Note: This part contains direct quotes from Batman Begins. These lines were not originally written by me, and are used here to illustrate certain portions of scenes.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

Coffee
by Jack Velvet

Inches of frozen precipitation fell over the night. The bright sun, non-existent clouds, and snow so pure and icy that its glittery glimmer blinded the eye made for a beautiful winter morning. However, all of the night's inclement weather made Batman's job more difficult.

What little sleep he managed to snag between Bat and Bruce left him torn and emotional. He'd found himself in the kitchen of Wayne Manor, wearing a tuxedo with a cowl. Rachel, Jon, and Alfred stood around him, yelling at him and each other for every one of Bruce's mistakes. The distinct sound of a breaking tea-cup upon the floor stopped their conversation. His mother entered, shame and horror on her face, and his father joined her, hands on her shoulders, scolding Bruce for desiring Jonathan and startling his mother so.

"But I've cut ties," he'd heard himself mumbling as he awoke.

He dressed immediately for work.

The presence of snow lessened considerably as he came upon the city. No longer blinding, the wet slush clung to his tire wells, forming solid stalactites of snow on the undercarriage of his car. He wasn't sure why he drove to Uptown yet again. Out of habit, perhaps, or to check up on Lucy and Tara. As he parked in front of Le Café, he realized that it neither of those reasons applied. He hoped to see Jon.

Gordon made mention of Crane's disappearance after the attack. Once he was released from the hospital, Gordon suggested staying with a friend, out of sight from both the department and Croc. Batman hoped that Crane would have been smart enough to not stay with Jenny, since a link could be made there eventually, but during his surveillance of Jenny's home, he spotted Crane's vigilant eyes peering out through the blinds.

But Jon was not inside the coffee shop. Neither was Tara. Lucy alone managed the counter.

Her face lit up when he stepped inside. "Bruce!"

"Good Morning, Lucy." Her smile was a welcome sight to him. "Everything okay here?"

Lucy's face changed. "Yet again you don't show your face after something crazy happens? Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?"

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't tell anyone that you were the mystery Samaritan," she said. "I didn't tell anyone who the victim was either. I didn't say a damn word! I just stayed here for the past few days, waiting for you to come in! No one's been around lately."

No one? "Tara? Jon?"

"Tara was told to take a week off. I said I'd cover for her—it's not like I'm not always here anyway—but the place has been a ghost town. Meanwhile, I have no idea what happened to either of you! I didn't know if you two were hurt, or shot, or what!"

Bruce found himself longing for a return to the old routine. No Jon, no Tara, and a crying Lucy made him feel uneasy, almost sick. "Jon is fine. Just a bruise or two."

"So where is he?"

"I don't know. Hiding, I think."

Elbows on the counter, face in her hands, she mumbled, "Do you think he'll ever be back?"

"I saw Commissioner Gordon there. It looked like he was working really hard to keep Jon safe."

Lucy looked up. "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Lucy wiped aside a tear and stood. "Okay." She patted the counter. "Okay. Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make you a coffee," she said, grabbing two cups, "and I'm going to throw in Jonny Newspaper's order too. Every day until he reappears. That way, he'll always have a cup of coffee there to welcome him back."

Bruce smiled. An honest and endearing plan. It reminded him of why he took up the cowl in the first place; criminals could be redeemed, and citizens could be protected. There was room for forgiveness in the heart of Bruce Wayne. "I'll take two coffees then."

She laughed as if it'd been forever since she felt joy. "Coming right up."

xxx

Snow was all the rage in the office today. Everyone shared tales of how the measly few inches affected their lives: whether or not they had to shovel their car out, start their engines twenty minutes early to ensure a warm ride, or lost their gloves. In that respect, though their misery was apparent, the snow united them, and that made them happy. Even his temporary secretary greeted him with a warm smile.

She waited until he'd stepped into office, door half-way shut behind him, to announce his visitor: Mr. Newspaper.

Jon, wool coat and scarf still draped over his shoulders, ankles drenched from the snow, stood far from Bruce's desk, looking out one of those large, scenic windows. He didn't acknowledge Bruce when he came in; he noticed him, but didn't find it proper to be the first to speak.

