Ruthlessly onwards!
/-^1^-\ Same Week. Thursday. /-^1^-\
-
When Jonathan saw her that morning she had her arm in a support with an ulnar splint peeping out. He didn't say anything to her though. She wandered by him, giving him the cold shoulder.
This would quickly drop, Jonathan learned. Whilst they were doing the rounds, and she was helping out, she started to resume her normally winding up. They were in maximum security when a psychiatrist named Dr. Horton Moore handed him the medication for Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. He had never had a good encounter with either of them.
"Hey, Jonathan. Try not to get too turned on," she remarked.
"That's revolting."
"I'm sure you think that way sometimes," she chuckled. He rolled his eyes.
"Everything is about fondling with you," he muttered.
"I heard that. What kind of a substitute is 'fondling'? And that didn't sound right if you repeat it in your head." Everything is about fondling with you... Well...
"An adequate one," he retorted once that disturbing thought had washed over him.
"Unlike yourself!" she teased, snapping her fingers, "Oh yeah."
"That could have been rather hurtful."
"But you just suggested it wasn't. So it's fine."
"Are you saying you wouldn't hurt me with your remarks?"
"Oh. Hurt a little. Devastate? Well, I'm not that cruel. Make you laugh? I don't think you know how to laugh."
He raised a brow and turned back on his heel and went to do the dreaded, of trying to give the two hormonal homicidal women their hormonally promoting medication. The side effects were typically crap, especially like people on them. As if they needed more fuel.
As he passed by her she pinched his cheeks and tugged a little.
"Awh, smile little Johnny-Wonny!" she cooed. He sighed and nudged her out of the way gently, dreading what was to come. It's all her fault!
/-^1^-\
"I caught her taking the box and slipping it into her pocket. I did spot her going into the cupboard but I suspected nothing of it. When she saw me looking, she quickly moved away from the shelf. I went to inspect her pockets but they were empty and I had no idea what it was she had tried to take but I insist she was stealing," said Dr. Moore, completely enraged.
"Dr. MacLeod?" asked Dr. Penrose, "would you care to explain why you were stealing medication from a cupboard you know has limited access?"
"First and foremost I think that Dr. Moore's presentation of the events is a little biased and centred on the idea of theft but he has yet to hear me out."
Jonathan came running up to the door. When he'd asked Dr. Mare, the unpleasant man had chuckled and briefly commented upon the events. Jonathan had then made his way down two flights and now burst into Dr. Penrose's office. Dumbly enough, Jonathan was so shocked at his break in that he stood, paralysed for a moment, and then knocked on the door as if it made a difference.
"Yes, Dr. Crane?" hissed Penrose.
"She was getting a replacement for something. I thought I had run out but then I realised I'd dropped the box on the bottom shelf of the trolley!" said Jonathan. Alison nearly didn't react, she was that surprised.
"Exactly!" she cried, catching a look in Jonathan's eye. He could turn around and laugh in her face, but if she went with it, she had the opportunity to get out of this. Jonathan certainly looked serious.
"What?" gasped Dr. Moore.
"I dropped it, thinking I hadn't any left I asked her to go get me another box," said Jonathan, holding a box out, "and I think you'll find, if you look under the shelf, I left it there for purpose of proof and Dr. Mare can be witness to that, that it's this box."
"I dropped it and gasped because of Dr. Moore's brash entrance. He just thundered in!" insisted Alison, playing along, "It wasn't theft!"
"Then I'm sure it's just a simple misunderstanding," nodded Dr. Penrose, standing, "I'll come check for validation," he explained.
Sure enough, the box of mood stabilising drugs was the box under the shelf. Alison glanced for a moment at Jonathan, who was refusing to look at her. She turned back to Dr. Penrose, smiling sweetly. Jonathan wanted to scoff and roll his eyes. Butter wouldn't melt, would it Alison?
"Yes, this really is a misunderstanding Dr. Moore," he said, "I believe them," he nodded, turning to Alison, "no need to freak out next time."
"I haven't had any sleep I am a little on edge," she said, holding her wrist up.
"Oh dear."
"Little fall," smiled Alison before he asked questions, "kept me up longer than I would have liked."
"Do you need to go home?"
"It'll be fine," she said, smiling.
"Okay dear. Just do come inform me if you need to be off. Are we good?" he asked everyone. They all nodded.
"I'll finish up," said Dr. Moore, giving Alison a glare. He didn't trust her. Jonathan and herself nodded and left.
They stepped into the lift, an unexplainable silence falling upon them. As they both stepped out and headed down the corridor to their office's, Alison realised he wasn't going to his. He was following her. She turned around but he pushed her in with some new found annoyance and the will to act.
"Thank you," she said, trying lightly to pry his grip of her good wrist, "there, I said it."
"Oh, That hurts you. Having to thank a man you apparently can't stand."
"It's not that I can't stand you, although I slightly... only just, dislike you. I just like to annoy you too."
"You could always act a little kinder," he said with a cold glare, "let's make a deal, Alison. I won't tell anyone that you were trying to snatch Vicodin because you never actually went to the hospital for that even though it could be broken and in exchange, you tell me what it was that stressed you out so much about your letter?"
"Oh God no," she laughed, "I'd rather risk losing my job than let you get any look into my personal life."
"So it's your personal life? Hm... Sister?"
"No. I'm not telling you."
"Father?"
"No. Shut your mouth.."
"Mother?"
"SHUT UP!" she hissed, practically cracking open and revealing the monster inside of her. He'd just vouched for this woman. It was a real shame about the psychopathy. But he got the right relative. And she knew she had given it away.
"Your personal life just so happens to be disintegrating your job. Really, you'll win by taking my offer."
"My bitch of a mother sent me a letter of congratulations over my job. She knows I don't ever want to speak to her again. There. You heard it. And that is all you will ever get to hear. Keep your mouth shut."
He pulled her elbow up and his long slender fingers pressed something down into her open palm. When he took his hand away, she realised she was holding the Vicodin. She glared at Jonathan uncertainly.
"I know from experience," he shrugged, "no one ever notices one missing bottle in this place."
"I still dislike you, Jonathan," she said with a little wry smile, gazing up at him.
"Please keep it that way, Alison," he requested hauntingly, handing her the glass off her table for her to take the pain relief now. He pressed his finger lightly to her wrist. "And get this checked out," he warned lightly.
Perfectly aware I wrote it but if Scarecrow showed concern to me like that I'd feel pretty warm inside, in a screwed up little way. Hope this has the same effect on one who is reading. I had to choose Vicodin, it is the only moderate-severe strength analgesic I am aware of the brand name for in America, and I don't think readers want the chemical waffle now, do they?