The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

38

"I really only usually have coffee in the morning."

Jonathan's answering stare is so intense, I practically squirm in my seat.

"Not anymore," he says simply.

I watch him in the kitchen, my legs swinging where I sit on the counter in a turtleneck sweater — pulled up high — and sweatpants. He chops bell peppers and whisks eggs until they're fluffy and arranges fresh fruit in a big glass bowl. Serves everything up on large platters — omelettes and whole grain toast, avocado, Greek yoghurt and fruit salad and pitchers of orange juice and herbal tea. Jars of artisanal honey and preserves.

I tell him, "You're being ridiculous."

He says, "Sienna, if you're going to be carrying my child, I need to know you're in good health. I'll also find you a good quality iron supplement and cod liver oil." He kisses me softly on the head as he carries the food past. "I won't let anything happen to you."

I sigh gently. "Maybe we can compromise."

"No. You'll do as I say."

Before I can protest any further, Harleen appears, already dressed in a shirt and slacks, stretching her arms in a yawn.

"Ooh, are those eggs?" She asks, skipping over to the table where Jonathan lays out the food.

"Yes. And coffee's coming right up," I say pointedly, jumping down to the floor and approaching Jonathan's coffee machine.

There's so many contraptions and buttons and dials, I don't even know where to begin.

He stands behind me and holds me by the shoulders, lightly amused. "Sit down, Sienna. I'll make coffee if you eat something."

My lips twitch. "See? Compromise."

"Go sit down before I change my mind."

I'm quick to obey, serving up some yoghurt and berries and drizzling with honey while Harleen eagerly plates up almost all the eggs.

She says, "So. What did you guys do last night? Did Doctor Crane show you his big snake?"

I drop my spoon and it clatters to the floor.

"I mean, isn't it huge?" Harleen continues.

With my cheeks burning red, I duck down to pick the spoon up. Thankfully, Jonathan's blasting the milk frother, and I can only pray he didn't hear.

"Harleen," I hiss.

"What?" She chews on her food. Lowers her voice, eyes boring into mine. "Don't tell me you were making creepy fear ba—"

"We'll talk later," I whisper, glancing pointedly at where Jonathan's tactfully pouring coffee.

Harleen nods, winks, and gives me the thumbs up.

"What do you want to do today?" I ask her in an attempt to steer the subject elsewhere. "Is the apartment open again yet?"

"Oh, I actually need to head into work. If you could just drive me to the station, Doctor C, that'd be great."

"Work?" I ask, puzzled. "It's Saturday. You're not rostered on weekends."

Her cheeks pinken slightly. "Just wanted to get some overtime, that's all."

The fresh colour in her cheeks catches my attention, highlighting the rest of her face. "Harleen, are you wearing lipstick?"

Jonathan sets a cup of coffee in front of me, placing his hand at my back as he does so. "That'll be no trouble," he tells Harleen, who beams gratefully now she's avoided my line of questioning.

I think for a moment as I sip, while Jonathan takes a seat with us. I'd surmised Harleen has something of a crush on the Joker — she's not one to hide things like that very well. But I'd also known she's capable of handling herself, even with the most manipulative mastermind Arkham's ever seen. Do I need to worry?

I'll have to say something to her. Find out what's going on in her mind, make sure he's not taking advantage of her. But then I think — that might make me a hypocrite. Nothing about my situation with Doctor Crane exactly seems ethical, no matter what I write for my dissertation. And I don't want to preach or come across as condescending.

"And you, Sienna?" Jonathan asks me. "We'll have some time to kill today before the Ballet. What would you like to do?"

I think. "I'll need to get a new phone, for starters."

"We'll head into the city, then." Jonathan clears our plates and stacks them neatly beside the sink. "I'll go get ready."

"Thanks, Doctor C," Harleen says, dusting her hands together.

I walk to the sink once Jonathan's gone and begin to wash up. It's the least I can do after all his effort — and after the weeks he's spent doing the dishes at my apartment while I sleep.

Harleen grabs a tea towel and nudges me in the ribs with excitement. "So, how was it?!"

Heat rises to my cheeks as I recall everything that happened. There's no way I'll ever be able to voice the specifics of last night's interaction.

"I enjoyed it," I say, lowering my voice in case Jonathan returns.

Harleen must be thinking along the same lines as she checks over her shoulder. "Sienna, he seems super obsessed with you."

If you only knew the half of it. "He's pretty great," I admit in a murmur.

"So what's the issue?"

He might have killed my ex-boyfriend. And driven at least three people to madness. He's powerful enough to take down the freaking Batman, and he's basically a full-time supervillain.

"I don't know if I'm a good person when I'm with him," I say quietly.

Harleen says, "There are no good people. Only people who have good hearts and do good things. You're one of those people, Sienna, no matter what freaky shit you and Doctor Fear get up to in bed."

"Harleen!"

"I mean it," she shrugs. "I mean, Batman tried attacking you! And he's meant to be the paragon of good. It's all performative. Look at what Doctor Crane did for us last night. Took us in, fed and clothed us — I've never worn such comfortable underwear in all my life. And if he still isn't right for you, the spirits will send us a sign. I know it."

I don't have the heart to tell Harleen that Jonathan is the spirits, so I simply wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tight.

"I love you, Harleen."

"And I love you." She rubs her hands across my back, then pulls her head away to lean out the window. "And if any reporters are out there listening, that does not mean we're in a relationship!" Satisfied, she pulls back, then glances me up and down. "He get you any other clothes?"

Enough to fill three hundred square feet of closet space. "Yes."

"Thank god, because you cannot go to the ballet like that."

I roll my eyes. "I can take a hint. I'll go change."

"Yes. But don't be too quick," she calls out. "I want to finish the novel from the spare room before we leave."

I realise I've forgotten to ask her about the Joker. But as I look at her lit up, beaming face, I can't bear to do it. To see it fall.

Another time.

"I'll take extra long," I promise, as I leave the room.