I'm enjoying writing this, even if no one is enjoying reading it XD

/-^l^-\ Following week. Monday. /-^l^-\

"Stalker," said Alison, pointing over at Jonathan as he stepped into her office. He'd changed tactics. He was being quite kind now, but for the purpose of false security.

"You obviously wish," he scoffed, planting down a letter on the desk, "someone's sent you a love letter. Who'd you bail out on this weekend?"

"How presumptuous!" she remarked, "I went to dinner and to an art exhibit I'll have you know."

"With who?" grunted Jonathan. Secretly, he was very jealous. He wanted to see Alison in something a little less clerical and bit sexier. Honestly... get a hold of your primitivism.

"Bruce Wayne."

"Yeah right!" he scoffed, his envy vanishing.

"Does that look like Bruce Wayne?" she asked, turning her phone around. Jonathan clutched it and glanced over.

"W-w-well you ... you... could always Photoshop it in!"

"That's a pretty elaborate Photoshop. Especially for a girl not in possession of a computer," she said. It was true, she didn't have a computer. Jonathan sneered and turned away. "Jonathan," she called in a small voice. He turned on his heel, waiting for a jibe, "who sent this?"

"I don't know," he shrugged.

"Who-the-hell-dropped-this-off?" she demanded, looking suddenly vicious. He quivered and backed away to the door a little. It was a little concerning since she looked ready to kill. She may only have had a letter opener in her hand but with the look that was in her eye he didn't doubt her being capable of some harm with it either.

"I will find out for you, O' freaky one," he said through clenched teeth. He left quickly.

About 10-12 minutes later he returned. Alison looked like a frozen picture. She was still wearing a look of absolute rage.

"Private courier, who couldn't tell me anything more because it wasn't addressed to me," he said. He waited in the doorway, not daring to step in any further.

Alison stood up, causing him to retreat a little onto the corridor. She approached the window and pushed it open, leaning out. Is she going to kill herself? wondered Jonathan.

She took a lighter out of her pocket and set the corner of the paper on fire and held it near-by the window until it was practically going to burn her. Then, she waved it once and the flame exhausted with the assistance of the wind. Jonathan slinked back and down the corridor. He should have seen who it was from first. Idiot.

Alison turned around and walked to her door, shutting it lightly though she wished to slam it and tore the last bit of paper in her hands to bits and disposed of it.

/-^l^-\ Same Week. Wednesday. /-^l^-\

Alison was often livid following the arrival of that letter. Jonathan had watched her slowly get a little more deranged at simple things. Like yesterday when she had snapped at Dr. Mare because he spoke down at her, mentioning something about her youth.

Jonathan wasn't so sure he wanted to attack someone that capable of malice. She'd rip his head off. He was also unsure whether she was mentally stable. Then again, nor were half of the doctors there, prime example being Dr. Penrose who was nearly delirious.

Alison was a control freak, so presumably that letter had ripped a bit of the high degree control she maintained away from her somehow; or at least that was his conclusion. She didn't care much about other things apart from order. He tried not to think about it but it was a peculiar reaction to have.

She had started to work longer than necessary, apparently as some mechanism of dealing with whatever it was that made her so pissy. She was leaving at 9-10pm, which made his life slightly difficult.

She glared at him coldly, annoyed he, of all people, had seen her breakdown. She wished he had no idea, because she'd rather he'd taunt it than step-back from her and silently analyse her. It annoyed her to no end.

She strode to the steps, turning a blind eye to the lift. Jonathan wandered down after her but not aiming for the stairs. He nodded as one of his in-pocket guards glanced up.

Then there was a tremendous crash. Jonathan shuffled backwards and glanced down to see Alison, weakly pulling herself up. Or trying to. Did she throw herself down?

He strode down and gave her a hand. He was actually kind about this; he slipped one hand through the one she was trying to pull herself up with and slipped his other arm around her waist and helped her to her feet. She was shaking. She coldly shrugged him off though, but turned towards him.

"Thank you," she said, bitterly, "that never, for the love of your sanity, occurred."

"Got it," he nodded, smirking. He watched her rubbing her wrist. It was already swollen. "You should get that checked out."

"You sound a little ill yourself there, Jonathan."

"I was genuinely being polite!" he snapped.

"It doesn't suit you," she said wearily, walking away. He chose not to make any remark back.

Poor Johnny.