Bruce set down his things on his desk and leaned upon it, waiting for Jon to say something. When he realized that this would not happen, he asked, "What are you doing here, Jon?"

Jon started carefully, analyzing each word in his mind before he spoke. "Thank you, Bruce."

You're welcome. "Is that all?"

Jon looked at him, noticing the second coffee in the carry-tray on his desk. "No."

"Hurry up."

"I've analyzed myself over and over. Before I did what I did, during, and afterward. Even now, I contemplate why it is that I came here. My first thought can't possibly be correct, as I haven't tested it. And yet, though in the past I would have tried to test it—possibly recreate an isolated, extreme incident—I do not know what is stopping me from doing so. Or rather, I am not satisfied with the simplest of answers."

Bruce remained still, his voice quiet. "What is the simplest of answers, Jon?"

Jon wanted to say, "forgiveness," but the admission of such felt alien to him. There were moments in his past where he felt normal, times when he wondered if he could calm the dark thoughts that bred in the depths of his mind, but they'd always been erased. He knew he couldn't remain quiet much longer, lest he have to start all over again at the beginning, yet his fear froze him in place, and he said nothing.

"The papers called you a sociopath," Bruce said.

Jon mustered the strength to break fear's hold on him. "The same is said of you."

"So why aren't you?"

"I share many traits, yes. But I do not lack emotion. In fact, it was my obsession with emotion—primal emotions—that drove me to do what I do. Something cathartic to make up for the life I lived prior to Arkham."

"When you attacked Rachel, you felt guilt?" Bruce's contained anger took the form of a maniacal smile, then faded. "You regretted what you did to her? Or did someone have to explain what guilt was to you before you understood?"

"You mean to further accuse me of sociopathy?"

"It's not a mental disability. You had to have consciously known what you were doing."

Jon crossed his arms. "You certainly know a great deal about the mind, don't you?"

I'm still learning. "I know what you did to Rachel and the city. You shouldn't even be here. You tried to destroy everything my parents stood for."

Now Jon donned the maniacal smile of disbelief. "Is that what you think? Time and time again, I've explained to everyone involved that I wasn't the mastermind. I was but a peon, doing the dirty work of another, tricked into thinking that my studies would be furthered if I cooperated."

"Why the change? How is anyone to know to know if you're telling the truth or just manipulating them?"

Jon glanced out the window again. "The Bat-man. How traumatizing it was, to be driven mad, foiled, afflicted by it. I thought that my pain was the only one that mattered, that everyone else should see the world as I did, but whatever suffering I had endured in my past was nothing compared to the sheer terror I created and experienced."

And then you escaped and started up again. "Gordon said you fled after the incident in the Narrows. If you were so changed, then why continue?"

"Bruce," said Jon, biting his lip. He heard the shackles of fear click around him. "I've said enough."

Bruce shook his head. "Not nearly enough. Why a second run?"

Jon, shaken, tried hard to maintain his composure. He'd never been so willingly honest before. "You're a persistent ass."

"You attacked Rachel."

"And I'm apologizing!"

Silence claimed the office then, both men becoming aware of just how hard they were breathing, each wishing that the past never existed. But more surprising to Bruce than Jon's non-violent outburst was the lack of his parent's condemning voices.

"Apologize to Rachel," Bruce broke in, realizing that perhaps these words were meant for himself rather than Jon.

"I already have," said Jon.

Bruce let the words process, but it didn't take. Instead, he left Jon alone in the office, grabbed his coat, and went for his car.

xxx

Gotham Cemetery basked in the shade of the clouds that overcame the morning sun. Headstones poked through the almost untouched snow on the cemetery's pristine lawns. Icicles hung from the tips of angel's wings.

As Bruce pulled into the freshly plowed driveway of the grounds, a light snow started falling, its flakes melting the moment they hit his windshield. A caretaker pushing a snowblower nodded at him as he drove by, completely content with the weather's threat to destroy his morning's work.

