Chapter Text
Rain pelted against my skylight, waking me up an hour before my alarm had a chance to. With heavy eyelids, I peered up at the gray sky taunting me through my window. The dull atmosphere was typical of an early morning in Gotham. For having woken me up, the pitter-patter of raindrops seemed to be paradoxically lulling me back to sleep. Going back to my slumber was a tempting option, but I couldn’t. If I went back to sleep then there was no chance I’d be awake in time for work. I force myself up and pull my horribly comfortable blankets off my body. The sudden chill of no central heating in late fall hit me immediately. The hum of my feeble space heater causes me to scowl in its direction. Despite myself, I powered through the frigidness to begin getting ready for the day. Since I woke up early, I decided to take a much-needed shower. The water was unbearably cold, though it eventually warmed up to be somewhat tolerable. I kept my shower relatively short while still being efficient. Still, in my towel, I made myself a cup of coffee and went without food, feeling too lazy to make something. I knew it would bite me in the ass later, but I didn’t care. Surely I’d find time to eat something at work.
After finishing my coffee, I began to root through my drawers and closet to find an appropriate work outfit. I rolled my eyes with a slight smile at my old low-cut crop tops from my college days at Gotham State. Passing over those, I grabbed a black turtleneck, brown tights, and a long, tan wool skirt. The Arkham Asylum dress code isn’t overly strict. Business casual-ish is typically the best point of reference. Or, at least it is for me. My eyes grazed across my shoes before settling on my typical footwear choice. Slipping on my worn brown, leather loafers, I trudged back over to my bathroom, brushed my teeth and hair, did my daily skincare, and threw on some minimal makeup. It wasn’t much, but having a little routine and stability helps me to forget that I have to work with psychopaths every day.
I completed high school early at 16 and began college at 17. I graduated from Gotham State at 20 and Gotham Proper Medical School at 24. Of course, my parents and family always encouraged me through this process, but I never really got the normal experience of being a teenager and a young adult. I was always the youngest person in the room, and I still am. I had to grow up much quicker to be taken seriously by not only my fellow students but also my professors. After graduating, I tried to get a residency at a children’s mental facility outside of Metropolis, but, of course, I couldn’t have that. Now I’m less than a year into my residency at the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane. It has been one of the most painful and unrewarding experiences in my entire life. All of my friends from med school and college are off doing normal things, not dealing with murders and maniacs daily. Must be nice. Maybe it would be tolerable if the patients actually showed improvement, but just as soon as they’re getting better, they’d kill their cellmate or something horrible like that.
My coworkers aren’t much help either. Most of the medical staff have completely given up on their patients, and others are almost just as crazy as the inmates. Some literally were, such as my old colleague, Harleen Quinzel, previously Doctor Harleen Quinzel. She “fell in love” with one of our most notorious patients, Jack Oswald White, more commonly known as The Joker . Harleen has made working at Arkham somehow more obnoxious without even being here. All of the staff has to receive a bimonthly mental health check-up because of her. If they don’t pass, then they are immediately put on unpaid administrative leave. As one could imagine, working at an asylum for the criminally insane doesn’t exactly bode well for mental health. Therefore, we’re constantly understaffed and new people come in and out all too often. The only consistent staff members are Senior Psychiatrist Fran Urswick, a kind and remarkably patient woman in her mid-sixties, a simple-minded, but well-meaning security officer named Kennard Walsh, and the ever-mysterious and sharp Doctor Jonathan Crane. Crane is my, and the rest of the medical staff’s, supervisor. He’s a slender man, perhaps in his mid to late thirties, maybe early forties, with brown hair lightly speckled with gray, large blue eyes, hollow cheeks, strikingly high cheekbones, and a predominate nose, almost like a crow.
When I first met Doctor Crane, I had actually thought he was quite attractive. I’ve always had a problem with acquiring a little schoolgirl crush on those in authority. His mysterious demeanor and unique look lured me in, but I soon realized he was actually just a dick. Thanks to my age, he has never taken me seriously. Often referring to me as “girl”, or “Miss” followed by my last name, or by my first name, intentionally never calling me “Doctor”, no matter how many times I’ve corrected him. Even worse, he refers to the rest of the med staff by their proper titles. It’s so clear that he is making a conscious choice to disrespect me. It’s no wonder that we’re always low-staffed with his shining personality to greet them as soon as they’re hired.
