Hey hey hey there. It's been a while! With the fall semester (namely exams) behind me, I'm glad to return to the fanfiction scene. I hope you guys enjoy!
Was there anything more pointless than a white elephant party? Buy someone a gag gift that they'll later exchange with someone else – more like waste money on a piece of trash that no one wants.
But there was no getting out of it. It was the annual Arkham Asylum staff holiday party, and, of course, it was mandatory. So that was where Jonathan Crane was going to be spending his Friday evening.
Admittedly, it was better than Secret Santa. Naturally, loathing all of his co-workers beyond comprehension, having to buy a gift for a random person had been like pulling teeth for him. At first he'd tried to buy people gifts according to their tastes or interests, as a gesture towards trying to appear agreeable, or at least normal. Like someone who appreciated their job and work environment, rather than someone who would rather wall themselves into the asylum's basement than attend such an event.
However, his perceptions of his coworkers were so warped and off-base (Surprise), that his presents were invariably the worst. Each year, everyone on staff prayed that their Secret Santa wasn't Dr. Crane. Perhaps he was the whole reason they'd switched to white elephant-style parties. But it worked to his advantage anyway; rather than putting in the minimal amount of effort towards buying someone a gift, he could put in literally no effort at all.
That's why on that Friday evening, Crane was standing in front of the door to his apartment, coat on, keys in hand, visually scouring the room for anything he could grab and bring with him. He had been caught up in research all week, as usual, as well as having to review paperwork regarding an unfortunate incident with a patient who was suffering from extreme night terrors and had injured himself in his sleep. (How on Earth could that have happened?) Getting a gift for the holiday party had completely slipped his mind.
Half-eaten box of cherry cordials? No...Unopened bottle of merlot? No, that one's definitely to keep...Paperweight? Out-of-date psychology textbook? Yes, that seemed suitable. Everyone would see it and laugh, maybe reminisce about their own college years, and that would be it. He lunged forward to reach for it, and then tucked it into a brown paper bag, tying the handles together with red ribbon threaded through a tag that simply said "Crane" in cramped, precise handwriting.
The cab ride to Arkham was uneventful, for which Jonathan was grateful. He knew the second that he walked into the cafeteria where the party was held every year, his ears would be assaulted with the asinine chatter of the doctors, therapists, janitors, and interns who comprised the staff population of Arkham.
After exiting the cab and checking in at the entrance gates, he savored the walk up to the front doors. The walls were thick enough to keep in both the undesirables of Gotham City and the constant refrains of "Jingle Bells". Light snow fell slowly and softly, beginning to dust the ground. The flakes looked like ash in front of the sodium lights lining the path. The dark shapes of the many buildings against the light-polluted night sky seemed neither ominous nor comforting: just observing him. Neither predator nor prey, he respected the building. It was his cohort, his consort in his quest to understand and exploit fear.
All too soon, his reverie came to an end, and with a sense of dread, he placed his hand on the door to the asylum.
In the cafeteria, it was an absolute mess. He hung his damp coat on a coatrack nearest the door, and looked for the appropriate place to put the book he'd brought. On the furthest wall, all the way across the room, a table was set up with all the gifts everyone had brought. Of course it was the furthest thing from the door. He would be forced to walk across the room. He would be forced to mingle.
To his left, a large circle of chairs had been arranged, presumably for some kind of musical chairs game. To the right was a makeshift bar, serving hot chocolate and coffee, as well as various alcoholic beverages. He noticed the small menorah perched at the corner of the bar. Tables and chairs of all sizes were scattered about, and in the spaces between milled about the "caregivers" of Arkham. Everyone looked to be dressed to the Christmas-equivalent of the nines, in everything from party dresses to gaudy ties and bulky sweaters.
As he walked towards the back table, he noticed that even the higher-ups had deigned to attend this get-together. Unusual. Although Crane was no small-fry himself, he still noticed what his superiors did and didn't do. He was a chameleon in the workplace; he had to be. To gain enough attention and accolade to be promoted to a superior post, to gain access to the resources he needed to pursue research, but at the same time to remain unnoticed, to slip said research under the noses of everyone, required walking a delicate tightrope. Crane prided himself on his mutability.
However, he wasn't deft enough to escape from his secretary, Mina, who had had her eye on him from her first day at the office. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed Mina was more than attractive, and had suitors to choose from nearly every male member of the staff. On occasion, in his less aware moments, even Crane had found his thoughts drifting to her. However he found her blatant attraction to him to be a turnoff. No one likes somebody who's trying too hard. Although it had made him somewhat unpopular with some of the male orderlies, who had taken to shouldering him in the hallways, like high school jocks. The politics of sexual tension never changes, he supposed.
Mina stepped directly in his path, her large, liquid blue eyes looking right into his icy ones. She was wearing a red turtleneck dress with a thick black belt around her small waist, white tights and black boots. She had a red bow in her hair, as she had nearly every time that he could recall.
"Hey, Dr. Crane. Or can I call you Jonathan since we're off the clock?"
"I'd prefer if you didn't call me anything at all, but I suppose if you must, Crane will suffice."
At that moment, Paul, the Human Resources administrator ran by, hastily stuffing a felt Santa hat onto Crane's head. "Merry Christmas, Jonny! Ho ho ho!"
At that, heads lifted around the room, chorusing "hello"s and "nice to see you"s, and a small mob of psychologists crowded around him, surrounding him with enthusiastic back pats and a combination fog of coffee breath and alcohol. Looks like the majority of the psychology department had already had a few drinks.
He glanced over the heads of his colleagues to see Mina laughing behind her hand, before she tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned away.
