Disclaimer: characters not mine.
Pairing: Jervis Tetch/Jonathan Crane
Summary: Jonathan does not like tea and God is dead. Or. Jervis tests his mind-control chip on Jonathan.
Notes: Oh my God I hope the spellcheck worked. I hate technology. Also posting betaless, and my first attempt at this pairing. Birthday fic for Chichimeca Pear.
"Do whatever you will, but first be such as are able to will."
It's late on a Tuesday afternoon, and the quiet hum of the electric lighting is giving Jonathan Crane a headache. It's making everything a little fuzzy around the edges and shooting his concentration straight to hell. In short, Jonathan wants to go home. There's a man in his office, talking and talking and he's probably afraid of something ridiculous like mice. The late afternoon sunlight creeps in through the partially closed curtains, painting his golden hair and pale skin with a gleaming halo which Jonathan is very sure he doesn't deserve. He's a representative from Wayne Tech, and keeping the Wayne Foundation happy is high on Jonathan's list of priorities. The donations that they provide are practically the only reason that Arkham is still running. That does not stop his desire to see this small man writhing in terror on the floor, clawing his own eyes out, tearing strips of skin from his own face with blunt fingernails. Scarecrow. Scarecrow. Jonathan shutters a little bit. He's tired. Usually he can keep their thoughts and wishes separate.
"And I've seen you on the news, read some of your papers. According to some of your staff, you seem to have what some would term as an obsession with self-control. I think you will be a marvelous partner in this study."
The inflections in his voice call to mind a cultured British accent, though none is immediately apparent. Jonathan realizes belatedly that he hasn't got a clue what study the other man is talking about. He glances down at his watch, and frowns. If one were to believe the timepiece, it has been six o'clock for the last twenty minutes. The watch is new, an expensive indulgence purchased the week prior and its malfunction angers him. He lifts his eyes back to the brilliantly blue pair across the desk. The edges of his vision narrow until all he can focus on is the face of his unwanted guest.
The watch had cost more than it was worth, and the woman behind the counter had known this fact as well as Jonathan. She hadn't tried to convince him that he was getting a good deal and he hadn't commented on the price. They'd spent a long time discussing the pros and cons of Nietzsche over tea.
This is a lie. He remembers the way she smiled at him, the way her hands had fluttered uncertainly as she offered the scrap of paper with her phone number. He can visualize the number, sitting in the wastepaper basket under his kitchen table. Her eyes had been a vivid blue, and her hair the colour of the wheat fields at harvest. The desk in front of him seems a mile wide.
"You've got a truly unique mind, my dear."
He doesn't even like tea, really. God is dead.
"We killed him." Scarecrow. The blond across the desk arches an eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
Jonathan tries to focus on the way the man's hands flutter as he makes notes on his Blackberry. Personally, Jonathan finds the devices unnecessarily complicated for the tasks that they perform. If his colleagues can't wait until he has access to a computer to answer his email, then they can track him down in person.
"Come here." The voice is still congenial, still warm and inviting. Jonathan's legs are a little shaky as he crosses to the other side of the desk. "Very good, very good."
"I don't--" Jonathan and Scarecrow are fighting for control. "I don't understand..." Jonathan bites his tongue to prevent any other words from escaping. To admit incomprehension is to admit weakness.
"Then you shouldn't talk," the other replies cheerfully. He traces a finger lightly over Jonathan's lips. "I'm about to be horribly unprofessional, my dear, but you are so very lovely." Fingers weaving into his hair, gently drawing his head down. "Give us a kiss, Doctor Crane." This is redefining wrong. Scarecrow knows this. Jonathan is only aware that the lips on his are soft and possessive and since when does he enjoy human contact? He doesn't. He can not pull away.
After a few minutes of progressively heated advances that Jonathan can not help but respond to, the shorter man pushes the doctor gently into his chair. His fingers run through the hair behind Jonathan's ear, then draw back, tucking something away into his pocket.
. Scarecrow screams. Jonathan's entire body is flooded with adrenaline. He looks up, confused. The blond man from Wayne Tech is standing in front of him, looking positively gleeful.
"I daresay I should be going," he says, smiling down at Jonathan.
"You've just arrived," Jonathan objects halfheartedly. He certainly doesn't have any desire to spend any time listening to a scientist ramble on at him about the wonderful advances that his mind-altering nano-technology could hold for psychology. Not when it's already five o'clock in the afternoon.
"I assure you, I've found out everything I needed. I'll give you my card, in case you ever wish to get in touch with me. For *any* reason at all." The way he looks at him makes Jonathan a little uncomfortable.
Jervis Tetch. An odd name for an odd man.
Jonathan watches the man leave and reflects dryly that if the way he keeps smiling and rubbing his hands together is any indication, the next time they'll meet it will be with the bars of an Arkham cell between them. He glances down at his watch, and frowns. It certainly can't be six o'clock yet.
The next time they meet, it is with the bars of an Arkham cell between them. The blond pauses, looking in at Jonathan sadly. "I knew you had potential, my dear." A bat lands on his top hat, and he turns away. Scarecrow screams.