Work Text:
Congratulations on collaring your newest toy.
The package is innocuous-looking enough from the outside, the attached letter written without preamble or adieu.
I suspect this one will last longer than the others, assuming Edward learns to shut up. I have my doubts. But maybe you'll have more success than I did.
It's handwritten, in a crabbed font that Bruce doesn't immediately recognize, but Edward has been shrinking further and further into himself the more Bruce reads down the page.
Enclosed is a little good-bye present of sorts. I retained the formula in case you get tired of him and he decides to come back to me.
"Crane." Bruce's lips tighten as he opens the box.
Edward’s shrug is just a little too casual. "That's his handwriting."
It's specially calibrated to Edward; it won't work on anyone else.
A small vial of murky liquid, about the size of Bruce's index finger. Its label features a question mark in black ink.
May as well make use of it if you get lonely in the night, want him to cling to you oh-so-trustingly, or just want him to shut up. A few drops will suffice.
A low growl buzzes in Bruce's throat. "Tell me he didn't."
"He did," Edward says, smiling weakly. "It's been a while... I'd almost forgotten."
"He used this on you? When you were purportedly together?"
"Um, yeah. When I was... annoying him, I guess, or when I didn't want... he liked when I..."
There are a few more lines to the letter, but Bruce has absolutely no desire to read them.
He would very much like to throw the little bottle violently across the room, but smashing it and releasing its contents wouldn’t provide the satisfaction he wants. He settles for crumpling the paper into a ball and squeezing, squeezing, viselike, and wishing it was Crane's neck.
Edward smiles, but Bruce can see the telltale wobble of his lip.
"You don't have to use it, Bruce." The former rogue wraps an arm around Bruce's. "If you'd... you know you can just-"
"Ask," Bruce interrupts. He’s shaking with anger. "I will always ask, no matter what it is that I want. And I will never use this on you. Ever. Ever. Ever."
"Thanks."
"And I will ask, Edward, whether you'd like to keep me company in the kitchen for a few minutes now? I think you could use a cup of hot chocolate. And I have a letter to write."
Edward giggles nervously. "Okay."
There's going to be a serious discussion about this later. But Bruce knows he’s not in the right mind to do it now, and neither is Eddie.
He can’t remember the last time he was so angry.
He has to calm down, if only for Edward’s sake.
Eddie can sense displeasure. All too well.
The kitchen is empty when they reach it. Bruce puts the letter down on the table and steers Edward into a seat, then finds the hot chocolate mix that Alfred always purses his lips at ("Surely I do not play second fiddle to a packaged powder, Master Bruce?"). He knows Alfred’s is better, knows Eddie deserves better, but he's not calling Alfred down here now and he doesn't trust himself to make Edward's comfort drink properly.
One day he'll learn his way around the kitchen.
The end result is a steaming mug of chocolatey sweetness full of marshmallows, which Edward seems pleased with. He wraps both hands around the warmth and lowers his nose into the fragrant steam with a quiet word of thanks.
Bruce pulls out a chair for himself and sits down. He's up a moment later, forcing himself to keep his movements predictable and contained, but he can’t sit still right now, he just can't.
"It's not that big a deal, Bruce," Edward says quietly.
Don't snap, don't raise your voice. "Why isn't it a big deal, Eddie?"
Edward doesn’t lift his head from his mug. "I think he just... I don't care, really... he knew I'd see the letter too... reminding me of the good times, so to speak. Trying to make you jealous."
"Jealous of what, exactly?" A bark of laughter escapes Bruce's lips.
Edward shrugs. "The way I needed him, I guess."
"You don't need him. And he never deserved you, or anything you gave him."
Smoothing the crumpled letter out on the table, Bruce finds a pen and wraps an arm around Edward. "And I intend to tell him just that. You're the word genius, Eddie. Tell me how I'm doing, okay?"
Edward is nearly in tears by the time the response is finished.
Happy tears, he’s quick to assure Bruce as the latter scoops him up and carries him out of the kitchen. Very happy tears.
"My favorite kind," Bruce whispers in his ear, and the ensuing tremulous giggle is enough to wash away the last vestiges of anger that haven’t been poured into the missive.
"Letter for ya, Scary," grunts the guard on duty, and a white envelope is slapped down onto the table where Jonathan is sitting.
Ah, from Wayne. How charming. Jonathan slits the top flap open and extracts the letter within.
It's exactly the same as the letter he sent.
It is, on closer inspection, the letter he sent, although badly crumpled and with several cross-outs in red ink and sentences written in the margins to take their places.
He scans them, lips tightening.
May as well make use of it if you get lonely in the night I will not so much as open the door to his room without permission.
want him to cling to you oh-so-trustingly I will not encroach on his personal space if he isn’t in the mood.
or just want him to shut up. I will discuss any concerns with him and take his wishes into account as I would my own.
A few drops will suffice.
I will see to it that your formula is destroyed and that he is never subjected to you or your toxin again.