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It seemed that in spite of all the hardships he had encountered, the one thing Jonathan Crane could never escape was the silence. It had made a home in his bones, sucking out all of the warmth and leaving behind a rotting emptiness. The emptiness never seemed to leave him. While Jonathan had long stopped feeling fear, a byproduct of his childhood abuse and his own chemicals, he felt something eerily similar every time he fell into this state. An anxiety that ate away at him, dread that this was all that he was capable of. Emptiness and the oppressive silence.
When Edward Nygma came into his life, he broke that silence. Barged into his life carelessly-- recklessly uprooting the quiet that Jonathan was content to let consume him. Edward was incessantly annoying and in the early days of their relationship it was a miracle that neither of them killed each other. Forced together by the Arkham staff who found it humorous to pair the narcissist who had yet to hear of shutting up and the cruel doctor of few words, they came close. Jonathan bothered by Nygma's enormous ego and Edward bothered by the fact that Crane had no interest in him, they fought. Tore each other down both physically and mentally until they realized that it was what the guards wanted. To see who lasted longer. Not wanting to give them the satisfaction, they formed a truce.
It wasn't easy, to say the least. Jonathan longed to get a rise out of Edward, to pull him apart and find what made him tick. Just for some entertainment. It would have been simple to apply a little pressure on the apparent cracks in the Riddler's mask, find out what he feared. What would make such a strong mind crumble? It was only disdain for the staff pitting him against each the other that prevented this, however often the thought crossed his mind. Instead, he started to listen. Listened to the genius with a head so filled with noise and constant chattering that Jonathan was astounded. Edward was truly brilliant, and while he would never admit it, Jonathan came to crave hearing the man talk. There was always something on his mind, and he was thrilled to have someone who could keep up with him. He shared theories, facts, and nearly anything he could once Crane began to show an interest (admittedly he was already sharing them, but did so with a renewed vigor).
Even after the escape, Jonathan found himself hesitant to leave Edward. He lied about his lair being burned down by the bat in their last encounter (while there was a fire, it was definitely salvageable) and Edward surprisingly took it at face value and took him in. The genius suspected that the doctor wasn't disclosing the whole truth, but he too wanted to cling to this new companionship. Cling to the calm that Jonathan carried with him, control and peace. Living outside of the structure of Arkham was a learning curve, but they quickly came to the realization that their relationship held more complexities than they were initially willing to admit. They shared the same room easily having spent months in a cell together, and while both had grand schemes to carry out, they always came back to one another. Even fights between them were out of mutual concern for the other and rarely for violence's sake. Love was not a concept either had too much understanding of, but if they could have felt it, known it, it would have been for each other.
As time passed, Jonathan found himself becoming reliant on the comfort that Edward could provide, but there was only so much he could do. The emptiness clung to him, sinking its claws into him every so often, dragging him to the place he was before knowing Edward. Sleep had never come easy to Jonathan and in times like these, it was further than ever.
The master of fear found himself staring at the notebook in front of him. It had stopped making sense hours ago, but he couldn't do anything else. Equations were scribbled in front of him in a foreign text, black ink bleeding through the pages and smearing, making everything illegible. There was little use in even trying, but it beat the alternative. Even the thought of going back to bed made his skin crawl. To lay down and stare at the ceiling, begging, praying for sleep. He hadn't slept at all the night before, despite spending the night trying and even the days before he found himself lucky to have more than three hours of rest. He wasn't sure how long he had been in the dim basement, hopelessly trying to make use of himself. If he couldn't sleep, couldn't even function like a normal person, he wanted to be productive. Using the time to enhance the precious formula that ruined lives. Wanting to avoid Edward, who slept so easily that it almost made him bitter. The man tried to understand his struggles, would hold onto Jonathan even when he was squirming around trying to find a way to sleep. But he still finds rest. He isn't broken in the same way Jonathan was. He doesn't feel that crushing sensation where unending exhaustion meets perpetual wakefulness. The restlessness that ended up driving him into the basement so he could let the emptiness he tried so hard to keep at bay swallow him whole. He hoped that if he gave in, he would no longer feel tired. That the Scarecrow would step in and make it easier. But even the monster that lived in his own head couldn't protect him from this. He set down the notebook, going to his chemistry station. If he couldn't formulate new ideas, he would simply work on the toxin he already had. A delicate process, but one that was almost muscle memory.
Measure. Pour. Heat. Stir. Transfer. Pour.
Shatter
The flask he was holding fell to the floor. It wasn't yet in a state to be dangerous but Jonathan watched the glass as if it was. His hands were shaking and he couldn't stop looking at the evidence of his failures. It was never getting any better, he wasn't making any progress, and nothing--
He flinched as a hand touched his back. So focused on the flask, he missed the opening of the door, the creak of the stairs as Edward had come down and saw what happened.
"Jonathan?"
He said nothing. He couldn't. The glass breaking must have woken him up, yet another thing he was fucking up.
"Jon, honey, what's going on?", his tone was soft, tender, as if he were trying to not to scare the older man away.
He couldn't find the words to say. Couldn't express how fragile he felt in that moment. Undeserving of the kindness being offered to him.
"Too quiet"
Edward's heart was breaking for his boyfriend. He was always so calm and collected. The control he had on himself and the scarecrow within was a source of envy for Edward and every time he fell to this, it reminded him just how human the man was. Master of fear and a man who was struggling in the same way he was.
"Let me sweep this up and we can go upstairs"
Jonathan was shaking his head, his voice barely audible but firm, "Don't wanna be back in bed, yet"
Watery green eyes met his as he finished sweeping the glass, disposing of it in a sharps bin in the corner. He wrapped his arm around Jonathan's waist, leading him up the stairs to the couch, "Is here okay?"
Jonathan nodded, tucking into his lover's side. He let him stroke his hair, probably greasy from the stress and lack of maintenance. Edward made no indication of caring, sitting there with him, rambling. It was one of the only things he could provide, a semblance of normalcy that Jonathan appreciated. He never cared for being coddled, and even in this blank state, Edward knew that highlighting the weaknesses he tried to avoid would end up shutting him down even more.
Jonathan soaked up the sound, letting it invade the quiet parts of his head. He wasn't sure what the younger man was info dumping about, only the slight warmth spreading in his chest. The ache of being cared for. The love he felt for Edward in times like this almost hurt him. Sharp feelings that rivaled even the darkest pits inside of him.
It was calming to settle into him, embrace what he was so willing to provide. After about an hour of talking, Edward looked down to find his boyfriend sleeping, eyes shut, breathing evenly. He knew that sleep would still elude him, but he would be happy to provide any peace he could for him. Anytime and anywhere. Anything for his source of solace.