The Universe's Mixer

Matt sat back against the hard wood of the chair, swiveling slightly on the mechanism to face his client some. Eddie whispered something in to his ear, a quip of some sort that Matt found distasteful and wrong. But Matt smiled anyway, albeit small and tight-lipped, offering a bit of encouragement to his client.

It seemed the entire courtroom was holding their breath as they waited for the verdict. All of the facts had been given for and against Eddie, the witnesses had been summoned and examined and the scenarios offered.

Matt had made the closing arguments to the jury and then the panel left to deliberate.

Some where behind him, Matt knew Rose sat. Her presence gave him confidence. He would need her support more than ever after the jury deliberated and came to a conclusion.

It took only an hour before the jury was back. The foreman stood, lifting the folded paper at which their decision lay.

Eddie leaned forward in his seat, primed with anticipation. Matt continued to sit settled against his chair.

"We the jury..." the woman breathed. She licked over her lips and her fingers trembled as she held up the paper "...find the defendant Edward Nashton not guilty of kidnapping and aggravated assault."

Matt emitted a breath.

Edward flashed a wicked smile and clapped Matt on the shoulder. The gavel hit the desk and the Judge dismissed the case and everyone in the courtroom.

Feeling like he was floating, Matt found himself standing on the steps of the courthouse. Somewhere in the distance Matt felt a pair of lips on his cheek; he knew the Nashton girl had kissed him. He felt outside of his own body and that brought him back a little.

The lawyer offered the girl a small, patient smile and a nod before he turned to look for Rose.

Edward beamed for a moment, proud, before narrowing his eyes in pain at the smack upside the head he had received from his husband. "Ow!" Eddie grunted, rubbing the side of his skull where Jonathan had hit him. But he was teeming with love and his long arms went around the thin frame of the man he loved.

It was over. Eddie was free and no charges were brought. Matt was far too good at his job, and Edward would make sure to compensate the man accordingly for it.

Family parties were always quite the event when they happened. It was almost expected to be loud, to have someone go to jail or get maimed, for there to be alcohol flowing like water and for a fight to break out. The dramatics were always quite the spectacle to behold and a birthday was as good of an excuse as any to get the antics ready. But t wasn't just any birthday party, it was a belated celebration for Effie and the chance to meet whatever sucker his daughter had picked up for the occassion. His daughter had mentioned something alluding to the fact that she had found someone to keep her occupied and Eddie was curious to see what Effie had dredged up and from where. Anything had to be better than Bruce.

Honestly, Eddie was glad Bruce was out of the picture. He wasn't their type nor had he been good enough for Effie. And it was with that glee that Eddie finished decorating for the party.

The warehouse had been the venue of obvious choice since it was large enough to hold them, and also any of their crazy theatrics. It was also appropriately boobytrapped in case the Police did happen to drop by unexpectedly.

Though the four of the invited guests would not likely make enough noise to warrant a visit from The City's finest. Or the Bat. There was one person that was not attending on account of being locked up and currently unconscious from a good torturing. A certain Clown Princess. Eddie squealed with glee when he thought of Harley down in the basement of Arkham, passed out from the pain, chained to the floor with a broken hand...amongst other things.

He sighed with contentment and hung up the last of the streamers.

"Jonathan, are you ready? Is everything all set?" Working with one hand was a feat in itself but Eddie managed. He climbed down from the ladder he had been standing on, tucked it away behind a door, and made sure the cake was fresh. The warehouse was decorated in a sea of green, gold and purple. The symbols appropriate to their lineage also decorated the walls and floors, the question mark.

"Oh this will be perfect!" There was alcohol to be had, and fun times ahead. Eddie did love a good party.

(*Warning! Adult content. Please be advised!***)


Harley patted the flowers that Steve had brought for her, having found a pretty vessel to store them in. It was an old vase, an ugly blue with a crack down one side, but it served a purpose and thus she accepted it. Honestly if you turned the vase just so...well, you couldn't even notice the crack in the paint at all.

On her desk were her playing cards. All of the deck sat intact, and there was a Joker card face up on the top. She had been reminiscing, missing Jack and wishing those flowers had been from him. She sighed, twirling one of the daisies she'd plucked from the vase between her finger and thumb, watching the petals spin.

It had been too long since anyone had gotten her flowers. Jack didn't ever anymore, and Jonathan sure hadn't. So she enjoyed these while she could. Even though they had water, the stems already were beginning to wilt. The roses were sensitive and now they looked comically sad and droopy. It amused her and she hated it at the same time.