Even better, Crane lives a block from where I live. I found this out when I had to bring a disingenuous “Get Well Soon!” card from the staff to his apartment when he was on bed rest after getting attacked by an inmate. As such, I nearly always see him on my daily commute. Even worse, my apartment is above a Vietnamese restaurant that he just so happens to frequent. One could imagine my surprise when I’m headed out for a girl’s night in a less-than-work-appropriate outfit and I see Crane of all people. I was usually able to avoid him when I saw he was there, but trying to get down the stairs in heels made looking out for him slip my mind. I hadn’t a clue of what to say to him, or if I should even say anything at all. We made eye contact and I blasted out of there without even thinking. As expected, neither of us has brought it up since. What would even be said? I don’t even know if he recognized me. I hope he didn’t, but something in my gut tells me he did. I hate to wonder what was running through his mind. I am hopeful that his only thought of seeing me like that was disgust or some other kind of disdain. I don’t know if I could stomach any other reality.
Regardless of my contempt for my supervisor, I had to head to work. The one nice thing about working at Arkham is that when you worked at Arkham, you can work anywhere. All I had to do was power through the next three and a half years, give or take. Then, I can work anywhere I want in the whole country. Doctor Urswick said the last person put on residency here went on to work at this huge, cushy privately funded mental hospital in New York. This specific hospital is notably difficult to get into and usually only hires those with 15+ years of experience. However, because he worked at Arkham, they gave him the job immediately. Just a few more years, I remind myself as I search for my umbrella and raincoat. Just hold out and try not to get killed by an inmate. Make it through and resist killing Crane in the process. I find my umbrella and coat, grab my purse by the door, step out, lock up, and I’m off for the day.
Walking down the stairs, I check my phone to see the time and my eyes widen. I had lost track of time. My train, the only train that goes back and forth to Arkham Island, comes at 6:45 and it was already 6:35. Even then, it's typically early and it only comes to my stop every hour and a half. The train stop is a 15-minute walk away, so I had to run. I quickly zipped up my raincoat, put up my umbrella, and started sprinting. The rain was coming down hard. I was scared I was gonna fall on the slippery sidewalk. My hood had flipped up from the wind and my hair and face were getting soaked. I tried to put the hood back up while running, but in the process, my grip on my umbrella loosened and was taken away by the wind. I didn’t have time to run back and get it, so I powered through like I always do. Thankfully, I made it to my stop just in time. I entered the train car and slumped down in my seat with a sigh, my heart still beating from running. As my mind settles, I look up and I jump back in shock as I see Doctor Crane sitting across from me. I shouldn’t be surprised, we usually sit near each other on our morning commute. Not because we’re friends, mostly just because it feels like we have to since we’re coworkers.
“God,” I breathe out, “I’m sorry, Doctor Crane. You scared me there. I’ve just… had a rough morning,”
He looks me up and down, staying quiet for just a moment.
“I can tell,” He says flatly, not looking very entertained.
I don’t know what else to say so I just force out a huffed laugh and go to look at my phone. I opened the camera app and to say I looked a mess was an understatement. My hair was completely out of whack and my mascara dripped down my face. I rummaged through my purse to find a makeup wipe or at least a tissue, but I couldn’t find anything. I didn’t want to have to use my sleeve either. So, I let out another sigh and decided to use my last resort. Crane and I usually sit in silence for our shared morning train ride. It was seldom we ever talked, and if we did it was your typical “good morning” or we’d talk about something that happened at work. I’d actually gotten him to crack a slight smile once when I brought up something stupid a guard did. Regardless, I looked up from my purse to speak to him and ask if he had a tissue.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you hav-”
I didn’t have to finish my question, he was already holding a handkerchief out in front of me. Who the hell still uses handkerchiefs? He does. He’s weird like that, I guess.
“Oh, um, thank you,” I meekly accepted the cloth, not used to him ever doing anything nice.
