonathan whispered to Richard as he clung to the boy, grabbing the slender wrists in his hand, trying to keep Richard from harming himself. “Jeremiah!” he yelled, trying to be heard over Richard's screams for Bruce. “Get me the propofol from the cabinet,”
The boy nodded, shaking as he ran to the clinic to go get what his father needed, fighting through his own hallucinations and fears to accomplish the task. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped the vial, hurrying back and handing it to his father along with a syringe.
Jonathan measured out a dose of the anesthetic, injecting Richard with it as he tried to calm the boy, re-assuring him against the visions of death he was seeing. He looked up as Bruce ran in, wincing at the look in his boyfriends eyes. This was not going to go over well.
“We need to move him to the clinic,” Jonathan said, reaching down to pick up Richard, only to find himself slammed against a wall, Bruce's hand around his throat.
“You are not touching him, Crane,” Bruce rasped out and Jonathan wheezed, staring at Bruce, wondering if he had finally pushed Bruce too far, forcing him over that precious little line he swore to never cross.
He opened his mouth to speak and realized he couldn't, mouth moving, choking, breaking off as Jeremiah started screaming, clutching at Richard whose body was convulsing. Bruce suddenly dropped him, turning to his son while Jonathan leapt over the group in his dash to the clinic, ripping open the medicine cabinet and throwing boxes around, finally finding the epinephrine shots.
He returned in a rush, shoving Bruce out of the way and stabbing Richard's thigh with the syringe, free hand grabbing the boy's wrist to check his pulse while he rested his cheek over Richard's mouth, praying.
As Richard's breath stirred over his cheek, free of wheezing and stuttering, Jonathan released a breath, picking up the boy in-spite of Bruce's demands to release his son. He carried Richard to the clinic, laying him in a hospital bed and strapping him into it before rounding on his boyfriend, arm shooting out to keep Bruce from touching Richard. “Don't even, Bruce. You cannot remove him from this clinic unless you want to explain to whatever doctors you take him to why he can't walk,”
“As soon as the anesthetic has worn off,”
“He still won't be able to walk, Bruce. He had an allergic reaction to the medication, it's effected his muscle control,”
“Are you trying to tell me you fucking paralyzed my son?” Bruce roared, wanting nothing more then to rip Jonathan's head off and use it for a soccer ball.
“No, Bruce, I'm telling you there are side eff, JEREMIAH!” Jonathan shoved Bruce again, grabbing his son who was clawing at his face. “God dammit,” He glanced at the distance to the medicine cabinet, shoving Jeremiah at Bruce. “Keep him still,” he ordered, grabbing another vial of propofol since he had left the first one in the lab, struggling to get the medication into his son's vein as Jeremiah struggled. “Hold him still, please,” Jonathan begged Bruce, feeling utterly miserable as he jabbed his son again, finally getting the vein and injecting the medication.
“Papa,” Jeremiah whispered as he started to collapse, dragging Bruce down to the ground with him.
Jonathan knelt next to the pair, pulling Jeremiah into his arms, holding him tightly. “It's alright, Jeremiah, you're safe,” Jonathan whispered, stroking a hand through Jeremiah's blond hair. “You're safe,”
“I thought he had the antidote,” Bruce said, taking Jeremiah back as Jonathan made to stand, Bruce's words reminding him Richard still needed it.
“He has, but he still suffers hallucinations under stress, it's part of the brain damage,” Jonathan said, head jerking for a moment, ducking the bat that had flown past before he could remember it wasn't real. “We both do,” he added in a whisper. “Just lay him in one of the other beds, he'll be...well, he'll never be fine, but better when he awakes,”
Jonathan focused himself on the task of preparing the antidote for Richard, ignoring the bats flying around the room, or the way Bruce's breathing suddenly got deeper, a shadow floating around Bruce's body that had pointed ears and a long cape. He turned finally, holding up the needle. “May I give this to Richard or will you rip my arms off?”
“What is it?” Bruce growled, standing protectively in front of his son.
“The antidote, same chemicals that Wayne Enterprises uses, I swear,”
Bruce stared at Jonathan for a long, hard moment before moving away from Richard, allowing Jonathan to inject the antidote, and check the boy's vitals. Jonathan stepped away immediately after, not wanting to provoke Bruce, instead checking on his son.
