Sketch1997-I never had much of a sweet tooth. Probably something to do with never having much sugar. Or much of anything, for that matter.
Christineoftheopera-Status quo is God. Besides, they wouldn't believe me. Someone else tried to tell them and they thought it was hilarious. And impossible.
Johanna Crane-To be fair, she always to say something. She just can't be quiet. I can so! Not when it's important. I know you're sick when you're not talking.
"P-please. I need to see her, it's important." He coughs and catches hold of her hand with his free one. "Please."
She pities him, lying there in the grip of what the doctors seem to suspect may be a fatal fever. But they told her not to give in. They told her…
"I can't, Mr. Crane. I'm sorry."
He blinks at her, his eyes shiny and confused, and she feels her heart break for him. No matter what he's done, now he's just a very sick man.
He lets his hand fall.
"Tell her…tell her something for me." He forces another breath into his lungs and closes his eyes. When he doesn't continue, she panics and fumbles to feel for a pulse. No, not dead. Not yet.
"Mr. Crane?"
He groans and murmurs, "Kitty, please…"
That does it. A quick visit won't do any harm, and if it'll comfort a dying man…her conscience is worth something, isn't it?
"Okay. I'll bring her. But you can't say anything, please…"
"Thank you."
He falls silent and she slips out of the room. When she comes back with Richardson in tow, she knows she did the right thing.
"Jonathan?"
"Hello, Kitty." He looks a little better than he has all day, really.
"You look awful, love." She sits down beside him. "God, Jonathan…"
She breaks down sobbing and slumps over his bed. After a few minutes, she sits up, shakes her hair out of her face, and kisses his forehead.
"Just try to sleep. You'll be all right."
He nods.
"Kitty?"
"Yes?"
"I love you."
She gives him a watery smile.
"Love you, too. Go to sleep."
Yes. She did the right thing.
She escorts the woman back to her cell before returning to her patient. He's dozed off again, his ragged breathing a little more even. She settles herself into the chair and picks up her magazine. All is quiet for a while, and then she hears a, "Miss?"
"Yes, Mr. Crane?"
"Would you get me a glass of water? Please?"
"Of course."
She gets up and goes to the sink. She's just finished filling the glass when a chain wraps around her neck and a voice hisses, "Come along, my dear."
"God…"
"Not exactly." She's escorted out into the hall and towards the main cell block. God in Heaven…somebody, please… "Thank you for permitting that little visit. It was very kind of you, letting her bring me that lockpick."
"Mr. Crane, please…"
"Doctor." he snaps. "Call me 'mister' once more and I shall have to hurt you. Now, your keys, please."
"N-no."
The chain tightens.
"No? You're sure? Final answer?"
"In my right pocket."
"Good girl." he breathes. "Thank you. You'll forgive me for leaving so soon, but I can't take you along. You'll make too much noise."
He tightens the chain again and after several minutes of gasping for air, the world goes black.
THE END
AN: To be fair, I was ill. Went home and spent the rest of the week in bed. But it was impossible to recover when they were doing construction in the basement-Croc needed a new door. Besides, the Joker was in and I do hate being there when he is.