Doctor Jonathan Crane (i_fear) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2013-08-11 15:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | edward nigma, jonathan crane, zz:status complete |
Plotting a Date (Edward/Jonathan Log)
(Warning: Violence against loved ones)
Jonathan glared at his husband as he dragged himself into Jonathan’s office, highly tempted to shoot the man’s other leg and make sure Edward couldn’t leave the asylum. “I do so hope your day was productive,” he hissed, angrily signing his name to an order, tearing the paper.
He shoved the order away from himself, flinging the pen at Edward in frustration. “Have you re-injured yourself yet?”
--
Edward rolled his eyes at the angry tone of Jonathan's voice as he hobbled slowly into his husbands office. "It actually was very productive, thanks for asking."
Edward grumbled under his breath and settled himself down in a chair to get off of his leg. He couldn't help but smirk as the pen hit him, shrugging off the gesture of anger, "Not yet. It feels a little bit better actually."
Leaning back in his chair some, using his good leg to push the chair into a tilt, Eddie relaxed, "Effie put ice on it for me. She's a swell kid, you know?" His smirk widened, unable to help it.
"If everything works out, you'll have a new toy soon to play with, baby."
--
“Excuse me? Jonathan said, raising his head, staring at Edward. “Who are you and where is my annoying asshole of a husband?” This...this was not Edward. It had to be some imposter. Edward hated his daughter. It was a lovely, ongoing family drama, the hatred between father and daughter that made Jonathan wish for popcorn.
--
Edward couldn't help the giggle that came next as he settled the legs of the chair back down on to the floor in their rightful position.
"You remember how she disappeared from jail?" Edward began, licking over his lips for a moment as his brain decided how to press on, "Something happened to her...her brain was wiped clean. She doesn't remember that I tried to kill her....that we hate each other..."
Edward sighed happily, "She remembers being married to that asshole, but I've got her convinced that he wants to kill her, and the rest of the people in the city." Edward set his crutches aside, looking at Jonathan directly, "Baby do you realize what this means? If she does what she's supposed to do, we will have the Hulk at our disposal."
--
“Why bother trying to convince her he’s trying to kill her, wouldn’t it be easier to just convince her he’s a pervert? She is a teen after all,” Jonathan muttered, his mind whirling with thoughts and plans and a phone call he was going to have to make.
“This will end in blood,” he muttered. “Somehow, it will end in blood.” Things just didn’t work out in their favor. There was always a loophole they missed.
“How many people know of her...condition?”
--
"I haven't gotten there yet, but she's smart. She will put all of the pieces together. She can see the difference in age, and I touched on the fact that he only wanted to marry her for her body. So it's already been planted."
"Not our blood. His blood...." Edward grew serious, mind racing with thought. It bugged him that Jonathan wasn't as excited about this as he was, but oh well.
"Don't know. Not many, I'm sure. She mentioned Damon, the Vampire, but I can convince her he's bad for her too if I have to. By the time he can help her, though, she will be too immersed in what we have her in to be rescued."
--
“You are already injured, Edward...how much longer do you think you can cheat death?” Jonathan asked, revealing part of why he wasn’t as excited as Edward. Yes, it was a decent plan, and yes, it could work out...
But it could also leave him a widow finally.
“I need to call Hannibal.”
--
"I've come this far, haven't I?" Maybe he was pouting. He finally had a good, reliable, fool-proof idea and it was being rationalized. That was what he got for loving a psychiatrist.
And Jonathan stood to inherit everything Edward owned, which was quite a lot. A random assortment of things mind you, but still a lot.
And a daughter.
At the mention of Hannibal, Edward growled and shot Jonathan a glare. Edward wasnt too keen on Jonathan's fantasy man.
--
“And one day you won’t,” Jonathan snapped, annoyed with himself for revealing his worry and at Edward for trying to dismiss it. He rolled his eyes at the glare. “He’s my friend, Edward.” Jonathan said dryly.
--
It wasn't that Edward was dismissing the idea of death entirely, he just wasn't afraid of it. Eddie liked the fact that Jonathan wanted him to live, it was how it should be, and perhaps Edward toed the line of life and death more than most people, but sometimes Edward needed to hear that someone who mattered to him actually DID care about his well-being.
