Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any aspect of the Batman universe. I own nothing save for any original characters that I have created.

A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the long wait between chapter updates. I have had a lot of things going on in my life and was unable to dedicate the time to writing. Thank you so very much for your patience, and as always I hope you enjoy this chapter!

A Plague In Arkham

Oh, foolish man, why weep you now?

'Tis but a little space,

And the time will come when these shall dread

The mem'ry of your face.

-The Haunted Oak, Paul Laurence Dunbar

Crane surveyed the ballroom with a gaze both analytical and full of cool disdain, his blue eyes narrowed behind thick goggles perched atop the curved beak of a plague doctor's mask. A silver-buttoned cloak hung loosely from his thin shoulders, crafted from rich black fabric and with a billowing hem that ended at his elbows; beneath it he wore a trim suit along with leather gloves (if one looked closely enough, they could spot the fine cracks cascading across the palms—some created through general wear from his experiments, some caused by the teeth of his patients in the throes of toxin-induced hysteria) and by his side he carried a slender cane.

"Love the costume, Jonathan," Leland said warmly, her smile as glaringly bright as the starch-white of her traditional nurse uniform contrasted against the gala's gloomy décor. "I barely recognized you."

Hah, Crane thought to himself with a wry smirk, if only you could see my other mask.

"Good evening, Dr. Leland," he greeted her cordially, his voice slightly muffled by the mask's beak.

"Thank you for joining us tonight." Leland instinctively reached forward to lightly place a reassuring hand on his arm (a friendly gesture she regularly employed during interactions among her fellow staff members, and one that never failed to make Crane inwardly recoil) before returning her hand to adjust the stethoscope cord encircling her neck. "I know you don't care much for social events."

Her words carried an edge of misguided sympathy. It was evident from her tone that Leland was under the mistaken notion that Crane's lack of enthusiasm over the annual fundraiser stemmed from social discomfort and shyness rather than his true feelings of contempt for every single aspect of the Halloween Ball, particularly the ghastly idea of hosting a Halloween celebration in a setting that was home for dozens of mentally-ill patients for no other reason than to provide exploitative entertainment to Gotham City's repuslively-rich. He felt patronized, like a child receiving an encouraging pat on the head as a reward for completing a mindlessly simple task, and behind his mask he clenched his jaw in heated annoyance.

"Well," Crane replied with as much forced good-nature as he could muster, "attendance is mandatory."

Leland smiled again, this time more softly. "I know it is, Jonathan. But we appreciate having you here all the same."

A silent pause followed, Crane unsure of what to say next and resentful of being dragged into yet another insipid conversation that he had no desire to participate in. His eyes traveled across the gala surrounding him, across the tables lined with guests tucking into gourmet dishes more decadent than anything that had ever graced the mouths of the majority of Arkham's woeful inhabitants, the sleek heirs and executives laughing at vulgar jokes about mental health that were far more cruel than funny, the socialites swaddled in jewel-encrusted costumes and primped hair sipping champagne with glossy lips. The sight of it all made him sick to his stomach and Crane felt the carefully-hidden side of himself scratch the surface of his calm exterior with renewed intensity, years worth of disgust and anger and hatred accumulating into a sudden surge of absolute loathing.

He could end them all now, right now, if he chose to. He alone held the power to destroy every facet of their identity, ripping apart their sanity until their conceited, haughty pride was mutated into degraded screams of animalistic terror spilling from their frothing lips and Crane had made a mockery of the false sense of security their coveted wealth had granted them. No amount of money could provide an escape from the purity of fear, and as he watched the nauseating display of opulence unfolding before him Crane felt an overwhelming temptation to abandon his painstakingly-constructed plans in favor of recklessly plunging the gala into immediate, satisfying chaos.

"I know we don't have the opportunity to talk often, Jonathan," Leland said in a voice a thousand miles away, "but I just want to know that you're a valuable asset to this institution, and—"

"Hello, Dr. Leland."

