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Not everything had to be explained between them, but sometimes acknowledgement alone isn't enough, and some efforts from both parties are required.
Edward has his rights to be worried.
The first time it occurred in his presence, Jonathan Crane woke with a start. His breath caught in a dying gasp, and his hands a shaking mess clawing at the sheets.
Their buzzing schedules only allowed them a few shared hours of sleep every so often. Edward knew for a fact that the old psychiatrist wasn’t prone to night terrors. Ironically, if anything, he would hastily scribble down the visions in a small leather-bound logbook, the same way one would write in a dream journal for further analysis.
Curiosity has always given the Riddler a fantastical nose for hidden secrets, as well as... unfortunate predicaments, from time to time. However, after the first few times of carefully deciphering the spidery notes, he quickly came to the realization that they were, frankly, a pale imitation when compared to Jon’s nocturnal’s activities. Concepts, keywords, the likes. If anything, his sinister partner didn’t seemed to “dream” often.
Jonathan’s ragged gasps were particularly alarming this time, and within the quietude of the bedroom, it had stirred Edward fully awake.
Now, to wake Edward unnecessarily was a particularly risky venture, as he tended to be in an astoundingly foul mood as a result of irregular sleep patterns and a regal enjoyment of the act itself. However, cautious concern made the brilliant man reach a hand through the sheets, resting over the doctor’s heaving chest.
It was surprising sometimes, how gaunt his shape felt to the touch. No costume, simply clothed as a mean to retain any warmth. How was there still space left for lungs and a beating heart under these bones, the stretch of skin, and somehow enough muscles to roam over the rooftops of Gotham? Now that was an eluding riddle. Not a fun one, but still one bemusing mystery.
Edward made light of his discontentment by brushing his nails inauspiciously over the exposed skin, where the smoothness of his fingertips met the occasional scarred flesh below.
It took a moment before Jonathan’s cold hands covered Edward’s, his unusually damp palms almost grasping over his. He pressed it to his chest as his lungs shuddered back to normalcy. It took longer still before his state seemed to settle.
There was an inquiry at the tip of Edward’s tongue. Forcefully willing the crankiness of its tone a mile away, he made an attempt to ask the right words.
They never made it past the silent spell between them. At least, not before he felt motion next to him, thin lips ghosting through Edward’s rustled hair, the next instant vanishing toward the edge of the bed. Creaking, rattling, and creeping back to wherever he busied himself when he had projects to attend to.
From the look he wore the next morning-… Afternoon, the tall man must had found some solace in the comfort of his austere reading chair. Which was to say, he looked stiff and worse for wear, nursing a hot beverage with a look that rivaled Edward’s own scowl when the restlessness of a project kept him awake for days. If anything, it was even more chilling with Jonathan’s ghastly glare.
“Have you found any sleep in that curiosity display of yours? Or was the quality of the couch too much for you to bear?”
From his tone alone, Jonathan could easily see through the boldly veiled concerns, noting its familiar snark. Against all odds, it did pull at the edge of his lips. He hid the reaction behind the cooling coffee in his hands..
“Early crow gets the worm,” he quoted in a deadpan tone, fixing his gaze on something ahead. “Beside, the decoration of my study is up to my tastes, I reckon.”
There was a spark of satisfaction in Edward’s eyes. The flare so evident it caught Crane’s attention as he looked back at him. Some tension seemed to leave his face, although most of it mellowed down to guarded introspection.
A short-lived victory it was, leaving the Riddler but with a sour taste. It was particularly irritating as he was attempting to rouse a conversation out of him. Just.. Really any signs that everything was alright, or as close to that as possible.
Edward huffed, pouring a decadent mug of coffee for himself. The fact that Jonathan wasn’t rolling his eyes at the sight was almost worrisome.
“I must admit, it’s utterly puzzling how you can fall asleep in a room filled with various pieces of pickled body parts and empty eye sockets…” There was no answer from Jon, not even at the cheesy pun. They had both acknowledged long before how their tastes differed. No hard feelings. Well. Some hard feelings, when it was Jon commenting on His tastes.
Edward took great pride in his interior design.
Hell, he could had even made a jab at them finding sleep next to one another to begin with but there he was, ruminating.
Seconds stretched and Edward grew more anxious, itching for a response. He called over his shoulder with some genuine curiosity. “Actually, where did you get them?”
The words seemed to take a moment to click into place, before Jonathan spoke absently. “Oh, they used to be mine. I just tracked them and took them back when you offered a room for my books.”
“Took. Them?” Nygma repeated, smiling ironically with the mandatory quotation marks. Silence again. So it was going to be this way, then.
It was clear from his behavior that he wasn’t going to talk about it. Never mind that, if their positions were reversed, Jonathan would use every trick in his book to meticulously pry out answers out of him, regardless of kicks and hisses. Of course, Edward coveted the ravenous curiosity when he was the object of it, so the aloofness was….. irritating.
If anything, his distance felt… unusual. He thought out a long string of elaborate cusses, growing nervous. At last, his lips pressed with stubborn resolved as he moved to stand directly in his line of vision, claiming long awaited attention. “Well?”
Crane went still and slowly leveled his eyes at him. His annoyance laced with a curious edge that was always there when he looked at him. For a second, the genius wondered if the doctor would lose his temper at him. He briefly considered what would be worse between it and being ignored.
After all, Jon rarely lashed out in anger, at least not out of his raggedy costume. At least a reaction would give him something to work with.