"Why can't ya last foreva?" Harley asked the daisy, as if she expected an answer. She spun slowly in her desk chair, barefoot. It was after hours, no patients, so she had discarded her heels and let her toes breathe.

"And how come tha only man that wants to buy me flowas is one of those Hero types? He is kinda cute, yanno what I mean? All big an strong...he ain't to bright though. Ain't too bright at all." She shook her head as if it were some kind of shame. Harley had tried to warn Steve about the Scarecrow. Even if the entity was gone, it always came back sooner or later. And it didn't like to play nice if you pissed it off. Likely Steve could handle it, but that was if Scarecrow played fair. Playing fair wasn't always the case in those circumstances. No. No. It was better for the blonde hero to stay away. She could go to him and in the meantime she would sit here and play with his flowers. Her flowers.

( Just smile! )

"Garbage..." Edward breathed, shifting some against the cushioned back of the chair he was sitting in.

For what it was worth, Edward was settled as if he had been there for a good while. His body was slouched just so, allowing his shoulders and the back of his head and neck to press tirelessly into the cushion of the office chair. And his long legs were tilted upward, crossed at the ankle as the heels of his shiny green dress shoes propped themselves like a display on the desk.

Not far from his heel sat a silver tray, upon which sat a China tea pot with a blue willow design, and a couple of matching cups stacked in a tower of disarray. His own cup rested empty next to the tray near the end of the desk, simply forgotten.

Held in a green gloved hand was the latest edition of the City newspaper, and he turned the pages with the barrel of his golden revolver when he found nothing good on the page previous.

"More garbage...." Eddie mumbled.

His attire was as it always was, green. His slacks were nearly ironed and the creases down the leg proved it. These were held up by a pair of green suspenders, which crawled over the shoulders of his skinny frame, holding the green long-sleeved shirt in place. Said sleeves were rolled casually to the elbows, as if they were in the way. His jacket was thrown haphazardly over the back of the chair and propped on his cane near the desk was his signature bowler hat.

"....garbage..." He breathed, flipping the newspaper to the next page.

And then a wide grin. "Oh, the crossword!"

That was his absolute favorite.

Eddie set down his gun, listening to the clatter it made on the already too-crowded desktop, and he fumbled through Jonathan's things for an ink pen. A green one.

Edward walked slowly into the Warehouse.

It had been a trying day, celebrating without the love of his life. His heart yearned for Jonathan, burned for him despite the betrayal from Scarecrow and the wish he had made at the tree he knew was petty. Who could really ever feel peace? Would could make such a wish come true?

The air was cold in the Warehouse, stale almost. Edward's cane clicked tenderly against the tiled floor as he took a step, unaware of what lay in store for him.

With a sigh the gangster pushed open another door and there it was. A Christmas tree.

He couldn't recall having erected one due to the fact of being utterly alone for the holiday itself. Sure, he had Effie but she had her own family to tend to. And the criminal was forced to settle alone in the dark, vacant warehouse and stew.

But this was a surprise in itself.

"Effie?" This had to be her doing. He couldn't think of anyone else. Definitely not something Beauty would attempt. Not Dinah or Bruce....definitely not Tony.

He approached the tree with caution until he saw what lay beneath it on the skirt. Wrapped around the body itself was a festive bow of his favorite color and instantly the cane tumbled from Edward's long fingers as he halted in surprise.

"Baby?" He blinked, seeing Jonathan laying peacefully beneath the decorated tree. He finally moved forward without the cane and knelt to the skinny, bow-adorned man and pulled the seemingly lifeless figure into his arms. Everything might be right after all. It was Christmas, of course.

Maybe, just maybe it was a wish come true after all.

By now, The City had watched many of its denizens celebrate this thing called 'Christmas' and it was beginning to understand it better. It was a time for fir decoration. A time for singing songs. A time for creamy or apple flavored beverages. There were also presents.

The presents were the most interesting things to The City. It understood that the presents were designed to be special. To be meaningful. To express care. And The City did care about its people. Very much.

This year, it decided that it would participate in this 'Christmas.' And it wanted to participate in a big way.

A Douglas Fir sprung up overnight, positioned in the heart of The City. It was huge, dwarfing most multi-level buildings, bedecked in oversized copies of the decorations that previous and current citizens had used on their own trees. The Christmas star dwarfed the moon in its brightness.