Crane and Leland turned to see Teagan standing beside them, so still and quiet that had she not spoken the pair might have endured several more moments of unawareness before being alerted to her presence, with a pointed witch's hat perched askew on her head and a large carved pumpkin cradled in her arms.

"Teagan!" Leland exclaimed happily, maneuvering her arms around the Jack-O-Lantern to embrace the younger woman in an affectionate (albeit unwanted) hug. "It's so lovely to see you again! How have you been?"

"Fine. I've been doing fine."

"That's wonderful. Have you been able to apply what you learned during your internship here to your studies? Still at the top of your classes, I imagine." Leland ended the last sentence with a friendly wink.

"Mmhmm," Teagan replied noncommittally; in truth, she had stopped attending class entirely after moving into Crane's apartment. "Thank you for inviting me tonight."

"Actually, that was Dr. Crane's idea," Leland said, turning to smile at Crane before returning her gaze to Teagan. "He was so impressed with your participation in the internship program that when we began gathering our current team of interns to help prepare for the fundraiser he suggested contacting you as well. I thought that was a splendid idea and had my secretary contact you right away."

"Thank you, Dr. Crane," Teagan murmured, casting her eyes towards the floor in feigned shyness.

"You're welcome, Miss James," Crane replied with brisk disinterest before nodding towards a table adorned with a wide display of Halloween decorations, including several Jack-O-Lanterns of various sizes. "Perhaps you should find somewhere to set down that...ornament." He gestured towards the pumpkin in her arms with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yes, sir." Teagan gave Leland a polite smile of parting before turning on her boot-clad heel and beginning her journey towards the decorated table.

"What a nice girl," Leland said pleasantly as she watched Teagan navigate her way through the crowd of costumed attendees. "She's going to do some great things with her life."

"I suppose," Crane said mildly, and smiled behind his mask.

Teagan gently placed her Jack-O-Lantern on a black velvet tablecloth beside the other pumpkins, its jagged grin leering at the party guests from among a display of carved smiles. A cursory glance around the ballroom revealed that its occupants were preoccupied with personal distractions—the asylum doctors entertaining the wealthy with Arkham lore, the bored interns either gazing blankly ahead with dull expressions or typing away on their sneakily-concealed phones, the wait staff immersed in their serving work in hopes of receiving generous tips from rich attendees—and therefore far too busy to take note of her actions. Satisfied that she would remain undetected, Teagan reached into the pouch of her dress to retrieve a lighter and a small gas mask.

A portion of Crane's research had been dedicated to replicating his toxin in multiple forms, with varying levels of success; the serum and gas compounds had produced excellent results, while other experiments like skin-absorbent toxin were failures in great need of refinement. His newest creation, however, had been thoroughly and successfully tested to perfection, and after endless months of preparation it was now finally complete and ready to be unleashed onto the deserving subjects waltzing across Arkham Asylum's ballroom floor.

Encasing the capsule in wax had been meticulous, careful work that required her delicate fingers and his steady hands, and together they crafted a nefarious Jack-O-Lantern. When the candle placed inside the carved pumpkin was lit and the wax began to melt, it would create just enough heat to trigger the highly-sensitive capsule and release its fearsome contents through the air and into the lungs of its oblivious audience. Before anyone realized what was happening, it would be far too late—Crane had filled the capsule with enough toxin to plunge the entire gala into nightmare after nightmare and cloud their minds with a poisonous haze until their most vivid memory of Halloween night was their unforgettable terror.

Except for him and Teagan, that is. Their memories of the night would be far more sweet.

As she fastened the straps of her gas mask, Teagan looked up to see Crane watching her from across the expansive room; even from the distance she could feel his eyes boring into her, and her heart leapt at the thought. When Crane gave her a final nod of approval she flicked the lighter on with trembling fingers and guided its flame towards the carved pumpkin.

"I love you, Dr. Crane," Teagan whispered behind her mask, and lit the candle.