Bruce took the curved paths of the graveyard carefully, stopping when he found the place where Rachel Dawes took her eternal rest. It'd been a while since he last visited; he mainly went with Alfred whenever the man reminded him, but between the company, the cowl, and now Croc and Crane, he hadn't been back until now.

His impulsive, emotionally-charged decision to visit Rachel blinded him to the sets of footsteps that mirrored his own. As his mind fumbled for the right words to say to her—will it be my mask speaking?—that the footprints, along with a fresh bouquet of flowers, became noticeable.

A man's footprints. Crane's pants, wet at the hems. Crane standing by the windows.

"Apologize to Rachel."

"I already have."

"Do you think that the criminals here can change?" Bruce asked the space where Rachel lay. "Isn't that why you prosecuted them? To see them pay their penance and change?"

Petals fell from the bouquet as the wind blew.

"You always knew better than I did. You did what was right. I'm doing what is necessary. It's not always the same thing. I miss you. I wish I had your courage, Rachel."

Bruce waited for a sign of her presence. The flurry continued.

"You said that this was my mask. Jon...he's part of my world. Do you believe he's on our side now? Am I doing you a great dishonor by—"

Bruce squinted as a sudden reflection of sunlight pierced his eyes. The flurry passed.

He had his answer.

xxx

The resemblance between Pamela and Tara was striking, even in the dim light of the cold alley. The voluptuous redhead, bundled up in a parka, huffed impatient breaths of hot vapor out while she tapped her foot in the slush. Two men stood beside her.

"I've had enough of this," she said. Turning to a dazed man at her side, she demanded, "Marvin, take me back to the greenhouse. This cold is unbearable."

"Yes, Miss Ivy," the man stated, flat.

There's something wrong with this picture, Batman thought. He maintained his stealth as he followed Isley to a waiting electric car.

Pamela shivered as the second man opened up the door for her. "Georgie, darling. Make sure that Croc gets the doctor soon. You'll do that for me, won't you?"

"Anything for you, Miss Ivy."

"Perfect. Go now."

She stepped into the car, allowing Georgie to shut the door for her, and the vehicle sped off, leaving Georgie behind. Batman had to make a choice.

He followed Isley.

xxx

The entrance to Le Café had a "Now Hiring" sign taped to it. It hadn't been there the day before.

Lucy, sleeping tugging the skin beneath her eyes, smiled when Bruce approached the counter. She started up Jon's signature drink. "Evening," she said with a yawn.

"Everything okay?" Bruce looked behind him at the sign. "Did Tara..."

"Quit? No. Maybe?" She stirred the coffee robotically. "I talked to her last night on the phone, and she was supposed to come in, but she never showed. She sounded fine when we talked, and happy to come back and see you and Jonny again."

Something happened. "But your boss fired her?"

"No no no. He'd never fire Tara. He just thinks we need a break. It's a small business, you know? And when Tara and I aren't working, him and his wife manage the counter."

"You two are always working."

"Yeah, whenever you come in." She yawned again, handing Bruce two drinks in a carry tray. "Money please."

Bruce handed her some cash, which surprised her. "I need a third one too, with cream and sugar on the side. Did you talk to Tara today?"

"Nope. She's not answering. I'm freaking out a little bit." Another yawn. "I know it doesn't show."

Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Call me when you hear from her."

"What, and go through your secretary or assistant or whatever? Bite me."

"Check the back," Bruce told her. "That's my direct extension and personal cell."

Lucy blushed as she examined the handwriting on the back of the card. "Oh. What if I, uh, lose it? And then some stalker is calling you?"

He smiled. "Don't worry about it. Tara's safety is more important."

She tapped the card on the counter and put it in her pocket. "Right. Okay. Well, see you whenever. Oh, and...if you're not paying that Jenny enough, can you tell her we're hiring? She was totally cool and already knows about customer service."

"Pretty sneaky," Bruce replied.

"I know," Lucy grinned.

xxx

An expensive vehicle pulled up to Jenny's place. Triple-checking that he wasn't followed, Bruce undid his seatbelt and got out of the car, carry-tray of coffee in his hand. Once he got to the door, it took a few knocks and a ring of the door-bell to get anyone to answer.