But what to do for presents? The City had seen that presents were supposed to be personal. They were supposed to be something that made sense for one to give to the other. But The City did not know how to give presents in this way. It tried to calculate what would be right for every citizen - and failed. At last, it decided that it would grant one wish to each citizen. Just one. And it would do its best to fulfill it in a personal way.

The City was tired.

It knew who it had within it when they came, and knew the destruction and chaos caused...but there were lines, and the torn man has crossed them. There had been deterrents, gifts given to the man in hopes that the Asylum and it’s inhabitants could distract Crane, keep his madness contained, there had been threats, the looming fortress that was Blackgate a reminder of what could happen.

But neither of those had worked, and now The City’s citizens were paying the price.

The City was not without resources, and while even Blackgate didn't seem like a reasonable response to Crane killing people, it still had options, and so it reached out, the world shifting, shaping around the man, keeping him contained as The City routed the injured and dying to safety, landing them outside the hospital.

It was time for a firm hand.

Scarecrow was hurting.

Jonathan tried, he truly did, but there was only so much could do to soothe his other, and he knew of only one true release to the figment’s pain.

He just didn’t want to allow it. Jonathan was desperately trying to keep things in check, to keep his life in check. He liked having Arkham and being in control, he liked being free. Yes, Blackgate was a joke and he could get out easily, but in doing so he would lose everything else he had.

But Scarecrow was still hurting and he was going to explode if Jonathan didn’t do something soon.

--

Scarecrow stood in front of the mannequin that held his costume, running a hand lovingly over the worn, oiled leather, before he started stripping, shedding the outer illusion of a good doctor, carefully pulling on the padded shorts that were required for a life such as his, before stripping the mannequin, slowly, as carefully as one would a lover, wiggling into the outfit that felt like his true skin.

He latched the last golden frog on his doublet, gently tugging it down before grinning, the smell of the leather, the oils...the hayseed scent that still clung to the fabric...all of it was home to him.

( Ichabod's Ride )

Jonathan stared out over Arkham Asylum’s graveyard, staring at the centuries of Arkham’s that laid in the plots...the madmen..and even some of the staff who were unfortunate enough to be stuck eternally in the hellhole. One day Jonathan’s own name would grace the grounds, though he doubted there would be anyone around who would care enough to give him more than a small, weather beaten paper grave marker.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, heavy breath, before Scarecrow knelt down next to the fresh, white marble gravestone that had been inserted into Arkham Asylum’s graveyard, raising a trembling hand to trace the still sharp words.

Doctor Hannibal Lecter, beloved friend and companion

Yes, they claimed the man was still alive, but Scarecrow never believed what people said and Jonathan had heard that too many times before..had said it too many times before to trust it.

Instead, Scarecrow wept at an empty grave, a hand covering his mouth to keep his cries silent, tears rolling down his cheeks freely. It should have been him...he was supposed to die before Hannibal, just as Edward was to die before him. That was the order of things, of their reality.

“Hanni...you asshole,” Scarecrow whispered, once more tracing his best friend’s name. “You always had to have more attention, you egotistical bastard.” His shoulders shook, a soft, keening cry escaping his lips before he clamped them shut again, gasping softly. The attempts were for nothing though, and Scarecrow fell forward, full, rich sobs spilling from his throat as he cried, feeling a pain he hadn’t in so very long.

It hurt to be without Hannibal, to know he would never see him again...never talk, never flirt, never laugh...never anything...again.

“Why…” he whispered, his voice soft, broken and child-like. Scarecrow understood death, the mechanics, the fine details...he specialized in how far a body could go before expiring.

But he had no idea how to deal with losing someone like this. He didn’t understand it...didn’t want to accept it. He knew the stages of grief and loss, each moment and layer of them, but none of that helped him when it felt like his heart was torn out of his chest.

“Come back…please...I need you to save us.” He begged the tombstone, clutching at headstone, scratching at it, long nails breaking off with the force, leaving bloody smears. “Please come back to me...I’ll do anything..please…”

He slowed, his whole body hanging like a broken marionette, shuddering every soft often from the sobs that still escaped him. His eyes burned, unable to produce any more tears, but still he cried, torn hands burying into the earth that no body lay beneath, clinging to it as if it would keep him from falling completely into despair

--

Jonathan groaned, shifting, wincing as he sat up, rubbing his neck. Scarecrow had passed out, collapsed against the headstone and the angel’s wing had dug into Jonathan’s neck, leaving a crippling pain and bruise against the flesh. He shivered in the cold, pushing himself to his feet, body shaking from the abuse Scarecrow’s grief had given him.

