Chapter Text
Jonathan Crane had seldom been able to stick to a proper sleep schedule. Most commonly, he would sleep when his work began to grow sloppy and his hands could hardly remain steady. As a side effect of these poor sleep habits, he had become a naturally heavy sleeper. Even prior to becoming a rogue, he remembered numerous times in which he would operate fine for two days before finding himself being shaken awake by a concerned janitor later on in the night with no recollection of actually falling asleep. After he had long moved on from his time as a professor and become a part of the Rogue's Gallery, it simply meant that he missed many breakfasts during his visits to Arkham.
That is not to say; however, that Jonathan was heavy enough a sleeper to sleep the morning away during his time away from the asylum. In fact, in the last few years, he had actually taken on a particular skill that allowed him to have such a poor schedule -- he was late to bed and early to rise. Usually, when all was said and done, he would be able to wake himself up after about six hours. At his makeshift lab in the bowels of the train station, this was a perfect habit for him, as the lack of daylight could not indicate the time it was proper to sleep during and whenever he was exhausted enough to finally doze off, he could hardly care that the closest object to a bed that he possessed was a dodgy mattress with a few clothes stretched across the various stains and holes left by its past owners. By sleeping only when necessary and for such a short amount of time, he was simply abusing the body's faults and tricking himself into being well rested -- a trick that neither himself nor Scarecrow had ever felt should be challenged.
This morning would not be one of those nights and Jonathan's status as a deep sleeper would not aid him this time as Edward Nygma shifted one of his legs while they were both dozing, sending his knee directly square into the bandages that covered Jonathan's leg and immediately bringing him back into consciousness; kneed in the wound by a man who clearly was much further into her personal space than he really should be.
Despite the jolt awake, Jonathan's reaction was not immediate, lagging behind greatly as his mind caught up with him. Eventually, as he opened his eyes and dragged his leg away from the dull sting, he dazedly opened his eyes and found himself staring into a small mass of bright ginger fluff that his chin was currently resting on. It took another second for him to register that his arms were currently coiled around whatever the mass was connected to. Finally, it took one last moment as he gently slid his left arm over the shoulder of the figure and lightly pushed at its chest to inch them backwards, emerald eyes blinking a few times as they drifted open, before he registered that it was not only a person, but a man and a rogue. Edward, nonetheless.
Jonathan gave a hard push as he stumbled off the mattress, his uninjured leg tangled in the blankets from the night prior and causing him to hit the ground like a corpse, a sharp jolt of pain shooting through his leg as his other knee collided with the floor. "Damn it," He growled lightly, tugging his leg free from the covers and dragging himself off the hardwood floor, nearly taking down one of Edward's decorative tapestries - canopies - whatever the hell they were.
"Christ, Jon," Edward snapped, rubbing at his eye as he stumbled out of the bed as well, approaching Jonathan but keeping a safe distance. There had only been a few cases in which Jonathan had ever been so close to being startled, few of which had not involved his famous toxin. "Good morning to you too," He sighed, shifting his hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. It had certainly been a rude awakening if Edward ever knew one; nearly being thrown out of his own bed. "I didn't know you were such a passionate cuddler." Edward hummed, cracking a small smirk as he folded his arms.
"Disgustin'," Jonathan replied sharply, eyes shifting around the room, clearly trying to find something. "Don't know if ya' think that was some sort'ta fun joke, but that was fucking disgusting. 'thought better of ya."
The smirk was gone immediately.
"What are you talking about?" Edward snapped. "The bed?"
"No, Edward, the fuckin' curtains! What do ya' think?" The professor shouted back, raising his hand and gesturing to where they were just positioned. "Course the bed!"
"If I remember correctly, and I do. Eidetic memory. Then you were the one that grabbed me." Edward snapped, raising an eyebrow as he watched the professor shake his head and continue to search the room. "What are you even looking for? I mean, you've clearly lost your mind." It was a bit juvenile of a comment, but Edward would never admit it.
