Narrative Who: Jonathan Crane Where: Arkham Asylum When: April 19, 2012 What: Jonathan says good-bye. Rating: G-PG
“Be careful with that,” Jonathan hissed at one of the idiots working for him as the man moved a tank of serum. He was supervising the moving of his laboratory, taking advantage of the night to get his things out of Arkham before someone noticed what was going on.
He had been playing it too close lately, making too many moves that he shouldn't have and if he didn’t watch out, it was all going to come back to bite him in the ass.
“That’s the last of it,” Thomas said around his toothpick, standing next to Jonathan. “You sure you want us to take this to your apartment?”
Jonathan nodded, looking around the empty space that had once housed his most precious possessions. He was disappointed he wouldn't be able to show Edward or Harley his space, but the risks were no longer worth it. Not when his big mouth and attention seeking were getting him into trouble.
“Y’know, a doctor really should be able to afford a better place then Park Row. One of these days I’m going to come to pick you up and find you dead from a muggin’,” Thomas said, clapping his boss on the back.
“A doctor really should be able to pay you,” Jonathan muttered, running a hand through his hair. “And before you mention it, I’ll get the money,”
“No worries, boss. If you don’t, I’ll just take it out in trade,” he said, nodding to the cocaine that was currently being carried out of the lab. “Or your hide, either way,” Thomas gave a wave, grabbing the last box and following the men out.
Jonathan watched them leave before sitting on a chair, running his hand over the cold metal table, giving a sigh. For hours a night, years at a time, he had worked in this lab to perfect the toxin he had created in college, and now it was all gone, boxed away and out of his daily reach.
Things were changing and Jonathan wasn’t sure he was happy with the idea...he wanted to go back to the days when he had nothing more important than spending hours under a mask, mixing chemicals to create the power to bring out a person’s nightmares.
But now he had Harley and Edward, his men and a mission.
He had a million things that distracted himself from the beauty of simply watching his toxin bubble away, fear distilled into every drop.
He hated it.
He rested his head on the table for a moment, breathing deeply the leftover scent of chemicals and the sweat of his own work, before standing and pulling off his lab coat, dropping it over a counter. He hit the light switch on his way out, locking the lab door behind him for the last time.