He wrapped his arms around his thin chest as he started back for the asylum, his own tears slipping down his cheeks, stinging his burning eyes. He paused, turning back to the grave, tilting his head. “Good bye, Hannibal. I will miss you.”

Jonathan turned his face, watching the moon for a long moment before heading into the Asylum..

Edward hummed.

Baditz-Maru was settled happily alongside one part of Edward's work table, acting as a lookout and a penguin-shaped paper weight.

Eddie had his blue prints of the City Museum scattered around on the table inside of the room that Bruce had made for him. The door had been left ajar, because if he closed it the Brute armor got antsy and tried to bust it down.

So instead of being bothered, Edward compromised.

Sitting on the other side of his work table was a Jack-o-lantern that he and Effie had carved together. Of course it did look like a twisted version of Hello Kitty, but Eddie was proud of it anyway. And it made the room smell like pumpkin.

Edward etched over the blue print with a chalk pencil, humming as he marked exits, the things he wanted and security cameras on the paper. Nothing could dampen his mood today. Well, except for maybe his still healing leg.

( Breaking up is hard to do )

Even superheroes sometimes got sick. Dinah wasn’t suffering from the plague by any means, but she was definitely coming down with something. She felt achy and a little sniffly and she really wanted to find some sort of medicine to nip this in the bud before it got worse. And preferably before the germs spread to Dean. Sure, she could have asked him to come and pick up medicine for her but she wanted to take care of this on her own. Besides, she didn’t know exactly what she wanted to take but was pretty sure she’d know it when she saw it. She wandered through the cold and flu aisle, going over every single product twice and trying to find some sort of miracle cure. Or something along those lines.

After all, who had time to be sick? There was a City to look after, a flower shop needing her attention, and not to mention that if she had to take time off from those things, she could think of quite a few ways that she’d rather spend that time and none of those involved being half-lucid on the couch while watching really bad TV.

( Because everyone needs drugs! )

A delivery man entered the bookstore, setting three large rose bouquets on the counter, tipping his hat to the person manning the counter before leaving. The bouquets were obviously done by someone with great care, yet inexperienced in such matters, some of the thorns missed, one of the flowers broken from where it had been jammed into the vase.

The envelope in the orange bouquet read simply "Beauty", with a small rolled letter tucked into the purple and white.

I know these can't take away the pain caused to you. But perhaps the knowledge that they come from a place dear to my heart may put truth to the words, that I am sorry. And perhaps the knowledge that if Ivy ever finds out I cut them will murder me horribly might make you smile... I cannot change what has occurred, not with flowers or poetic words...but this is all I have.

Planning was key.

At exactly 12:04, with a quiet "Excuse me," to her co-worker, Beauty went to the front of the store. She didn't typically carry a purse, but today she'd taken one -- a small black thing with a cell phone pocket on the outside, small enough to clutch in her lap. She pulled out the note she'd written last night on rose-embellished stationery. She'd put Errol's name in beautiful script in the center of the creamy envelope. Tapping her finger nervously on the side of that note, she eyed the front door and waited a few more seconds.

At 12:05, the yellow car pulled up in front of the store. Beauty set the note directly on top of the register, then hurried out the door, leaving the bell to ring behind her. The beating of her heart was rapid, but she ignored it. Once inside the cab, she tugged out the bit of paper where she'd written down the information about her false appointment. During the cab ride, she read her notes twice and focused on the next steps, firmly pushing her trepidation away. She was angry enough to do it more easily than she'd imagined.

Just outside Arkham's reception area, Beauty took out the watch Bruce had given her and looped it around her palm so only the strap was visible if she kept her hand closed. Then she used her cell phone to dial Errol's mobile number. While the phone rang, she tucked the device upside-down in the pocket of her purse, then stepped up to the receptionist.

"Hope Jones," she said to the receptionist. "I have an appointment with Dr. Crane about my nightmares."

She was shown to Dr. Crane's office. When she stepped into the room and closed the door, she didn't turn around immediately. A breath. She smoothed the front of her dress with her free hand, then finally whirled. Beauty was not smiling as she advanced toward the desk of the so-called doctor.

(Note: NSFW: mentions of torture, blood, gore, domestic abuse and creepy rhymes that involve dead children)

Edward grunted as he sat in the office of the Asylum, one he knew all too well. There were one hundred and fifty tiles on the ceiling, the carpet was in pristine condition, the oak desk had many a stab mark or blemish from a bullet fired into it. Everything about the room said volumes to the man it belonged to.

