Forbidden Moons-He worries too much. It's sweet, though. I do not worry too much. I worry exactly the right amount! I can take care of myself, you know that. All it's going to take is someone picking you up and that's it! Fusspot. Humph.

E. Vedica-CAAAAAAAAKE. First times are memorable, not necessarily exciting.

Harvey gives Jim a Look and hisses, "Why."

Okay. Jim can't entirely blame him for not wanting to come. But too bad. It's not like it'll be that terrible, anyway. A couple of questions, and they'll be on their merry way. This isn't even official or anything, technically.

They stop outside the hospital room in time to hear, "-and I could see her lookin' about to ask for help, and I…I'm not a good person love, I'm so sorry, I turned 'round and speedwalked into another aisle."

Huh?

There's wheezing and coughing and a rasped, "Don't make me laugh, Kitty, it really hurts."

"Sorry…but anyway, that's why we don't have ice cream at home."

O-kay, then. You know what, he doesn't want to know.

He makes Harvey knock-Harvey's knocks are scarier, and the look of betrayal is hilarious-and calls, "GCPD, can we ask a few questions?"

"Come in."

Crane looks tired and washed out but lucid and decidedly annoyed. Jim can't entirely blame him-Arkham has enough problems without a fire, and Crane has been busy. Last time they met was shortly after a near-breakout, actually, and the place has only taken more patients since then.

But there was that fire-Firefly, funnily enough-and he's now here for observation. Jim's hoping the nurses won't throw them out before they're through.

"What did you-" Crane interrupts himself with a dry hack. "need. My apologies, I lost my voice."

"I told you not to call and demand information…" Richardson sighs. Crane jabs a skeletal finger against her forehead and she laughs, swats him off.

"She's not helping."

"I suffered Wal-Mart for you! Alone! It was Hell, literal Hell, and that's the thanks I get? Fine. I'm reading the next few chapters of Doctor Sleep without you."

Crane turns, if possible, paler.

"Kitty…"

She rolls her eyes and pats his head.

"Relax, love, I wouldn't. What did you need?"

"Just a couple of questions." Harvey keeps shooting Jim looks as though it's his fault they're here. Which, okay, it kind of is, but Haaaarv Firefly was supposedly sedated how did he get out and set Arkham on fire? How is that not suspicious?

Crane shrugs, thin fingers shredding a tissue in his lap, and turns unblinking eyes to Jim.

"Of course."

Jim's not gonna lie, Crane…really, really creeps him out. He doesn't blink. There's no family to be found, not even a random cousin. And it's weird that all it takes to control even the more violent inmates is his turning up. Charitable people would say he's clearly good at his job, that his presence is calming and means that all will be right with the world.

Jim is not charitable.

"Firefly is responsible?" Crane nods. "How? Wasn't he sedated?"

Crane visibly counts to ten, patting the shredded tissue into a little mound on the blankets.

"I do not expect you to understand the finer points of psychopharmacology." he rasps, and now Jim's pretty sure he's not blinking on purpose. "I do, however, expect you to understand that it is not 'insert medicine iiiiin-" He coughs and tries again. "Into patient, receive instantly docile individual'. For the more violent inmates such as Mister Lynns, a sufficient surge of adrenaline may keep them awake-and destructive-for a longer period. Long enough, in this case, to get his hands on some highly volatile materials and nearly burn the place to the ground."

Hm. He'll have to look into that.

"There's no way he might have…I don't know, not taken anything?"

Richardson snorts.

"We use needles as much as possible to avoid that risk." she says shortly. "And I assure you that my nurses are competent individuals. Arkham is an underfunded asylum, Detectives. There are dangerous, occasionally…unusual…individuals in it."

"Accidents will happen." Crane finishes, and the way he says it is just…Jim's getting warning sirens. "If you want to ask me aaaaanyth-anything else, I will be spending the next few days at home."

"With a pen and paper. Stop talking."

He shrugs and drops his tissue-mound in the trash can.

"Good afternoon, Detectives."

THE END