Predictably, Jenny greeted him.

"Mr. Wayne? What are you doing here?"

"I'd be lying if I said I was here to visit you."

She licked her lips, tense. "You weren't...you know."

"I made sure as best as I could."

"I mean, no offense, but would you know it if you were?"

"None taken. I'm sure of it."

She nodded, opening the door just enough for him to enter. "Right. He said you were smarter than they said. Come in."

Jenny's place starkly contrasted Crane's. Pastel walls enclosed the mishmash of antiques, floral décor, and modern items. Pictures of Jenny and an older woman hung from the walls and rested on table tops. It smelled of potpourri and homemade soup. A true home.

"Beautiful place, Jenny," Bruce said. He meant it. Wayne Manor's destruction still haunted him. "Do you like coffee? I brought one for you."

"Thanks, Mr. Wayne." She accepted the gift he handed her. "And thanks for the compliment. My grandmother used to live with me here."

"You two look really happy."

"We were." She took a nervous sip. "It's...are you sure you want to visit him?"

Why would your grandmother make you think of Crane? "Is there something wrong?"

"It's just...God, I can't believe I'm about to tell you this."

"You don't have to tell me anything," Bruce said, contrary to his thoughts.

The woman lowered her voice. "What he did was awful. Unforgivable. But...I've seen real pieces of him before. This whole arrangement is really complicated."

"Him staying with you?"

"Me not killing him. You know how I got the job at that hotel? I interviewed the week before everything happened. My girlfriends and I planned to go out and celebrate when I got the call that I'd been hired. I asked Jon if he wanted to go, but he'd been really distant. He said to take Nana out to dinner somewhere Uptown, and just leave him alone, but I didn't listen. And then..."

Bruce felt that there were missing pieces of Jenny's story. "Are you sure you want to tell me this?"

"It was messed up. I heard he got arrested, and my celebration turned into this pity party. I got so drunk I could barely register the news of what was happening in the Narrows, until I got a call that Nana's house had been broken into by a few psychos. They broke her arm and trashed our place. I ended up saving up to move us out here. She...passed last year. Not from that, but...still. What he did? How many grandmothers had their arms broken, or worse? How many people suffered from that?"

"But you've maintained your friendship."

"It's complicated. I love him, you know? We both went to college for the same thing, but I had to drop out to take care of Nana. I can see how messed up he is. I get that what he does is sometimes out of his control. Just be careful, okay? He's better now than he's ever been, but...it doesn't mean he's cured. He's forever going to be the way he is."

She can't abandon him out of good conscience. She feels like he's her patient. She should finish up that degree. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jenny wiped away a tear and said, "Right. He's upstairs, holed up in the spare room. I think. I've caught him sneaking out a few times. He thinks he's invincible. He's probably going to get us all killed."

"You think so?"

"Well...no. To be honest, I think I saw—" The woman paused, letting out a laugh. "Never mind. Thanks for the coffee." She nodded at the stair case. "I'll just blare some music down here, or something."

Bruce felt flush. "Blare some music?"

Jenny's somber behavior faded. "I'm not an idiot, Mr. Wayne."

"We're not—"

"Yeah right."

xxx

The door to the spare room was ajar when Bruce made it upstairs.

"About time," Jon said as Bruce stepped inside.

"You were expecting me?"

Jon glanced at the gift in Bruce's hands. "You brought me coffee. Again."

"It was Lucy's idea. Both times."

"Of course it was."

"I saw the flowers."

"The nerve of me," Jon said, sitting down on the twin-sized bed. "And I suppose Jenny's told you about her grandmother too."

"You were listening."

Jon shot Bruce a look. "I'm brilliant. And she's far too caring of a person not to warn you. Yet stupidly, you still came here. Just as you did the other times."

"Stupidly?" Bruce set the drinks upon the nightstand. He wanted to sit beside Jon, but hesitated. He'd suddenly forgotten his reasons for visiting.

"It can't be because you genuinely believe I'm a decent person."

