Title: "Happy Birthday, Edgar"
Author: Sally
Fandom: JTHM
Pairing: Edgar/Nny
Rating: Low 'R', for Scri's filthy mouth.
Status: New
Archive: Sure.
Series/Sequel: One-shot
Disclaimers: Edgar and Johnny belong to Jhonen Vasquez, because he's a lot neater than me. Scriabin is Zarla's.
Notes: Kinda my first JTHM slash fic. I wrote another one, but it won't be finished. The Cold Case Files episode mentioned is actually one I was watching the other day.

Summary: Johnny wants to give Edgar something for his birthday…
Warnings: Slash. No like-y, no read-y.
Parting Remark: I hear by dedicate this to Zarla. One, because it's her fault I'm into this paring, and two, because Vargas had a huge influence on this. :D PS: I apologize for the spelling and grammar mistakes. I ran the spell check on this at 5 AM

Edgar was watching TV. Cold Case Files. He'd begun watching it some weeks ago and found he couldn't resist it when it was on. He leaned back into the cushion of the couch, trying to find a comfortble position. He rested his right arm on the arm of the sofa, the other at his side, remote in hand.

Today's episode involved a man named John Smith, who had killed his first wife and was suspected of having done the same to his second. His brother had found a box in their parent's garish that Smith had built. He'd pried it open, and its contents were unveiled. John Smith's first wife, missing for 16 years, stuffed carelessly in the wooden crate, legs cut off just below the knee caps, once beautiful brunet hair a rainbow of colours from years of silent decay. The sight had been quite unnerving to Smith's brother, not to mention the local police.

For such a passive person, you sure do have a morbid taste in television programs, Scriabin mused.

Quiet. I like this show. It's quite…interesting.

Interesting…because you're afraid?

Afraid…? What?

You're afraid the one day you'll be the girl in the box."

Then Edgar's mind clicked, Are you suggesting that Nny would—

That's exactly what I'm suggesting, my dear Edgar. You still don't completely trust him. There is still that element of fear in your relationship. You're afraid that at any moment, something could happen, he could snap, and you'd be dead again.

Well, yes, I suppose…I suppose that's true. I guess I'm still worried he could…I mean, there's still the possibility, and it's happened before…

Scriabin chuckled, It's funny. This is his favorite show, too. It's amazing how similar you two have become.

Edgar turned the remote over in his hand a few times. At some point, Johnny had wandered into the living room from where ever he'd been all day. He was carrying a pile of papers, and what looked like every pen Edgar had ever owned. Johnny looked to him, then sat down the paper and pens on the coffee table. Edgar looked up as he heard the pens clatter on the table.

I didn't ever hear him come in the room. Stealthy…

Maybe you're going def. You should consider investing in a Miracle Ear. Perhaps even a Rascal scooter. You're legs will be the next to go.

Edgar ignored Scriabin's comments, "You've been really quiet today. What have you been up to?

"I made you a card.", Nny said, holding the remaining piece of paper to him.

"A card…?" Edgar held it up to his face.

'HAPPY BIRTHDAY EDGAR' was written across the top in large, black letters. Towards the middle of the page, there were various little drawings of monsters and alien-like things. He flipped the card over and examined the other side. There were a few words and beginnings of what were to be the drawings on the front crossed, as if he'd messed up and had to start over on the other side.

Hahahahahahahahahaha! Oh my God, you really are a dumbass! What kind of flaming retard forgets his own birthday!

Edgar thought about it for a minute. Was it really...

Wow, today is my birthday. I can't believe I forgot...

Hehehehehehehehe..., Scriabin was doubled over with laughter. Edgar had the strong desire to slap him across the face.

"I wanted to make you something.", Nny said simply, looking down at his steel-toes.

"I like it, thank you Nny. To be honest, I'd completely forgotten that my birthday was today."

"I...forget about mine sometimes, too."

Wow Edgar, you're really going off the deep-end. You have to have a deranged killer remind you of your own birthday. Congratulations dear heart, you're STUPID.

Oh, get off it.

