AN: Carry a coin (preferably an old coin) for luck and prosperity. Harvey's clearly got this down…if you count 'bank robbery' as 'prosperity'.
Really, being locked up in Arkham isn't that bad. Well, now it isn't. Not now that it has a shiny new director that believes in 'art therapy' and 'self-expression' (within reason, murder and self-harm are strictly forbidden) and 'the power of fresh air'.
Jonathan is bored, but not miserable, when Batman drops him back in there. At least, not at first. But then. Then it becomes very apparent that the current director is an unqualified, untrained sucker. How he got the job is a mystery. How he keeps the job is another. How he continues to breathe…that's a riddle for the ages. The orderlies are likely to join the inmates for an hour or two of Looney Tunes, for Heaven's sake! What sort of business are they running?
The first time they…check out early…he's willing to acknowledge that all right, they know all the little ways in and out of the place. The second time, he starts judging. The fourth time, when they come back and find several garden-variety murderers out?
Something has to be done.
He lets himself into his old office (this imbecile painted the walls-that's it. That is it. This cannot go on.), settles himself into the now-uncomfortable desk chair, and waits. Soon enough, Director Skinner comes in, goes white, and visibly swallows down the urge to run.
"Director." He folds his hands on the desk and nods at the couch. "Sit. We have things to discuss."
"Jonathan-"
"Doctor. Crane." He is not going to kill him. Not yet. "We've discussed that." What is that, is that Picasso? He detests Picasso…looks like a four-year-old got into a pack of crayons… "We really need to do something about your escape record."
"You're not in charge here, now, Jonathan," Skinner tries. Really. He'd had no idea. Truly, this is a terrible shock.
"I do not suffer from delusions, Director Skinner," he says quietly. "Nor am I a child. The fact remains that I had, in my years here, exactly four escapes. You have had, in a single year-twelve months, if that's easier to fathom-eleven. Fourteen, if you count my…multiple exits. And every time one of us gets out, people suffer, as does your reputation-what is that."
There's something shiny in Skinner's hand. He stands up and plucks it away.
It turns out to be an old wheat penny, scrubbed shiny from being fiddled with. Jonathan resists the urge to either facepalm or face-slap Skinner.
"Lucky penny?" he asks, carrying it back to the desk. "It must work…you're still alive." Skinner has nothing to say to that. Jonathan hopes it stays that way. He can't take much more stupidity. "Then again-"
"You broke into my office because you have concerns about my management skills?"
He. Is. Calm. So calm. He is as a pond on a still day.
He is probably going to end up in solitary when this is all over, and he doesn't care anymore.
"Did no one ever teach you that interrupting people is rude?" He palms the coin and fixes Skinner with the flattest stare he can manage. No blinking. It unsettles people, the lack of blinking. Makes them less prone to talking out of turn. "Now. We need to discuss why your methods-whatever they might be-aren't working-"
The door flies open. Jonathan sighs and plunks his head down on the desk. He'll never try to help someone ever again. People are too obtuse to be helped.
Interestingly enough, they don't find the penny, and Skinner appears to have forgotten about it in the excitement. He keeps it, intending to, perhaps, stuff it down the man's throat at a later date.
He doesn't get the chance. Not two days after their interrupted chat, Skinner runs afoul of Victor Zsasz. Very messy. Causes an awful lot of confusion.
He wonders, as they're driving away in somebody's 2004 Camry, what the new director will be like. Hopefully better than the last. If he likes them, maybe he'll give them the penny. There may be something to it, after all.
THE END