Title: Scintillating Conversation
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Jonathan Crane
Rating: PG
A/N: This is the gen version of the slash story 'In Their Element' found on adultfan. .nexcess .net or on my yahoo group (see addy under profile). I took a few liberties with the movie-verse in order to fit it to my story, but nothing drastic.
Scintillating Conversation
Security for the 'Lost Children of Gotham' charity auction kept the flashing cameras at bay while the city's elite made their way down the red carpet to the entrance of the recently opened Crystal Sky Hotel. One of the tallest buildings in upper Gotham, though not quite reaching the glamorous heights of Wayne Tower, the hotel had been designed to look as if it had been carved out of a piece of crystal. It was a beacon of light during the day when the sun hit its sparkling windows, which in turn glittered at night with the light shining through them. There were curtains for those who didn't care to lodge in glass houses, but the fabric was lined with reflective crystals so the hotel never stopped shining.
The Crystal Sky was the self-proclaimed eighth wonder of Gotham, though its publicists had never fully clarified what the first seven wonders were. Still, the hotel was glamorous enough that everyone who was anyone arranged to host their social events at the Crystal Sky, with many guests choosing to take a room there for the night. It was just more convenient for those who needed quick and easy access to someplace a little more private.
Bruce Wayne was among the hotel's guests for the charity that night.
He'd been back in Gotham long enough to start mouths moving as everyone from those who'd watched him grow up to those who'd grown up on tales of him wondered about the mystery of their no longer missing Prince. Since the name 'Bruce Wayne' had been raised from the dead by its owner, the only question remaining was where had the body of Bruce Wayne been for seven years? Wherever it had been, its lips weren't talking. For the first few weeks after his return, the only surviving heir of Gotham remained locked up in his mansion and showed no signs of emerging, which drove the gossips mad.
Then, one night, and almost every night thereafter, Bruce Wayne emerged from hiding and could be found at all the hottest clubs, eating at all the fashionably expensive restaurants while accompanied by only the most desirable women. Gotham went from wondering about his past to wondering what stunt he was going to pull next. He shot to the top of the most eligible bachelor list, as well the list of most adored playboys. The body of Bruce Wayne made the front page of every gossip paper in the stands, his only rival being that of Gotham's other mysterious figure--the Batman. Between the two of them, it was an exciting time to be in Gotham, though one wouldn't think it to look at the rather solemn face of the Wayne heir as he entered the Grand Ballroom of the Crystal Sky.
Holding out a chair for his companion of the evening, Bruce settled down at one of the tables and waited for the masses to come and pay him his dues.
He loathed this part of the act.
No matter how necessary he knew it to be, he had to literally force himself to sit through it every time. It wasn't just the inherent falseness of the 'Bruce Wayne' persona, but of the entire lifestyle. There wasn't a single soul in the entire ballroom who could look at him with their true eyes. The only thing they were capable of seeing was how their reflection looked in his eyes. He wondered if the time would ever come that he'd actually be able to tell them the truth of what he saw.
Probably not, unless Gotham suddenly developed a moral conscience and no longer needed the Batman, and that was about as likely to happen as him enjoying himself at the auction that night.
As Bruce accepted the wishes of more good fortune from the Mayor, an unfamiliar man sat down in the empty seat to his right. Sipping at a flute of champagne, he began speaking to the other individuals at the table, who clearly knew him and more than willingly accepted his attention. Bruce was still too new to know by sight everyone worth knowing around town, but was surprised he hadn't seen this man before. Gotham's husband-hunters usually didn't let an eligible soul escape their social engagements, but as there wasn't a ring lingering on the young man's left ring finger, Bruce was amazed this one appeared to have avoided their clutches. Listening in on their conversation with one ear, he could tell the man was articulate, knew who to flatter and when without being obsequious about it, and definitely ranked well above the average socialite in terms of intelligence.
He was just the sort of man Bruce would want to carry on a conversation with if he hadn't been so busy playing the playboy fool who didn't welcome actual thoughts into his head. When the man finally deigned to give his attention to Bruce, Bruce offered him a smile and promptly said, "I've reserved that seat."
The man looked over him with eyes hued a brilliant blue, the irises further illuminated by silver glasses frames. There was an expression of mild amusement on his face--too pretty to be handsome, too angular to be beautiful--as he glanced at Bruce's guest sitting at his left side, then back to the Prince himself. "I didn't realize your ego required its own chair."
A deadly hush fell over the table at the man's insolent comment, but Bruce was merely entertained. Was this man trying to rile him? If so, he was going to find Bruce wasn't as easy to rile as that.
"I like to keep a chair empty for friends to sit in when they stop by."
"How very considerate of you to worry so about your friends' comfort."
"What can I say? My best trait is thoughtfulness."
"Yes," he said slowly, looking over Bruce in a way that almost made him want to squirm in his chair, "thoughtfulness." And then the man held out his hand. "Dr. Jonathan Crane."
He hesitated a moment to show he didn't entirely approve of this man's intrusion, then shook the Doctor's hand. "Bruce Wayne."
