Chapter Text
“While I am glad that you’re not moving and causing me to accidentally shove a pair of tweezers deep into your leg, I would prefer to have some sort of reassurance that you haven’t passed out and left me to deal with the mess.” They were sharp words bit out by the ginger as he crouched by the front of the couch to tend to the nasty wound, his bowler hat having long been discarded and tossed to the coffee table right beside the rest of his equipment.
It was a sight. Bright angry red, blood having been wiped off repeatedly but the deep thin slashes still quite clear, even worse was the light sea-green colored pieces of debris that Edward had mostly finished collecting from it. “Thought you said if I kicked you in th’ face, then those tweezers’d be going in m’ eye?”
“That still stands,” Edward said. “But a bit of chatter would be pleasant, unless you’d prefer that I just sit here staring at your disgusting wound while you stare at my walls,” He added, the sarcasm not escaping the professor. “Can you please just tell me what exactly happen? I assume it has something to do with all the police vehicles roaming the streets?”
“Was workin’ on a project, needed some more supplies.” The professor started, wincing as the tweezers pinched on a rather large piece of glass tucked under the skin and began pulling. Despite the uncomfortable tug and tear from just under his flesh, his eyes were not on the wound, rather on genius digging inside it with one hand and dabbing away the blood with another. Even with the ginger’s head tilted down in front of him, he could still faintly see the crease of his eyebrow as he too winced at the sight.
He’d never understand why some people would flinch and wince at the gruesome sights inflicted on others. Perhaps that was just another side effect of becoming so numb to everything including the pain of others.
The thought; however, was lost the moment that the emerald eyes flickered back up to him as the glass clattered to the bloodied plate on the coffee table beside the man. “So the bat found you and attacked you with a bottle shiv?” Edward asked, raising an eyebrow pointedly as he waited for an answer.
“‘Course not.” Jonathan bit out, watching Edward’s gaze turn back down the wound and begin to set about cleaning it. “I fell.” He eyed the small bottle of disinfectant that Edward retrieved from the red kit, watching him pour it onto a cloth and then gently press it to the thick muscle of his leg where it’d been torn open. This time, even Jonathan couldn’t keep his gaze on Edward or any potential reactions from the genius, instead, tearing his gaze to the side of the room and eyeing the bookshelves while clenching his jaws.
“How graceful,” Edward hummed, delicately dabbing at the wound after it had already been washed a few times prior. After it had been thoroughly disinfected, he would gently apply some cream to it, a bit of relieving coolness washing off the edges of the sting, before he would finally wrap it.
As he worked, Jonathan’s eyes would eventually drift back after the fiery pain had begun to settle, noticing that his eyebrows were still faintly furrowed. This time, Jonathan could clearly tell it was not from shared pain however. An approaching lecture. For a moment, he considered reaching to the inside of his jacket, gasing the other man into oblivion, and then taking his leave before he could have his ear talked off.
On the other hand, the genius had just spent an hour of his time tending to his wounds and ensuring that he did not die from a nasty infection.
“What’re y’ thinking?” Jonathan finally prompted, resolving that it would be much more polite to take the verbal assault rather than start an actual assault, particularly in this condition.
“You already know,” Edward said firmly, collecting the garbage left over from the bandages and setting them on the plate alongside the shards of glass. “It’s careless and stupid.” Edward said, waving his hand swiftly to emphasize his point as he stood up. “You could have easily prevented this; did you suddenly forget my expertise? I could have told you that their security had been updated. Selina could have told you-”
“I don’t talk t’ her,” Jonathan replied sharply, cutting him off as he already began regretting not dosing the genius while he was crouched down in front of him.
“Why wouldn’t you just ask me?” Edward asked finally, flicking the lid to the garbage can and dumping the contents inside. “Besides, you tripped? Seriously? I’m guessing the Bat was pursuing you, because I would like to at least give you the benefit of the doubt that you didn’t trip while running from the police.” He continued, walking to the connected kitchen and turning the faucet on, beginning to thoroughly scrub at his hands, fingers, under the nails, and even slightly up his arms, gaze skewered on the ceiling in a perpetual roll of his eyes at the professor’s idiocy. “There were so many alternative actions that you could have taken, what if you weren’t so lucky next time? What if you tripped and the Bat caught up to you? Would he be the one to make sure you wouldn’t find yourself stuck in Arkham again?”
