AN: We had a tourist death-heatstroke, happens every year-not long ago. So…drink lots of water, guys. Seriously. Don't hang out in the sun too long. If you get woozy, go in and drink, maybe take a cool shower.
SwordStitcher-I've tried. And you would be surprised about old women, you really would. I had a patient once that was rather...determined. In her defense, she turned out to have a brain tumor. Tragedy. I, ah...put her out of her (and my) misery.
Jasmine Scarthing-Lobotomies were not known for their success. Rosemary Kennedy was subject to one and was never herself again. Not surprising, seeing the procedure consisted scraping the brain with an ice pick inserted through the eyeball.
Gotham usually avoids the major heat waves. It's nothing like Georgia, which is a blessing.
Unfortunately, the more years he spends here, the more sensitive he gets to heat. So when the worst heat wave in thirty years hits in July, he is not prepared. And he. Is. Miserable.
It's midnight when he awakes to find himself lying on his stomach, his shirt sticking to his body and the sheet somewhere around his knees. He's slick with sweat and for a drowsy minute he wonders if he's back in Arlen, or if he's sick.
Then he realizes that the cheap floor fan they stole has finally broken.
Fuck.
He throws the slightly sticky shirt into the corner and pulls the sheet up to his lower back. After a minute, he flips the pillow over as well.
Ugh.
Why couldn't the fan have broken when the heat wave was over?
He drags himself out of bed and over to the window. The glass is still warm and there's nobody out tonight. They're all sitting inside with their working fans, he's sure. How dare they have working fans?
This just isn't fair.
Wait. Maybe he can fix the fan. How hard can it be? If he can make fear toxin, and break out of Arkham on a regular basis (not to mention stay out), he can fix the fan.
Never mind that he's not mechanically inclined. If he gets electrocuted, hopefully he ends up in the cold circle of Hell.
Okay. He'll try unplugging it and plugging it back in. Aand…no. Okay. There's nothing clogging the blades? (Can that even happen?) Maybe hitting it will help.
SMACK!
Ow…no.
"Jonathan?" Oops. "Love, what are you…what are you doing?"
"The fan broke." And it refuses to fix itself. Because it's evil. "Go back to sleep."
"Leave it alone, it was making a nasty noise yesterday."
He sighs and returns to bed, only bothering with the covers because it feels weird without them.
It's too hot. He flips the pillow yet again, shoves the blankets back down and tries to remember what the fan felt like.
THE END