“Keep it. I wouldn’t want something you dirtied back,” He says nonchalantly despite vaguely suggesting that I am unclean.
I just nod and lower my gaze to the fabric in my hands. The handkerchief looks very well made, perhaps even a bit expensive looking. Strange that he was so unfazed by giving it away. Maybe the state pays supervisors better. It was a pleasing off-white, easily made from some kind of silk-cotton blend with an embroidered orange marigold at the corner. I take my phone back out and look at myself in the camera as I wipe the mascara from under my eyes. It does a surprisingly good job of cleaning things up. I use the rest of the train ride to place my hair in at least a somewhat presentable manner. I don’t care what my coworkers think of me, but I’ve learned that what the patients need is consistency. It's the only way they respect you. If you look like shit, they treat you like shit. If you look put together, most of the time they treat you like you’re put together. Of course, no matter what I look like, I’m never free from inappropriate comments. Whether they’re of a sexual or violent connotation, I’ve learned to ignore them.
Before I knew it, we were already on Arkham Island. The walk from the stop usually to the asylum wasn’t bad, but that’s when it's not raining. I stand under the protection of the train platform for a moment, preparing myself to head back out into the rain. At least I wouldn’t have to run this time. Just as I’m about to step out into the downpour I hear an exasperated sigh from behind me. I turn my head to see Crane walking towards me with his umbrella. I fully expect him to walk past me, but he doesn’t. He stands next to me, his umbrella moved slightly to his side so it is covering both of us. He doesn’t look at me and just begins walking again. I assume, and hope, he had stopped to tell me to come with him, not to just tease me with the fact that he had an umbrella and I didn’t. I didn’t ask. He wasn’t saying anything, so neither did I… until he did.
“Awfully discombobulated this morning, girl. If it wasn’t before work hours I’d have to write you up.” He says to me, clearly pleased with himself.
“I’m sorry. I assure you that I am fairly embarrassed by my state this morning. Although, not everyone has to see their boss before work every day.” I respond with equal passive aggression to his.
He pauses, thinking for a moment.
“If it's really such a bother you can take the earlier train,” He says as if that train doesn’t come at 5:15 in the morning.
I don’t even respond. He knows exactly what he’s doing saying that. If taking that train was a viable option then he would take that train. And I’m not about to humor him with an equally snarky response. The walk from the station was around twenty minutes long. Usually, I’d just stick my headphones in and enjoy the stroll, but today was different. Today I was touching shoulders with Jonathan Crane under his umbrella. As we trudged up the walkway I noticed some things. First was the faint scent of a rich cologne coming off of Jon. It wasn’t like typical men’s cologne, it was richer… sweeter. I couldn’t pinpoint the actual scent but it felt like the comfort of a warm cup of coffee on a cold day. Second was his hands. They were a lot larger than I would have thought, then again I’d have no reason to think of his hands. It wasn’t just the size of his hands though that caught my eye. They were very callused like he was doing manual labor with them. He also had little cuts and burns littered up his hand, wrists, and assumedly beyond, but I couldn’t be sure since his sweater was covering that. He dawned a yellowish-white dress shirt and patterned tie with a brown sweater overtop and a russet tweed sportscoat over that with tan slacks and leather dress shoes. Of course, he was also wearing his signature black-framed browline glasses that sat on his strong nose bridge. I suppose he was a sight to behold.
When we finally got there he shook his umbrella out, clocked in for the day in the system, and headed off to do god knows what without even saying goodbye. It wasn’t like I was going to say goodbye either, but I only didn’t say it because he didn’t say it. I know it's childish, but I don’t care. I tried to ignore the loss of his scent and the sensation of his arm rubbing up against mine. I went on to clock into the system and graze over my schedule for the day. I had meetings with several patients, typical, and a movie event is being held for orderlies from 3-5. Thankfully, I wouldn’t have to be on deck for that, but that means my meeting with a more… complicated patient would be moved to later in the evening and most of the security staff would be preoccupied with the movie event. I felt a pit in my gut about it all, and my gut is usually right, but I chose to ignore it and get on with the day.