"Excellent. And now that we're friends, you won't mind me borrowing this chair for a few moments."
"Oh, so we're friends now?" he asked, letting show his enjoyment of the Doctor's brashness.
"As much as you can claim to be friends with anyone here."
Though his smile never faltered, Bruce's eyes narrowed as he caught the serious note behind the Doctor's light-hearted tone. He couldn't decide whether or not this man was being deliberately aggravating or just happened to be extremely intuitive.
"I know them better than I know you."
"Oh, you haven't met?" a young woman said from across the table, having spotted Bruce's interest in the man and decided to offer information in the hope of not being overlooked. "Dr. Crane is the youngest doctor ever to be named head of Arkham Asylum. He's the one responsible for keeping Gotham's streets safe from the criminally insane."
"You flatter me," Crane said without ever looking away from Bruce's face and effectively blocking her from the conversation, a trick he couldn't help but admire. "I was chosen because no one else would take the job. It seems that Gotham's most respected psychiatrists prefer to keep their distance from Arkham. I, on the other hand, practically live down there."
"Cheaper rent?" Bruce quipped, and Crane's good-nature thinned a little.
"Convenience. I have made a life out of trying to understand the workings of the criminal mind, and though I'm afraid my studies are far from complete, my time at Arkham brings me closer to that goal every day."
"Arkham's in the Narrows, right? Isn't that dangerous?"
"Not for me. I'm in my element down there."
"Your element?"
"Yes," Crane said, and something in his blue eyes made Bruce distinctly uncomfortable, giving him the feeling that Crane may have been a little too much in his element down there.
"I see. So, you study criminals?" Bruce said with polite interest, and Crane smiled, the movement softening the sharp features of his face, though his eyes never lost their sardonic edge.
"I study their minds, their thoughts, their instincts and their motivations. I seek to understand what it is that drives them."
"And what is it that motivates criminals?" Bruce asked, twirling the stem of his champagne glass between his thumb and forefinger, revealing to anyone still listening that his own attention was rapidly fading. His guest had already wandered off in boredom, though Bruce secretly hoped she wouldn't wander back.
"The same thing that motivates all of us," Crane said, his smile turning a touch condescending. "Fear."
A corner of Bruce's lips quirked. "Fear?"
"Yes."
"And that applies to everyone?"
"It does," Crane nodded, then gave the table a sweeping glance. "Take the people in this room, for example. Their fear is derived from their wealth and power--the fear that they'll lose it, that someone will get more of it than they have. They respond to this fear by fighting to keep what wealth and power they do have and to gain more so they'll always be on top."
"I don't know," Bruce said in a lazy drawl, "that sounds like greed to me."
"There's no difference, really. Greed is ultimately driven by fear."
"Why is it fear and not survival?"
"Do you actually need an Armani tailored tuxedo in order to survive?"
"Absolutely. I have sensitive skin, and anything less than Armani just makes me itch."
Their table companions laughed appreciatively, but Crane wasn't about to let their disdain affect him.
"Of course, your sensitive skin must absolutely come first, even if the tux that clothes it is enough to feed a family in the Narrows for a year."
"You cannot criticize the cost of my clothes when your own is clearly something you didn't just buy off the rack," Bruce said, and Crane chuckled.
"I never said I had anything against leading a luxurious life. I'm simply trying to make a point."
"If your point is that our fear is causing us to horde our wealth and power at the expense of others, why are we here at a charity auction where the goal is to raise money for those who don't have our wealth and power?" Bruce asked, and everyone at the table, who hadn't exactly been thrilled at Crane's evaluation of them, enjoyed a smug smile at his question. Crane, on the other hand, didn't falter but grew even more pleased with himself.
"I'm glad you brought that up. We're here because of an entirely different fear--fear for our immortal souls."
Bruce found himself nodding. "We're afraid our greed will send us to hell."
Crane smiled, approval of Bruce's astute deduction brightening his face. "Precisely. Criminals give in to their fears, the wealthy use money to hide from their fears--"
"And the Batman?" he couldn't help asking, and the Doctor's blue eyes practically glowed.
"Isn't it obvious? The Batman protects himself against his fears--thus the costume and the toys. He's trying to keep his fears from touching him."
"Interesting theory," Bruce said, and as he thought it over, decided it truly was an interesting theory. Was he really trying to protect himself? He'd always thought he was fighting his fears, standing up to face and ultimately control them, not trying to put up a shield against them. Maybe it was a little of both.
"Admittedly," Crane continued, "the Batman puts on a brave face to the world playing the part of the hero, but deep down, I have no doubt he's just a scared little boy trying to overcome some childhood trauma that has continued to haunt him well into his adult life."
Okay, now that was hitting a little too close to home, Bruce thought, and flashed Crane a mocking grin. "Think he got his bag of candy snatched by a couple of kids in masks on Halloween?"
"It could be something as simple as that, or it could be something much worse--abuse, neglect, abandonment. It doesn't take much to scar a child."
"Speaking from experience there, Doc?"
Crane smiled a little coldly, as if having come to expect something more from Bruce than a flippant response. "Absolutely. Most criminals I deal with have had something traumatic happen to them during their formative years which resulted in their eventual downfall and subsequent loss of humanity."