“Tell me about this side effect, Crane. Now."
onathan ran a hand through his hair, sitting on Jeremiah's bed. “It's a rare allergic reaction to the Toxin, only three of my patients ever suffered from it. It's a form of ataxia, much like tick paralysis it effects the lower limbs first, moving up, thankfully or else we would have had bigger problems such as Richard not breathing,”
“Why was he convulsing then?” Bruce demanded.
“The toxin is a neuro-toxin, it effects the brain, and in those allergic to it, it effects muscle coordination before it paralyzes them, hence convulsing, his brain lost control,”
Bruce was silent for a moment, watching over his son. “Why did you gas my son?” he finally asked, his voice broken with the hurt he felt.
“It wasn't intentional, Bruce,” Jonathan said softly, looking up at the other man. “I was in the lab, they startled me, I turned and accidentally released the gas. I would never hurt Richard, you know that,”
“No, Jonathan, I don't.” Bruce said, looking at Jonathan over Richard's bed. “I really don't and that bothers me.”
Jonathan blinked at his boyfriend before turning away, fighting against the urge to break down and cry. He desperately wanted to escape, to hide in the back of his mind and let Scarecrow handle this, too hurt and heartbroken to handle it himself.
But Scarecrow was gone, faded away under medication and couldn't protect Jonathan no matter how much either half wanted.
“When Richard recovers, we're returning to Gotham,” Bruce said, taking his son's hand, holding it tightly.
That had already been the plan, to return in week due to Richard's schooling and the fact Bruce had a company to go home to, but with the tone, the carry of the words, Jonathan felt his heart break even more, feeling the loss of Bruce before the man had already left.
Because he knew, Bruce wasn't going to come back.
“He'll fully recover in a week,” Jonathan said before standing and jerking the curtain around Jeremiah's bed, blocking himself off from Bruce, climbing into the bed next to his son and holding him close, tears sliding down his cheeks and onto Jeremiah's shoulder as he silently cried.
-
“That's good Richard, now turn slowly and walk back to me,” Jonathan said tonelessly, watching the teenager's progress as he worked at walking after staying in bed for almost a week.
Richard bit his lip, pain shooting up and down his legs as he forced them to move under him, stumbling slightly and catching himself on the parallel bars next to him, breathing hard. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain, shoving one foot in front of the other before panting, trying to force his other leg forward. He stumbled again and hands reached out, grabbing him.
“It's alright, you're doing fine,” Jonathan said, steadying the teenager. “Do you want to stop?” he asked softly, gently rubbing Richard's back, willing some of the boy's pain away.
Richard shook his head, forcing himself to take the step, and another, before he collapsed, clinging to Jonathan tightly. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, ashamed of himself.
“It's alright, Richard, I know it's hard.” He lifted the boy up, carrying him back to the walker and helping him into the seat of it. “You really are doing well,” Jonathan said with a smile, inspecting Richard's legs, gently massaging the muscles that were shaking even with Richard sitting, trying to relax them. “A few more days and you won't even tremble, I promise,”
“Still wish I could walk alone,” Richard muttered, angrily kicking the walker before wincing at the pain that shot up his thigh.
“Soon,” Jonathan said, ruffling the teen's hair before offering him a cup with a few aspirin, watching as the boy took the pills before pushing the walker as one would a wheel chair into the room he had been moved into near the clinic. “Get some res for me, alright?”
“Yes, Doctor Crane,” Richard said with a yawn, exhausted from his therapy. He watched Jonathan as the older man helped him into bed, tucking him in. He reached out, grabbing Jonathan's hand as the man turned to go. “Thank you,” he whispered softly.
Jonathan shook his head, gently taking Richard's hand. “Don't thank me, Richard. It's my fault you're in this mess,”
Richard shook his head, frowning up at Jonathan. “It's not your fault, we should have warned you we were coming in, Susan said you were working with the toxin,”
“It's still my fault, Richard,” Jonathan said, giving Richard's hand a squeeze. “But thank you, for trying to make it better.” He ducked down, impulsively placing a kiss on Richard's cheek like he would Jeremiah before leaving the room.
Richard watched him go sadly, wishing he could change what happened, take away the pain Jonathan and Bruce were now going through.