Bruce sensed the tinge of self-loathing in Jon's remark. "I did."

"And now?"

"Maybe my brain is misfiring."

"Obviously."

Bruce broke the quiet that came over the room as he sat beside Jon, hoping that his weight wouldn't awkwardly topple the other man over on him. "What kind of trouble are you in?"

"I'm not entirely certain. Did Gordon put you up to this?"

"Commissioner Gordon? No."

"I feel like you're lying. Someone must want to know."

"I want to know. We we're supposed to have dinner and you were attacked."

"They want my expertise. It's obvious, run-of-the-mill stuff, Bruce." His guard down, Jon slouched, letting his chin rest in his hand. "I suppose it's good that you don't understand. It means that despite your outwardly reckless ways, you are still an honest businessman."

"A compliment."

"You need me to clarify everything I say? I do that enough, don't I?"

Jon's behavior disarmed Bruce. Why am I here? To reconcile or pursue him? Being beside Jon brought him further doubt. "You don't need to clarify."

Jon turned away. "Do you know what it's like to live with a terror, Bruce? It's far from pleasant. In my field, professionals say that one must face their demons in order to overcome them. Is it possible to do this?"

"I don't know."

Jon's stature displaced, the dam on his tongue broke; whether or not it was a vain attempt to fill in the blanks for Bruce and keep him by his side, or the result of having a personal confessional set-up in the bedroom, he couldn't determine. "Do you know the difference between Arkham and regular jail?"

Bruce nodded and listened.

"Arkham is where they send you when you're mad. Decent people worked there. They believed that these criminals could be cured. The common belief now is that Arkham is full of murderous madmen—that there's one Joker for every orderly—but that's not true. There were patients with legitimate mental disabilities, and patients who endured great traumas. Their crimes were small, mostly victimless, but they were deemed as a danger to themselves and others. Those were the first ones I hurt."

Bruce hid his disgust. "You hurt them?"

"They weren't among the men I recruited or..." Jon paused; he wanted to say "tested," but the word sounded clinical to him. "But when my supervisor, shall we say, enacted his grand plan using my chemical cocktail, they were the first ones in the fray. And then the people of the Narrows, and those along the water main his little train traveled along, Jenny's grandmother. I—have you any idea what it feels like to be responsible for harming so many?"

I do. "Gordon said you escaped afterward," Bruce said, handing Jon his drink. He figured it might be of some comfort to him.

"I did, but...it wasn't the same."

You sold fear-inducing drugs. "How?"

Jon said nothing for a long moment.. "Something felt off." His voice quieted, and his annunciation lacked ego. "I was capable of destroying the Narrows—I could do anything. But I couldn't. He kept stopping me.

"I was thrown back into Arkham. I knew the team assigned to me. They were among the few left that cared. They stared into the eyes of this monster and saw the man I thought I was only pretending to be. There was a nurse I used to work with—Kayla—and she was my only light to the outside world. In a hospital like that, they don't allow you to watch the news. It could trigger an episode. If you're caught, your privileges are taken away. But she told me about him, and the Joker.

"I was fascinated by his character. His plan was grand; even though he wasn't studying fear the way that I previously hoped to, his experiment was similarly wicked. How would the citizens of Gotham react to the fear of death? They didn't react as anticipated. They stood tall and faced their fear, choosing dignity and good over instinct. Kayla finished the story by telling me rumors of the man who first threw the trigger overboard: a hardened criminal." Jon sighed and turned away, glancing beyond the shades that covered the single window, out at a world he knew all too well existed. "I am...just a coward, Bruce."

"But you aren't anymore."

"I am. All I've done since I've been released is hide and do crossword puzzles." Jon laughed a nerve-racked laugh. "I haven't made up for what I've done. Even when I try, the sins are insurmountable."

"And why do we fall Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up."

That voice...another hallucination? A memory. "Jon," Bruce said, touching the other man's shoulder. Comforting another in this way felt foreign. His comfort came through justice, vengeance. The ever-present memories of his father guided him through the process. "Jon, you're trying."