"That's a rather harsh judgment, don't you think? It almost sounds as if you think every criminal is incapable of reform."
"Not every criminal, Mr. Wayne, just most. I'm sure that you above all others here can understand how some criminals are forced into their roles by desperate situations, but should their situations have been different, they wouldn't have had to seek out their criminal status and their desperate acts never would have been committed."
Bruce's eyes darkened at Crane having brought up, even if in a roundabout fashion, the 'forbidden subject' and he realized he'd let this conversation continue for far too long. Most socialites he associated with preferred not to remember the murder of his parents because they didn't know how to fit such a serious event into their vapid world, but it appeared Crane had no qualms about mentioning it if it could gain him more insight into Bruce's mind. Already, Crane had revealed too many associations which could cause some people to reach an unwanted conclusion about himself and his alter ego if they thought hard enough about it.
However, he still felt a twinge of disappointment at having to end their discussion. Crane's insights into the criminal mind might have been a help to him, but the man was too intelligent for Bruce to risk any further questions. Crane would quickly seek out the reason for his interest and probably arrive at the correct answer, an answer Bruce definitely didn't want revealed.
Feigning anger at the Doctor's audacity in recalling to their minds the 'forbidden subject', Bruce pushed his chair away from the table. "If you'll excuse me, I think this conversation has grown a little too heavy for my tastes. It was a pleasure seeing all of you again. Dr. Crane, good luck on your work."
Bruce made his way through the ballroom and to the elevators in the lobby. He'd arranged to take the penthouse for the night, but was considering going home to his own bed when a man slipped through elevator doors just as they were about to close. "Dr. Crane?" he said, surprised at the Doctor's sudden appearance. He was certain his words earlier would have put an end to their short-lived relationship.
"Mr. Wayne. I know I'm probably the last person you wanted to see again tonight--"
"You could say that," he said sharply, as would be expected of him, but the Doctor stood his ground.
"--but I wanted to apologize for what I said. I was out of line, and I'm sorry, but even more, I'm sorry my words caused you to leave." Crane looked him over with those calculating blue eyes filled with puzzlement as well as curiosity. "You're not quite the simpleton people make you out to be, are you?"
"I've never claimed to be a simpleton," Bruce said, trying not to find the turn of events as intriguing as he did.
"But you don't want people to know how bright you are, either."
"If people think I'm intelligent, they might decide to take me seriously and start expecting more from me, and that would put a severe crimp in my social life."
"And that's all that matters to you? The expansion of your social life?"
"Dr. Crane--"
"Jonathan."
Bruce nodded, accepting the gesture meant to set him at ease as well as offering him friendship. "Jonathan, I've spent most of my years running from the 'desperate act' that ruined my childhood. I've since decided there's no point to running when I could actually be enjoying myself, and that is exactly what I've decided to do."
"In other words, you're still running, you're just going about it a different way."
Bruce sighed with the feigned impatience of a man tired of a subject that has, in his opinion, been beaten to death. "Do you always have to analyze everything everyone says, Dr. Crane? Maybe you're working too hard. Maybe you should take a page out of my book and just start having fun."
Crane smiled thinly at Bruce. "I doubt your ideas of fun and mine would coincide."
"Why is that?"
"My idea of fun involves my work."
"All the more reason for you to take a day off, Jonathan. You know what they say about all work and no play."
"I'm not going to go into a war of clichés with you, Mr. Wayne--"
"Bruce."
"Bruce," Crane nodded, accepting the returned gesture. "All I'm saying is that I'm one of the few people in the world lucky enough to have found a job I love and enjoy. I can honestly say I am content with my life. Can you?"
"Depends on what I find waiting for me in my room," Bruce said with a smirk, "and how many of them there are."
"Back into hiding you go," the Doctor said with a slow shake of his head as the elevator came to a stop on Bruce's floor. "A pity, really. You're a fascinating man, Bruce. If you find this frivolous life gets to be too much for you and you once more desire to carry on a meaningful conversation, please feel free to give me a call. You know where you can find me."
"And if you ever decide to have a little fun in your life, you know where to find me. Unless you care to join me now. . ."
Crane smiled and stepped away from the elevator's open doors. "Have a good night, Bruce."
"You as well, Jonathan," he said, and stood in the hallway, watching as the doors closed on Dr. Jonathan Crane.
Bruce wondered if he'd ever see the young doctor again, but then decided against it. It was too risky to spend time with a man that intelligent who made a career out of studying his every word. He had only to say the wrong thing once and it would all be over. No, it was definitely best to avoid Dr. Crane, which was too bad, he thought with a hint of regret. The one evening of scintillating conversation with the Doctor hadn't been near enough to make up for all the other evenings he had to spend in lesser company.
But at least he still had Alfred, who more than made up for the lack of Dr. Cranes in his life. He could always count on his old friend for intellectual conversation. Now, Bruce added with a grin, if he could only find a way to get rid of the not-so-subtle running commentary on his personal life, he'd be set.
Completed June 24, 2005