Mortified and somewhat disgusted, Crane ripped the hat off his head and began to elbow his way through as politely as he could, with ample nods and handshakes, so as to make it seem as if he wasn't purposely digging in between their ribs with the crook of his bony arm. Not that they would notice, either way.
Finally, he made it to the back table. It seemed like the majority of Admin was here; doing what they did best: cataloguing who had fulfilled their duty by bringing a gift, and who was going on the naughty list. The gift table was covered in boxes wrapped in cartoon-character paper and giant bows; next to them, his little paper package looked scruffy.
"Dr. Crane! Good to see you! Thanks for coming by!" (As if he'd had a choice.)
"No, no problem at all. It's my pleasure to come out and ah, peace on Earth, goodwill towards men." He neither knew nor cared what he was saying, just anything to get away.
"Of course, of course. Here's your nametag." The stocky woman behind the table handed him a paper "HELLO my name is" tag with sparkly red stars and Christmas stickers all over it. He didn't even try to stifle the huge sigh that escaped him.
Eventually, he navigated his way to the bar, got an extra-large steaming mug of coffee, and sat down on one of the musical chairs seats, alone. He just observed for a while, removing himself from the situation around him as much as he could. Every so often, he'd go back for a refill, eventually adding shots of whiskey to his beverage. He rarely drank, but when he did, he did so for good reason. Watching your coworkers cavort around in hideous sweaters and fake reindeer antlers, possessed by the spirit of Consumerism, trying to ignore the fact that they were in a mental institution was one such reason. He sat, sipped, and watched.
Paul had managed to corner Dana, a visiting physician, bragging about the time his professional opinion was sought by the FBI (She didn't look very impressed.) Karen and Kathy, two nurses who were also best friends, were gossiping in a corner, shooting pointed looks at Nerra, one of the therapists, who had recently announced her pregnancy coinciding with the retirement of one of the senior psychologists, Dr. Nallen. They thought she was just trying to steal his thunder, and take attention away from someone who really deserved it. Never mind that Kathy had been sleeping with him for nearly ten years now, and Karen, unbeknownst to Kathy, for the last two. Mina stood under a branch of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, surrounded by orderlies, chatting with them animatedly, but Crane didn't miss that her gaze was directed solely at him. He laughed inwardly at her singleminded determination.
Finally, the call rang out that it was time to exchange gifts. Everyone found their way to the circle of chairs, turning them around to face each other, while the admin staff carted over the gifts. Everyone was being sorted by last name and then birthday to decide who would go first in choosing a present.
Crane, a few drinks in him, was bored, and feeling smug. He decided to make things a little more interesting. He walked up to one of the admin ladies and scooped the bags in her arms away from her.
"Let me help you with that."
"Oh, that's-"
"Please, I insist."
The woman was shocked; Dr. Crane, usually the Scrooge of every party, every year, was being helpful. Perhaps it was a Christmas miracle. Perhaps it was just the drinks. In her eyes, he seemed to transform from a cold, clinical man to a handsome, awkward introvert. There was some good in there, she saw it. By the next morning, she would have the rumor mill buzzing about how Dr. Crane had lifted ten heavy boxes at once, even pausing to wink at her as he offered.
As Crane carried the bags, trying to ignore the glint in the eye of the woman behind him, he reached into his pants pocket. Deep inside them, he felt small cylinders like little pills. He grabbed a few of them, and as he positioned the bags on the floor, he snapped them open between his thumb and forefinger , dusting a fine, nearly sheer powder over them. He made sure the powder settled down in the bottoms of the bags before he was seated. Whoever ended up with these packages would certainly end up with more than a cup of Christmas cheer, that was certain.
He resumed his seat, and waited for the gifts to be distributed, eventually being passed a wrapped shoebox. When his turn came to open it, inside he found a stack of worn romance novels, with creased covers and dog-eared pages.
He held them up for everyone else in the room to see and have a laugh. "Ah, would you look at that." He forced out a shit-eating grin, reminding himself that after the presents were given out, he would be free to go home and go to bed – he was coming down off of the coffee high, and his sour temper was returning in spades.
An intern named Carrie was the one to receive his old textbook, appropriately enough. It had been passed around a few times before being pawned off on her, an unsuspecting victim. However, once she'd opened the gift, everyone let out a game laugh, and he even got a few "good one!"s from around the circle.
Eventually, they all swapped gifts, and he ended up with a gift card for a local restaurant. He lost track of the psych book, but really couldn't care either way at this point. His patience had run out, his coffee supply had run out, and Santa Baby was playing for the fourth time that evening. Everyone else was lingering, stretching out the evening, going for one last free drink before going home, but he slipped out silently while no one else was looking.
The walk from the Asylum out the gate was not as peaceful this time. He felt eyes watching him, not a watchful gaze as before, but an intent stare. The voices of everyone inside echoed in his head, the music seemed on repeat, the crowded bodies and crinkling wrapping paper and the scent of peppermint and aerosol spray clung to him. Thank God he had the rest of the weekend off. It would take that long to get the disgrace of these people off of him.
He was long gone when the first scream rang out. Then another and another.
The staff of Arkham didn't remember much about that particular night. Most of them had made it home just fine, with memories of a holiday party like any other, except perhaps for the few people who had partied too hard; who had had a little too much to drink, and passed out into hallucinations. They didn't care much where the hallucinations came from – maybe the drinks had been spiked; maybe there had been "something" going around that just hadn't made it to them yet. It had been a good night, and a party's not a party until someone ends up on the ground, right? And Dr. Crane! It was like A Christmas Carol that night; helping people, giving a not-terrible gift, even wearing a Santa hat (never mind that it was for all of five seconds.) Perhaps this coming year, they'd invite him to the Valentines party, as well. After all, with the promise of a new year comes devastating foolishness.
Happy holidays, everyone! All my love, M. 3