Edgar felt the cushions of the couch sink slightly and something warm fall across his legs. He looked down and almost bit through his tounge trying to suppress a squeak of surprise.

Ohmygodnnyhashisheadonmylapwhatdoidoohmygodohmygod.

"Nny, wha...what are you doing?", He stumbled over his words.

"Watching TV,", he said, rolling onto his back to stare up at Edgar, "there's a Cold Case marathon today." He said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Edgar raised a hand to itch absentmindedly at this scares.

This is so fucking adorable, I wish I had a camera.

Shut up.

Oh, I'm sorry. Am I ruining the moment?

Yes.

Scri was silent for a moment, recovering from Edgar's unexpected response.

Nny slid the remote out of Edgar's loose grasp and turned up the volume on the TV. John Smith was now in prison, awaiting trial.

Scriabin grinned evilly; You should ask him for a birthday blow job.

Edgar felt heat rising to his face at a speed that would have made Robert Ripley's head spin. God, Scriabin…why do you have to say things like that!

Because you know you want one.

I do NOT

Oh come on, Edgar. The object of your undying obsession has his head lying in your lap. Think of the possibilities…

Shut up

Aww, you're embarrassed. There's nothing wrong with wanting your serial killer boyfriend to give you head. If I were with someone like that, I'd be all over them in a heartbeat.

Fuck you, Scriabin, Edgar was getting sick of his never-ending comments.

No way, you have to buy me dinner first, Scriabin smirked.

I hate you.

Oh, but I love you so MUCH!

Edgar tried his hardest to block out Scri's giggling. He was pulled out of his mental argument by the feeling of his glasses being pulled off his face. Blinking, he looked down at Johnny as best he could. He could only see blurs of colours and shapes when he didn't have his glasses on. Nny sat the frames down carefully one the coffee table before bringing his hand up to rest on Edgar's cheek. He ran a few claw-like fingers over the scare under his left eye.

"Your imperfection is beautiful."

It took Edgar's mind a few seconds to comprehend what he'd just heard.

"…Thank you, I guess." He said slowly. Johnny continued talking as if he hadn't heard him.

"There was a girl once. I found her sitting outside a café with her friends. She was so pretty, so unbelievably beautiful in my straight jacket…"

Edgar could tell that Johnny was going into one of his rants. His voice was falling into that robotic tone it took one when he went into them.

"So beautiful…but so fucking ugly on the inside. Vile and repulsive in ever sense of the words. Her and her high little friends, laughing at me and making my life hell because they had nothing better to occupy their time with. She made me sick. Her physical attractiveness was a pretty mask for the filth that lay beneath the surface. What a horribly excuse for a human being…She didn't deserve that beauty!" The hand that wasn't running over Edgar's face clinched into a fist at his side. His voice went from electronic to furious in a matter of seconds.

Edgar was used to Johnny's sudden mood swings. In a few moments he, would calm down.

Do you think they fucked before he tore out her spleen?

I'm ignoring you.

Ooh, how mature.

Slowly, Johnny's anger faded, and the robotic tone returned to his voice. He stared Edgar in the eyes; cold black meeting soft brown.

"But you…you are perfection. You're a kind, caring person. Unjudgemental, accepting and understanding. An ideal human being. You are perfect on the inside," he drug a finger softly down the length of Edgar's scar, "even if your physical appearance is flawed."

Whoa.

Edgar's mind was racing, but he couldn't get his mouth to respond.

You know, that's probably the closest you'll ever get him to saying he loves you.

Nny…loves me…

Wow, you catch on fast.

Heh, he said you're the 'ideal human being'.

Why is that funny, Edgar was almost afraid to ask

Because a homicidal maniac has the hots for you.

The show was drawing to a close. John Smith had been convicted of 3rd degree murder, and was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of peroll. The ending credits and 'Thanks-To's began rolling up the screen.

Nny sat up, the warmth leaving Edgar's legs, and pulled him self up to sit on Edgar's lap. Edgar's face took on a noticeable pink tinge.

"Happy birthday, Edgar.", and he placed at quick, awkward kiss on his cheek.

It was the best birthday he could remember having in a long time.