His Darling Assistant

Part 2: Safe With Me

It had been almost a month since you started working for Dr. Crane at Arkham Asylum, and you had settled into a sort of routine with him. Your days together consisted of a lot of reading patient files and sorting them away, as Dr. Crane was creating a new filing system, claiming the asylum director before him was a clutter-minded fool. At first, you laughed at his fastidiousness, thinking surely it couldn't be that bad, but a week into the reorganization, you began to side with him, finding files completely out of order, stuffed into anywhere Dr. Crane's predecessor could find space.

You would have lunch together at the cheap cafe across the street and talk about whatever came up. Conversation came easy with Dr. Crane, almost too easy. You would often lose yourself in his voice as he'd explain the complex functions of the amygdala or the way the hallucinogen he was working on would work. You liked to think he did the same with you, as you'd notice the gaze he'd give you as you would talk.

If the pair of you had been particularly productive, Dr. Crane would take you to the lower levels to see the inmates and take notes on their conditions and hallucinations. You loved to see Dr. Crane when he would work with his patients. He was gentle and compassionate with them, and he understood their brains on a level that you could only hope to reach someday.

Sometimes he would even take you to see the inmates he tested his hallucinogen on. You remembered the first time he had brought you to see them, you were shocked to see the fear in their eyes, and you asked the doctor why he would inflict that on anyone, but he had explained that he only experimented on the criminals who deserved it. Seeing as you weren't entirely convinced, he would show you their files and their crimes, and you came to understand that they were serving a greater purpose.

You would often leave Dr. Crane in his office at the end of the day, as he would tell you he had much more work to do and that he would close up once he finished. You worried about him, especially in the mornings when you'd arrive to find him dozing at his desk. You would hope that he wasn't spending his nights at the asylum, but you knew he was anyway. You would do everything in your power to lessen his workload, but it was never enough, as it was often your job to wake him gently from his desk, glasses askew, papers spread about as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and thanked you.

For now, you focused on finishing the filing system, hoping that once that was done, the weight on your Dr. Crane's shoulders would lessen, and he would be able to rest again.

+++

A knock on his door jolted Jonathan from his slumber. With a start, he realized he had fallen asleep at his desk at Arkham, his notes and reports strewn across his desk, glasses askew. He adjusted his glasses as another knock pierced the silence. He checked the time, realizing how late it was. Who could be at my office at this hour?

He opened the door to see you glancing up at him panting, your eyes frantic and wide. You were shaking. Without a word, he grabbed his coat from behind the door and draped it over your shoulders, closing the door as you glanced behind your shoulder, seemingly paranoid.

"I'm sorry, Doctor-"

"What for?"

"Well, it's late, and I didn't think you'd be in, but I had nowhere else-"

"Nowhere else to go," Dr. Crane finished your sentence. He knew the feeling well, and felt a swooping feeling in his stomach at the thought of you finding his office a safe place. You let out a violent shiver, and he silently reprimanded himself for thinking of trivial things like that when you were this shaken.

"Are you alright?" he asked you, placing his hands on your shoulders. To his surprise, you pulled him in and laid your head on his shoulder. He hesitantly put his arms around you, holding you close. The sound of his heart beating surrounded you, and your breathing slowed.

"What happened?"

"I'm sorry," you repeated.

"Please don't be. You didn't do anything wrong." He resisted the urge to run his fingers through your hair.

"It's the fear, doctor," you whispered, "I'm terrified and I hate it."

He asked you what happened, and you realized, somewhere in the back of your frazzled mind, that he had called you by your first name for the first time.

"He's back and he was following me, calling my name. I was so scared, I didn't want to walk home because he'd know where I-"

"Who's back? Who's doing this to you?" Jonathan was whispering, although he didn't know why.

"My ex," you whispered back, "Joseph Sharpe. He came back to Gotham, and he wants to take me away. He was saying he was s-sorry and that I knew he was the best I'd ever have and that I should take him back if I knew what is best for me"

Jonathan felt his blood boil at the thought of anyone who would lay their hands on his assistant, and he struggled to stay calm and keep his voice soft.

"Did he follow you here?"

"Yes, maybe, I don't know. I'm sorry, Dr. Crane, I didn't mean to lead him to you." You broke away from his embrace, and Jonathan's chest suddenly felt cold where your warmth had been. You peered out of his window to the streets below as he stood next to you, noticing a man with dark hair in a long coat, pacing back and forth at the entrance to the Asylum.

"Is that him?"

"Yes."

Crane was suddenly filled with a deep hatred towards the man.

"Let me walk you home."

"Thank you so much, but I can't," you turned to face him, "it's only a couple of blocks away. He'll know where I live."

"I meant my home," said the doctor, returning your gaze, "you can spend the night in my guest room. only if you feel safe with me of course."

"Of course I feel safe with you, but then he'll know where you live."

"That's alright. I can take care of myself."

You looked at your hands.

"I can't thank you enough, Dr. Crane."

"There's no need," Crane replied, taking your hand and leading you to the door, "and call me Jonathan. Please."

"Thank you Jonathan."

"The pleasure's mine," he replied, leading you out of Arkham. As you passed Joseph Sharpe, Jonathan felt you shrink into his side, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, glancing back at Sharpe's vexed face. He knew he would follow them to his house, and he knew that he would be ready to confront him as soon as you weren't there. He would ensure Joseph Sharpe regret ever laying his hands on you if it was the last thing he did.