"Where's m' glasses?"
For a former professor and doctorate holder, he truly wasn't all that smart. "You wore contacts." Edward sighed, bringing his hand back up to the bridge of his nose.
He heard a slight huff from the other man, only pulling his hand back down and blinking as he noticed the man was already throwing the door open and beginning to storm out, seemingly having decided they have everything that they needed. Edward blinked again, watching the other man's quick shambled pace down the hallway. "Wait, you're not mad at me, are you? I didn't do anything!" Edward darted forwards towards the man, the other man not showing any signs of slowing. "Jonathan!" He grabbed the other man by the wrist.
Edward immediately let go as Jonathan spun around to face him, eyes darkened in a way that startled the genius enough to take a few steps back. However, after locking eyes with the other man, he could tell that despite the initial concern, it was in fact still Jonathan that he was facing. Perhaps it was that fact that lead Edward to keep his stance. At least the professor could be reasoned with. "Jonathan," Edward repeated, refusing to step down. "You realize that none of us care, right?" When Edward was only met with silence, Jonathan's gaze briefly flickering to the side to at least indicate that he was listening, Edward continued. "Really, it isn't like you're the first one. I mean, hell, you're not even the first man to stay the night at my place-" He said, waving his hand slightly with a somewhat nervous laugh and drawing his eyes to the ceiling to try and escape the tense glare.
"Edward-"
"Don't, just stop talking and listen for once. It's really not all that controversial here. I mean, look at Harley and Ivy for example, there's hardly even a second glance to them and you know the nature of their relationship. Come to think of it, I haven't even heard you have so much criticism for them as you do for-" Even for how much the two publicly doted on each other, there was hardly ever a single comment in their direction - not even from Crane who was supposedly disgusted by such displays of any nature.
"Edward," Jonathan warned.
"I'm not going to stop and you're not making a real effort to stop me. You know that I'm right!" Edward said sharply. He was tired of the whole act from the other rogue. "Look, I'm just saying that if you are what I am implying you are, then nobody is going to blink twice." Edward explained with as much sincerity as he could muster. "-And if someone does blink twice, well, let's just say that despite the fact we're all criminals, we don't take kindly to such acts of blatant rudeness." He finished, adding a final trademarked cocky Riddler grin as he placed his hands on his hips and slightly tilted his chin up.
Despite the small burst of confidence that his little speech had given himself, it seemed to have the opposite effect for the professor.
The man stared him down for a moment with that trained professor gaze, eyes shifting between Edward's own as if trying to pick apart the expression, to find where exactly he could look and over-analyze the other's kind words and point out the obvious lie. He couldn't figure out the intentions behind the man's statements. Sure, he had chosen to keep his thoughts to himself when around Ms. Quinzel and Isely, as neither had ever caused him any particular troubles. In fact, both had actually been rather kind to him during his first few years as a rogue, if not that, then at least peacefully neutral. He believed it to be none other than expected to return such politeness and not speak of either of them - behind their backs or otherwise. He had even mostly held his tongue during the brief relationship between Edward and Oswald a year or two prior - as short as it had lasted.
To put it simply, even Jonathan could not ignore the fact that his disdain for such relationships only made itself known in circumstances when such effects had been directed at him. Patients at Arkham who had made snide comments as he passed the cells during his former experience as a doctor, guards who had noticed it to be one of the few ways to truly bother the rogue, and that one strange time when one of Oswald's arm-candies had openly asked him for a drink at the Umbrella Lounge.
Still, it was hard not to acknowledge that there was a reason behind why he was so bothered by these interactions, and it could not be so neatly summarized by the fact that he had learned such hatred at a young age.
With a sigh, Jonathan broke the stare and ran a hand through his hair before shifting his weight, giving a soft wince as he remembered the pain in his leg.
"Jonathan?" Edward asked, waiting for some sort of response.
Instead of speaking back to the genius, Jonathan calmly shifted his weight again to place a hand at the side of the hallway to brace himself as he took a seat on the hardwood floor, much to Edward's surprise, and remained completely wordless as he did so.