"Maybe."
Another roll of his eyes and Edward shrugged away any more thoughts of Hannibal.
"I'm seeing this through. I want him to squirm and to know real, true pain like he deserves." Maybe Bruce didn't deserve what Eddie had planned, but Edward had come too far to back down now.
--
“Perhaps...but you will break her, just remember that,” Jonathan said, his mind already plotting an end run around his husband. He was tired of patching the man back together, worrying that he wouldn’t survive the next attack. It was time to take matters into his own hands.
And Hannibal was just the man to assist him.
He would protect Edward, even if he lost him in the process. Plus, it would be...nice to see his friend again.
Jonathan smirked, a slight quirking of his lips, his tongue darting out to wet them before he dismissed his thoughts. “What are you going to do now? I would advise resting but you rarely listen.”
--
Maybe a true break was what Effie really needed. Perhaps that was what all of them needed, but for now it was a risk Edward was willing to take. He wanted them both to suffer as much as he had, and he would see it come to light before his own demise.
"Plan. I have work to do. Once Effie brings me those files, I have to be ready to strike. Rest is for the weak, Jonathan. Especially when there is so much work to be done, and so little time to get things moving in the right direction."
This was going to be his grand finale, a legacy if you will, to be the first man ever that's trapped and held the Hulk. The next step was finding a way to harness the power, but that could come later, after they'd broken the man.
--
“Res and plan at the same time,” Jonathan said, pulling a gun from his desk, leveling it at Edward. “Now.”
There were no bullets in the gun, it was a modified tranquilizer for his patients, but the outline of a normal firearm tended to scare the shit out of them which served Jonathan well. He had no problem using it against his husband.
--
The sight of a gun, a weapon or a mockery, never frightened Edward. He was a walking montage of scars, most from the Bat and the rest mostly from fire fighting.
But it was a bit unsettling to see Jonathan pointing it at him. Edward drew one of his own, actual guns and pointed it at Jonathan in return, narrowing his eyes. "You want to think about your next move."
He had no qualms with putting a few bullets in Jonathan if that came to it. He wouldn't like it, but he would do it to get his point across. Scarecrow or not.
--
Jonathan licked his lips again, eying the tip of Edward’s gun, before shifting, firing at the same time as he moved. He dropped the gun in pain, holding his shoulder, blood rapidly spilling from it, cursing. “Fucking hell,” he yelled, his arm going numb.
That...was a very stupid idea.
--
Edward was fast. He was like a cobra, trained to strike at the right moment. It stemmed from being so seasoned with a weapon, but he underestimated Jonathan. As usual.
They fired at the same time, and Eddie plugged Jonathan in the shoulder, only having a moment to revel in the shot and another small moment to wish he'd gotten him in the head before Edward began to feel strange.
Eddie blinked, his gun tumbling from his hand and hitting the floor.
--
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Scarecrow hissed, standing and moving around the desk, seizing Edward by the front of his jacket. He used his one good arm to drag the other man to the couch in the office, shoving Edward down onto it, tipping him over before kneeling in front of the face down man, hissing at him.
A part of him...a very large part of him, wanted to shove Edward’s face into the leather, to sit on him until he stopped breathing, life fleeing from him. But he couldn’t...for one, it was childish, and for another...he wanted to watch Edward’s life bleed away from his eyes...slipping away into the darkness to come.
Instead, he shoved, manhandling Edward onto his back before kicking his leg, huffing. “Dead man,” he spat. He went to retrieve Edward’s gun, dropping it by the couch, out of reach for the moment before sitting on Edward, pulling off his jacket, examining the wound.
“Hate stitches,” he bitched, using the sleeve of his coat to bind his wound before giving a bounce on Edward’s stomach, standing. “Go to sleep, little Riddle. I will be back to punch you later.”
With that, Scarecrow headed for the door to get his wound stitched.
--
Edward flailed. Not out of fear but out of simple confusion. The room spun rapidly, every object seemed to be moving on its own and somehow Edward found himself on the couch, then upside down, and then...just whirling in his own mind.
