The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

50

The Joker seems intent on making my life difficult.

I'm informed the next day that he's suffering from bronchitis and refusing to meet with staff. And again the next day. And the next.

"This is ridiculous," I tell the nurse on his floor. "I have to give forensic testimony next week as to his mental condition, I haven't even begun my interviews yet, and the estimated minimum time is eight hours total. That's assuming limited scope, collateral information, and total cooperation — which the Joker is not known for."

"I'm sorry, Miss Moore," the nurse says, and to her credit she does look upon me with pity. "I'm just doing my job. You'll need written and signed authority from the Head of Psychiatry to overrule the patient's wishes."

I head to the break room for a coffee refill, deciding caffeine is a more appropriate method of relieving my frustration than punching a wall. I pull out my phone to text Jonathan — then stop myself. I don't want to abuse the relationship that I have with him — loosely defined though it may be — for work privileges. There needs to be boundaries.

So I head down to his office instead. Knock at the door.

"Come in, Sienna."

I frown as I enter. "How did you know it was me?"

"Your noisy footsteps, as always." He glances up from behind his desk. "Is everything alright?"

"I need to see the Joker," I tell him. "I have to give testimony in his trial, and he's not seeing anybody."

Jonathan frowns and rifles through a pile of paperwork, shift timetables and documentation. "I thought Doctor Quinzel took over his psychological care?"

"She has," I say. "But he won't cooperate to let her give the recommendation... he says it has to be me."

Jonathan's knuckles suddenly turn white. "I'll ensure you won't be the one giving the recommendation. Leave it with me."

I blink. "What? Why not?"

"Because I know the Joker well enough not to trust him," Jonathan says. "And I won't allow you to be a target."

"So, what?" I ask incredulously. "Are you going to have the trial postponed indefinitely?"

He smiles calmly. "If I must."

"You can't do that. It would be entirely unprofessional, not to mention I'll never be taken seriously here because..."

"Because what?"

I blush. Fold my arms across my chest. "Because everyone here will know I'm... I'm..."

He raises an eyebrow. "Sienna, it's imperative we can be open with one another."

I suck in a breath. "Everyone will know I'm sleeping with the boss."

His brow pulls together in confusion. Then he says, "We work in different departments. Doctor Mitchell's head psychologist here, she is your boss."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, but she spends all her time at the University. And everything goes through you, anyway."

"Exactly," he says, smiling once more. "Everything goes through me. And I'll handle the Joker."

"You won't get very far." I debate for a moment whether to tell Jonathan. Then his words echo in my ears. It's imperative we can be open with one another. I trust him. "I owe the Joker a favour. I believe that's why he wants me to give the testimony."

I expect to be chastised. Or at least, interrogated further. But Jonathan leans back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "Interesting. If he's intending to call on a favour for his recommendation, that means the Joker wants to be transferred to Blackgate."

"He wants to go to prison?" I ask, confused. "But why? I thought Arkham was like a second home to him."

"More of a first home, actually," Jonathan says. "He spends more time here than anywhere else in Gotham. Usually only breaks out when he's organising a job. I've suspected he has ulterior motives since his arrival here. It's not like the Joker to allow himself to be caught. Not for a jewellery robbery of all things."

I think for a moment. "Which means Blackgate's been his goal since he arrived here."

"Unless," Jonathan counters, "That's exactly what he wants us to think."

I groan softly. "I've studied the workings of the human mind for almost a decade, and still I couldn't even begin to guess what goes on in his head."

"Which is exactly why he belongs here, at Arkham."

I'm quiet for a moment. "You think I should recommend he stays here?"

"I think we should consider all possibilities," Jonathan says, his gaze steady. "The Joker is a master of manipulation, and his motives are unpredictable. We need to be cautious."

I nod, absorbing his words. "You'll let me give the testimony? Conduct an assessment?"

His lips twitch. "With caveats."

I should have known. "More microphones?" I guess.

"You have no proof of any existing microphones. Maybe I'm just very intuitive."

I bite back the arguments that come to my tongue, needing to focus on the Joker. "What caveats?"

"Additional security measures during your sessions. And I shall be present for all of them."

I ask, "You think I can't handle him myself?"

He says, "Of course I know you can, dearest. But the Joker is an incredibly unpredictable individual, and I refuse to take unnecessary risks where your safety is concerned."

His concern sends flutters through my stomach. "Okay."

Jonathan turns his gaze back to his paperwork. "I'll have the trial postponed, to give you more time to prepare."

"Thank you, Doctor Crane."

"My pleasure." And then, with all the nerves of a boy in High School, Jonathan asks, "Would you like to spend time together this evening?"

"Of course," I answer, far too quickly. I clear my throat. "Our research session?"

"Actually, I wondered if you'd be okay if we held off until next week before resuming our research." He twists the pen in his fingers, like he's still nervous. "This evening I'd like to cook you dinner, and watch a movie together. If you'd like."

I answer him honestly. "I'd love that."

He smiles at me, his features relaxing, and I almost melt. "Very well. I'll see you after work."

"Very well."

I'm ready to leave, and then I'm struck by a surge of courage. I walk behind Jonathan's desk and he looks up at me in surprise, then his gaze darkens. I lean down to where he's sat and bring my lips to his, my hand grasping his tie and pulling him close. The taste of him spreads across my lips, and I can almost feel the heat rising through him, through me, as we part. He pulls me in again and we begin to make out, his shoulders rising and falling as we both get carried away.

Reluctantly, I pull away, and note the clench of his jaw, the way he fidgets in the seat.

"Will, uh, will that be all, Miss Moore?" He asks, straightening his pen, cheeks flushed.

"That's all, sweetie." I smile. "See you after work."