The man that had managed to capture and hold Edward’s heart. Or what was left of it.

The couch had seemed the suitable seat of option, considering his condition.

He was still pissed that he had been sedated by Jonathan and despite feeling bad for shooting his partner, Edward chalked it up to having been deserved.

How was Eddie supposed to know there were tranquilizers in the gun instead of actual bullets? It was self-defense and an accident. Edward was full of accidents, but it didn’t matter.

Soon his plans would come to fruition and he could be happy. Once he had a dominant legacy, he could rest easier and take things slower. The climax was long-coming, but he would revel all the same when the moment came.

He breathed out a sigh of hope for things to come, and rubbed his long fingers absently over his re-set injury.

( The Fear of Love )

Jonathan had called his friend earlier, and now waited for the man to arrive. He hadn't specified why he wanted to see Hannibal, simply inviting him for tear, figuring that it was something he wanted to discuss...up close and personal. He winced as he tried to reach for his teapot, instinctively moving with the hand strapped to his chest, before switching hands and opening the lid of the pot, moving to pour hot water into it, watching as the steaming liquid covered the loose tea leaves, turning it a murky brown.

He had been shot just that morning and already he was annoyed and frustrated, but he swallowed the emotions down, burying them. They weren't important right now..and he could whine to Edward about it later.

Setting the pot on a tray, he added two cups and saucers, as well as a tin of cookies, frowning at the display, wishing he could make it more...pretty, but there was only so much he could do.

(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."

( Plotting a Date )

For a blessed week Wash had his voice back from when he had lost it. Yes, his voice was gravely but he liked to think it sounded sexy. He especially liked to think this when he walked into a place and someone greeted him and he said, "Well hello, there," back with a sultry, breathy tone.

This was only awkward once at a bar when a bald middle aged man nodded at him. He decided to reign it in a little after the look he'd gotten.

But not all good things last. His throat was stubborn to keep him from his third favorite pastime, talking. It had become inflamed again a couple of days ago despite the over-the-counter meds he'd been feeding himself regularly. Now his voice was once again absent and he hunkered over to the pharmacist.

It wasn't a long conversation with the doctor behind the counter but it did end up with Wash's discontent at being told to see an actual doctor and get prescribed helpful medication instead of the concoction of allergy/cold meds he was making himself down every morning and night. This discontent lead to Wash ipso facto pelting the doctor with pills every time the doctor would open his mouth to insist more strongly.

Eventually the pharmacist doctor thought smart of it and closed his mouth, crossing his arms over his chest. Wash gave him one more pill to the forehead before skulking out of the pharmacy in hunched annoyance.

Wash generally didn't have any problem with doctors but he wasn't keen on visiting The City's version of a hospital or doctor's office. He also wasn't keen on shots. Nor was he keen on physicals. Okay, maybe he did have a problem with doctors.

Nevertheless, he leaned against the wall of the pharmacy thinking what to do next, his mouth in a line of frustration.

Jonathan sighed as he leaned against the counter, waiting for Edward or for the officer at the desk to check his ID. He was no pleased to be here, assisting his husband in bailing out their vexatious daughter out of jail, but he didn't trust Edward and Enigma alone together, and would rather not have to make the trip later this afternoon to bail both of them out for trying to kill each other in the lobby.

He turned as the officer returned with his id, clipping it back onto his jacket and signing papers for Enigma's release. While Edward had the money, Jonathan had the name, and would easily use it to be granted her custody and take responsibility for her actions, considering he really didn't give a damn what she did or did not do.

Not all he needed was Edward...and a stiff drink.

(Warning: Adult Contents)

Jonathan sighed as he looked around before lighting up the cigarette he stole from one of his nurses, giving a sigh of pleasure as the nicotine hit his system, smoke curling out from beneath his lips. He had quit in medical school, but occasionally he needed he release the drug gave him, and after a full day of patients and trying to figure out a way to make things up to Edward, he was desperate for the drug.

He still had no idea what he was going to do with Edward, but he knew they needed time away from Arkham. And so Nightmare was waiting in front of him, prancing around as she finally got a chance to stretch her legs. The horse in question shook her main, her reigns shifting as she moved over and nudged Jonathan, eager to get moving.

Jonathan grinned, a warm, true smile as he nuzzled her, holding her close. "Soon, I promise," he whispered, placing a kiss along her nose.