What brought Edward back to the plain of reality was his leg, the one that had taken the brunt of the fight with Annie, which was now burning with pain. Edward's fingers pulled at the cast, screaming in pain without realizing he even had his mouth open. After the scream came a laugh, a maniacal laugh and he couldn't help but shake with the amusement as his leg burned with pain.
"Under...estimate..." He managed, before finding himself pinned to the floor. Edwards eyes were streaming from the physical pain, but he didn't notice. Slowly he was drifting in and out of consciousness.
Finally, Edward's eyes closed and he lay sprawled out on Jonathan's office floor, a gun still in the holster, while the matching one rested idly by the couch out of reach.
He was going to be pissed when he woke, and he didn't know it yet but his leg would have to be re-set from the kicking. But he would deal with that when it came.
So much for love.
--
Jonathan sighed as he knelt next to his husband, frowning down at him. It had taken an hour for his nurse to fix his arm up, the injured limb strapped to his chest for the forseeable future. He reached out his good hand, brushing it gently over Edward’s face, before leaning in, kissing the man softly. “You shouldn’t forget who I am,” he whispered.
He leaned back, pulling a syringe from his pocket and using the teeth to remove the cap, his orderlies rolling Edward over so that Jonathan could give the shot to Edward’s upper buttock, the pain killer easily flooding into the man’s body. It would last at least two days, though Edward might not appricate the slight mind numbing.
As Jonthan struggled to stand, one of the orderlies lifted Edward up, and the threesome went off to Jonathan’s private quarters, the orderly helping Jonathan strip Edward and get him dressed in his pajama pants before laying the prince of puzzles to sleep. With a nod, the men left the pair alone, leaving Jonathan to struggle with changing his own clothes before he fell into bed next to Edward, pulling him close, trying to protect him even as he too fell asleep.
--
In the hour it took Jonathan to get mended, Edward's mind raced with dreams. He hated dreaming because they were never actually dreams, only nightmares. And Edward hated feeling like he couldn't control his actions, his destiny and his own death. In a nightmare he had no control, but in his life he tried to maintain that grip, no matter the consequence.
He whimpered and shook, tossing and turning despite being moved and jostled for injection. He heard nothing but screaming, his father's voice telling him that he would never be good enough. Never. Oh, but Eddie had shown him. Shown them all. But he still felt like nothing deep down inside.
He hated being medicated too, especially sedatives. They were counterproductive to his genius, wether anyone else wanted to believe it or not.
Struggling, Edward finally began to stir, emitting another whimper into the room as he tossed, unable to settle.
--
“Calm down, or your going to injure yourself worse,” Jonathan muttered. He gently rubbed Edward’s chest, trying to calm his husband down.
--
Edward heard the softness of Jonathan's voice, forcing his eyes to open and stare up at the ceiling of a familiar room.
Their room.
Edward turned his head to look at Jonathan, unsure as to how he got there. Then he remembered.
"You shot me. I hate you." He didn't really, but it was flooding back.
--
“You shot me, Scarecrow hates you,” Jonathan countered sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes. “You needed to rest, and you wouldn’t do it without chemical interference.” He reached a hand lazily up, lightly slapping Edward in the face until he found the man’s eyes, trying to close them. “Go to sleep.”
--
"You started it.." He huffed, pouting as Jonathan's fingers slapped at his face in efforts to find his eyes. Once more, Edward was shrouded in darkness.
He would rest but he doubted he would sleep. He barely slept ever, but he pulled Jonathan close minding his wound and held him for comfort. They were probably the mat dysfunctional pair in the world, but Edward wouldn't have it any other way.
--
Jonathan smiled, curling against Edward, yawning as he snuggled in for a nap. He would have to call Hannibal when he got up, but until then...he could take a few hours of rest and give his arm a break.
“Goo-night, Eddie,” he mumbled, his voice already thick with sleep.
--
"Mm, night baby." It was said on a breath as Edward sighed, letting sleep take him again for as long as it would accept him in its realm.
His mind rolled over the excitement of things to come, and he dreamed instantly of being there as they broke Bruce down for good. Took his essence and made him feel fear. That's what Edward wanted, the fear.