-
“Mr. Wayne?”
Bruce looked up from where he had been staring out the window before standing, offering the two men in front of him a seat in the chairs before his desk. “Please, sit, General,” Bruce said, forcing a smile onto his face.
Bruce had been back in Gotham for two weeks now, and he still couldn't drag his mind away from the events in Georgia. Richard had completely recovered with no side effects, and from the mentions from his son, even Jeremiah was healing from the break down the boy had suffered...yet something still seemed unfinished to him.
“What I can I do four our military?” Bruce asked as he took a seat, eyes darting between the two across from him.
“We were informed by one of our arms suppliers that your company is the only laboratory in the country that can manufacture this compound on a large scale,” the general said, sliding an envelope across Bruce's desk.
Bruce raised an eyebrow, slitting open the envelope and pulling out the file inside, flipping through the pages before his other eyebrow matched the first and he raised his eyes, looking at the men again. “You want the antidote to the Fear Toxin created by Doctor Crane?”
“Quite a bit of it, enough to inoculate all branches of the military as well as most of the high ranking government, on a continuous basis, as well as extra doses for it's victims,”
“Might I ask why?”
“That is classified information, Mr. Wayne,”
“And you're asking my company to prepare for large scale chemical warfare, General,” Bruce countered, setting the file on the desk.
The two men shared a look, silently communicating before the older one nodded. The General turned back to Bruce. “Doctor Crane is currently creating a low grade weapon for us, an arolized version of his Fear Toxin that can be used to subdue subjects,”
“You're planning to poison them, to contain them?” Bruce asked, intrigued and disgusted at the same time.
“Would you rather we shoot them, Mr. Wayne? The toxin is non-lethal when properly administered as and easily reversed with the antidote if given within the proper time frame. “
“It's also one use only,” Bruce pointed out, jotting some notes on a post-it, mind churning.
“Not anymore,” the older man said. “It has been discovered that the current inoculations wear off, three years of immunity and then the toxin will effect the brain again, yet still can be cured by the same antidote, a genius design really, insuring Wayne Enterprises never has to re-create the chemical, yet has a constant supply of those needing it,”
“It wasn't our design,” Bruce muttered.
“No, it was Doctor Crane's, though I doubt he did it intentionally when he first created the toxin. So, will you be willing to contract with us?”
“I will have to discuss it with the bored and CEO, may I get back to you?”
“Of course, Mr. Wayne. Your secretary has our number.” The men stood, shaking Bruce's hand before heading for the door. The older man allowed the General to leave ahead of him before turning back to Bruce. “No matter your decision, we will be following this plan, Mr. Wayne, so don't think that your decision will sway us. I am aware of your recent problems with Doctor Crane, do not let your personal life spill into your professional one,”
“How would you know what is going on with Doctor Crane and myself?”
The man smiled, though there was little humor in it. “I'm CIA, I know what color underwear you're wearing, Mr. Wayne,” he said before stepping from Bruce's office.
Bruce shook his head, taking a seat, turning the information over in his head. Jonathan was working with the military, creating a new version of Fear Toxin.
Jonathan had not been working on the toxin for his own personal (or rather, Scarecrow's personal) use, though he had never denied it when Bruce accused him of it.
Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair, having a suspicion that he had screwed up royally and not sure how to fix it.
--
“Greensboro Medical, Doctor Crane speaking,” Jonathan muttered around a French fry, trying to grab a bite of food between patients, slapping Jeremiah's hand away from his milkshake. There was silence on the other end of the line, long enough for Jonathan to pull the phone away from his hear, double checking that it was still connected. “Hello?”
“I miss you,” the voice was so soft that it took Jonathan a moment to realize it was Bruce and he pulled he phone away from his ear again, staring at it in disbelief.
“Bruce?” Jonathan asked, and mentally kicked himself for the hopeful note in his voice.
“There is a plane waiting for your at the Greene County Airport, it's leaving in half an hour...please, Jonathan, I need to see you.” Bruce hung up and Jonathan blinked at the phone, sighing as he set it down.
“Jeremiah, go pack for the weekend, be quick,” he muttered, angry at himself but unable to stop himself from standing and heading upstairs to get his own bag ready, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of going to Bruce...to returning to what they might have had.