Crane moved deliberately, finally picking on whatever hints were waved in his face. Honing his glance as he took Ed’s mug away from his hands and broke contact only long enough to lower it onto the nearby coffee table.
“You want me to talk about what woke me up last night,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Who, me? Oh, here I though you had a clear stance on psychoanalyses and the meaning of dreams, perhaps you could look into my wistful thinking?”
Jon was about to continue before whatever he had been about to propose died on his lips, and had him snap his mouth shut mid-word. He furrowed his eyebrows with his index pointing at his partner. “Don’t insult me, Edward. My dream journal is solely for inspiration...”
The familiarity in the looming threat felt like an unexpected relief. The dark-haired man stopped short as he saw Edward cracking a victorious smile.
They both knew the extent of Jonathan’s distaste for Freud, and if anything could get a rise out of him, it might just be it.
The former doctor closed his eyes, rubbing a tired smirk behind his callous hand, willing away the extensive rant he had been about to delve into. Edward stood there with his arms crossed and smug satisfaction painted all over himself.
Taking pity on his weary partner, Edward pressed a hand to the back of the couch as he leaned down toward him, propping up his chin so as to make him gaze upon him.
The Riddler could understand why Jon was so fond of that gesture. It was something he enjoyed as well, particularly when he had the upper hand over his foolish foes. Towering above them so they would look at him and only him…. And only him.
Jon realized the reversal of their usual game. Disgruntled at first, he seemed to give in a lot quicker than Edward expected, the visible exhaustion around his eyes mellowing into mild amusement. Not entirely pleased at this situation, but not turning away from him either. His piercing stare locked on him with eloquent irony.
Edward ran a thumb along his prickling jaw, smiling fondly at the self-proclaimed God of Fear, who looked up at him with weary warmth.
He would even say with adoration, but he had things to address first before revelling in the light of that gaze.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, you know..” The words were careful as Edward hushed them. There were also familiar, as things Jon had told him as well in the past. He waited for signs of stiffness at the prying, as Jon would do when he was the subject of prodding. “Or if you want me to leave you alone-..”
Edward was delighted as he witnessed the slightest shift at last, seeing Jon kicked back into a semblance of life. Cautiously, always. Precise and cautious. The Riddler swore he saw the old psychiatrist roll his eyes at his shameless ogling, shushing Edward’s dazzling smile with a look. Before any taunting remark crossed his lips, Edward felt a wiry hand at the base of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
It wasn’t anything big, nor passionate. It felt closer to an confession. An apology, if that word was part of their regular vocabulary. Or an acknowledgement. Careful, almost soft, which Jonathan knew made his heart skip a beat, regardless of the years.
Not one to be diverted, Edward was still expecting an answer. And so he settled more comfortably over his partner, straddling Jon who winced briefly at the transfer of weight. He rose a glance as Edward grinned down at him, one imperious brow rose at Crane when they fell in a warmer silence.
Edward’s hands framing the outline of his collarbone in a soothing way.
There was again that reluctance back on his face, but he figured it was closer to a begrudged defeat. “You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Jon asked. Glaring at green eyes, almost devilish from sheer smugness. Did he even need to point it out?
Jon exhaled softly, and then once more. “…I can’t answer you, because I-..” he started, glaring at his mug. A brief hollow look flickering in his eyes until he spoke again. “I have no idea what happened. I don’t think any dreams had ever left me like this…” His words ran dry, leaving him speechless for a moment. Nygma realized Jon was now staring at his right palm, facing up. Flexing the muscles reflectively.
“Dreams? Or was it a nightmare?”
“Hmm.” Crane snapped into focus again, eyes no more cast downward. A wiry hand going to rest on the small of his back, reassuring. “I don’t think it was a dream, but it wasn’t a nightmare either. Unlikely to be repressed memories. But… I’m not sure. It would need further analysis.”
Again that displeased expression. Nearly the same face he had after that time he accidentally drank three-days-old coffee.
“Well at least it wasn’t a stroke. I wouldn’t even be surprised at your age.”
“… I’d suggest you be careful with where this is going. I have better endurance than you do.”
“Oh throwing a few uninvited guests out the window every other day isn’t really working out.”
“Well. I wouldn’t need to ‘work out’ every other day if said uninvited guests weren’t given full permission to step inside, by the front door might I add, and wait to surprise me in my library.”
“Well it’s cold and I’m tired of our windows being rendered useless in the middle of winter. It’s damaging both for my techs and your books.”
Jon quickly revised how much he valued his collection. “…….. Fair enough. Although I’d be glad if you’d let them in only once a week.”
“Them or Them?”
“I am not playing charades with you, Edward.”
“This is anything BUT a charade, Jonathan.” he retorted, resting an offended hand over his chest. “Beside, they keep you entertained”, he added with a wink.
“Like hell they do, it took me a whole day to fix my library last time they payed me visit.”
“Fine then, they keep you in shape.”
“I’d say you’re the one keeping me in shape, but I digress,” Jon muttered, rolling his eyes. He didn’t miss the way Edward smiled at his remark, how radiant he looked as he drew him back on his lips, nor how Jonathan pulled him all the more closer in the embrace.
For now, this would suffice. This was warm and familiar.
Small chats broke the soft glow a few times before they both went back to their separate businesses. Hours and days went by and soon the episode was left behind. Not quite forgotten but in a way, metaphorically left to pickle in one of Jon’s curiosity jars.
Maybe this will never happen again anyway.