Jon responded to Bruce's effort. "Why am I telling you all of this?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're tired of hiding."

"So I tell you? Bruce Wayne? Billionaire extraordinaire?"

"You still think I'm that boring billionaire you met at the coffee shop?"

"No." Jon sighed. "How did you do it, Bruce?"

"Do what?"

"You and I...damned if those grandmasters of psychology weren't right. My life was...ripped from me when I was young. Deluded people with selfish ambitions. Their level of cruelty was, and still is, unbelievable. I wanted to kill them for what they'd done to me."

"All creatures feel fear."

"Even the scary ones."

"Especially the scary ones."

Another memory. "Did you?" Bruce uttered, wondering how he'd gotten so close to Jon's ear.

"Kill them? I...wanted to."

Bruce recalled the night of Joe Chill's release.

"In another life I just might have," Jon said. "Sometimes I wonder if I would have been released from this if I had, or if I would be just as mad."

I wonder the same thing. "What do you think the answer is?"

"I think...that sometimes a handful of lives would be preferable to prevent the many lost that night."

"You didn't kill them yourself."

"Directly, indirectly, it makes no difference at the base of the matter. I've become a part of the same machine that destroyed me. Now it wants me back."

"You don't have to go back."

"I won't, not willingly." Jon leaned back, losing his forward slouch by taking comfort in Bruce's arms. They just...ended up that way. "At some point they will grow impatient. Whatever this person wants from me, they want it now. If I don't give up, they may enact a more sinister plan."

"Are you worried?"

"The police don't inspire confidence. I know they have my formula buried in their archives somewhere, and I know that this formula was leaked. Not perfected, but leaked, and then used. It can only be yet another officer on a criminal's payroll."

"Who knows you're here?"

"Commissioner Gordon. You. Jenny."

"And anyone who saw you at the office, or the cemetery."

Jon exhaled delicately. Bruce's arms completely surrounded him now, and Jon didn't want him to think the embrace suffocated him. It had the opposite effect. "If I stay here one-hundred percent of the time, then Jenny is in danger that same amount. At least if they pick me up off the street she won't be in the way...that's not to say that I haven't considered your safety. I think you've shown that you can handle yourself, though."

"Jon?"

"Yes?"

"That's the smartest stupid plan I've heard."

"I thought you might relate to that."

"Back to normal, I see," Bruce smiled.

"I'm still working on what's normal."

"I've gathered."

"You haven't gone back to your car," Jon noted.

"I haven't."

"Perhaps you're the stupid one."

"Maybe."

Jon turned around and trailed gentle fingertips over the curves of Bruce's face. "Bruce?"

"Jon?"

"I've told you a lot tonight."

Bruce took the coffee from Jon's hands and set it aside. "You have."

"Thank you," Jon said, hand splayed upon Bruce's chest, "for not making me feel like a fool."

Bruce smiled again, letting his lips draw closer to Jon's, savoring every last moment of anticipation until they finally kissed. Tongues flicked in and out and over their mouths, their connection much deeper than it was that morning in Jon's apartment.

And then, it turned into something more. Something necessary. Buttons unbuttoned, belt-loops emptied, and undershirts lay discarded on the floor.

Bruce's uncertainty over visiting melted. He knew why he'd come.

To be continued...

NOTE NOTE NOTE - Due to content in further chapters and other technical limitations of FFN, Coffee will ONLY BE UPDATED ON MY LIVEJOURNAL. You do NOT need an account to read the story. I will have a direct link available in my profile.
(Additional note: my LiveJournal version of this fic already has more chapters available to read.)

This was a hard decision to make, since this story has 68 reviews, over 7k hits, 72 Favs and 104 alerts (as of June 2011), but FFN deletes too much content, and there is much more freedom and otherwise on LiveJournal. So I repeat - you do NOT need an account to read the story. You do not need an account to comment on the story. You simply must agree that you are of age to view the journal.

Lots of love to all of you. I know some of you have wandered over to LiveJournal already. Thank you so much for your support! I hope you understand my choice to discontinue this story on this site.

xoxo

JV