"I don't.." Edward fell briefly silent. "I don't get it, is this your way of saying that you know I'm right and that you never should have doubted me?" Edward asked, cocking an eyebrow.
He gave a small sigh as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, brushing off the other man's sarcasm yet again. Despite being able to function with so little sleep, he wouldn't mind a few more hours. "I just," He began, searching for the proper words without coming off the wrong way. "I don't know how ta' be any different." He remembered back when he was young, too young to even know any different. When feelings were just feelings whether it was a woman or a man. It'd been a better and kinder period in his life, but ultimately, had fed into a sense of naivety that had nearly cost him his life. Even if there were no qualms with such pointless things as attraction here, he knew that there would always be that nagging feeling deep inside him that he would make the same mistake again and not be nearly as lucky as he had been last time.
"Look, Jonathan, I don't know what you've been through, not really," Edward explain with his own soft sigh. He had tried a few times to look into the doctor's past - back when the man was a new face to the gallery - he couldn't find anything past a few high school records, all from Gotham. Still, it was easy to make assumptions on the man based on his occasional references to religion and the few times he had mentioned family like the word sent a bad taste into his mouth.
He waited for some sort of response and when it was not received, he took a quiet seat beside the doctor, back pressed against the wall with his knees folded neatly and eyes still trained on him. "But you should know that we're not like whatever you left behind."
"Edward," Jonathan said softly, voice holding a thin layer of exhaustion.
"Yes?" Edward replied quickly, hopeful that his assurances had earned some sort of response from the other man. Edward knew he was right after all; the professor was a closet case and he knew it. Surely the doctor was about to thank him for saying what was blatantly obvious to every other rogue?
"Please stop talkin'."
Edward blinked once, twice, then sighed as he recognized that his words had apparently fallen on deaf ears. Jonathan Crane was not a man of change. He'd be doomed to the same cycle of self-hatred and loathing for however long he lived. Edward couldn't piece together the extent of whatever trauma had affected the doctor, no matter how much it was obviously harming him. Jonathan was the psychologist. If only he could just recognize that something was wrong and stop trying to ignore it, then surely he'd be a lot happier?
Edward closed his eyes and leaned his own head back, faintly mirroring Jonathan as he squinted his brow in annoyance, his head softly thumping against the wall at the somewhat sharp motion.
It was useless. Jonathan was never going to change.
"Stop worrying 'bout me."
Edward chose to keep his eyes closed tight. He didn't want to open them and be able to stare the man down as he was given assurances in the form of a lie.
Softly, something brushed against his fingertips that caused him to furrow his brow, nearly opening his emerald eyes but catching himself before he could. Still, he couldn't help but feel his heart catch in his throat. When a few seconds passed and the feeling remained, Edward finally let his disbelief get the best of him and slowly opened his eyes, first connecting with the wall and the glint of sunlight hitting the wall from the living room. His gaze then drifted to beside him where Jonathan's eyes were still closed tight, holding an expression of exhaustion even deeper than Edward had seen the night prior. Between the two, Jonathan's hand rested just beside Edward's, the tips of his fingers just barely connected to Edward's.
It was a wordless assurance. Platonic, soft, and perhaps one of the most sincere interactions he had ever held with the professor.
Jonathan did not need 'fixed'. He was an adult that could tend to his own insecurities. If a time came when he needed assistance, he would ask for it just as he had come to Edward with his injured leg the night prior. Jonathan was not Edward's problem.
Edward blinked, drawing his gaze back forwards as he blinked again, face just lightly flushing from surprise. As he stared forwards, he noticed the light against the wall once more. A few thin lines that drifted in through the blinds from the rising morning sun that neatly projected only a couple of feet into the dimness of the hallway. As Edward's eyes flickered across the lines of light, he couldn't help but acknowledge that he wouldn't trade this moment for a single dark room in the world. Not now, not beside Jonathan.