Jonathan’s gaze darkened. “Don’t.” He never liked the references or implications that the rogues sometimes stirred towards the creature that lay deeper underneath the professor’s skin.
“I mean, he certainly wasn’t there to help you tonight it seems.” Edward continued, either unhearing of the other’s words or simply ignoring them. After all, the professor could hardly walk. What could he do? Lunge towards him and trip over a coffee table and fall on his face?
“Edward,” Jonathan warned, tone lowered.
Edward jerked his hand to the faucet handle and turned them a bit more aggressively than intended, snapping his gaze across the countertop separating the kitchen and the living room.
Hazel and emerald eyes locked into each other for a few uninterrupted moments. In the end, however, it was the professor to break the gaze with a sigh, drifting his own head to the side of the room where his things remain perched. The scythe was tucked neatly into the corner with the mask dumped on top of a rather large sports bag with a jutting frame. Edward’s gaze followed and he, too, gave in.
“Stay the night,” Edward offered, drawing Jonathan’s eyes back to him.
“Mm?” Jonathan asked, unsure if he had heard the man correctly. They had just had a fight, correct? So Jonathan could not understand the intentions behind the other’s question. Knowing Edward as well as he did, he sincerely did not believe the other to be the type to forgive and forget, no matter how small the argument may be.
“I said that I want you to stay the night,” Edward repeated, approaching the couch and leaning against the side of it as he folded his arms, expression unreadable even to the experienced psychologist. “You got your supplies, no matter how well you actually did.” Edward added, jabbing a thumb to the sports bag in the corner. “The police are out patrolling for you and if you try to head out now, they’re going to find your foxhole. If they don’t find it, the Bat will, particularly if you lead him directly to it.” He explained. “The only logical explanation is for you to lay low for just a night and let it die down. Let them assume that you already made it back and they’ll stop looking. What, with all the recent Joker activity, you’re not even their main focus this week.”
“Thought ya didn’t like havin’ guests?”
“I make exceptions.”
They locked eyes again. Another standoff.
“Aren’t ya worried I’ll bloody yer couch?” Jonathan asked. “‘ssuming I haven’t already done so.” He added after a moment of consideration, glancing down but finding that the towel that Edward had placed underneath the wound had seemed to protect the leather rather well.
“I’m more-so worried you’ll bloody my bed, but it can be easily washed.” Edward said.
“Bed?”
Edward gave a slight smile and shook his head. “It isn’t ideal, but I can wash blood off sheets a lot easier than washing it off that couch. I would prefer you take the bed.” ‘I would prefer,’ Edward’s polite way of informing someone of his unbending opinions.
Despite the thought of a comfortable mattress, Jonathan couldn’t help but furrow his brow at the thought. He couldn’t see Edward as the type to give up his bed for anyone, his endless ranting at the Asylum was proof of that back when the guards had foolishly tried to implement a ‘buddy system’ due to overcapacity. “Where’ll you sleep, hotel?” Jonathan asked, unable to add the drip of sarcasm at the end.
“In the bed. It’s big. It’s comfortable. I have plenty of blankets.” Edward said, giving a slight shrug, arms still neatly folded. “Oh don’t give me that look, this isn’t an elaborate scheme to get in your pants. Simply put, I would rather you don’t bleed on my furniture and this is the easiest option. Otherwise, you can sleep on the floor, but I’ll warn you, if you bleed on there and stain it, then you’ll be on your knees scrubbing them tomorrow morning regardless of your health.”
Jonathan was not fond of the idea, or any of the others to be more precise. Laying in bed with another person, let alone a man and a rogue, was hardly an experience he was interested in exploring. His childhood had been sure to beat that weariness into him from a young age. Even still, he knew Edward to be a man of his word and Jonathan was not keen on worsening his condition or cleaning his own blood in the morning.
“You said it’s large?” He asked.
Edward nodded. “We can lay on either side and even put pillows between us if you’re that scared of touching me.” It was always endless sarcasm with the genius, wasn’t it?
Jonathan considered it for a moment before finally giving in. “Fine.”