AN: 'Fear of shock'.
So I'm trawling through some hurt/comfort prompt list for fun, and I see 'serial killers' and I just…well…this is a no-go, because these idiots are the serial killers. But not entirely during this one-shot, they still work at Arkham and have to behave.
McStaken-Same. The best days are rainy ones that I can just sit at home with a cup of tea and no people. Behave...humph. Who, exactly, do you suppose is in charge here? Good question.
Kitty's easy to startle. Jonathan knows, of course, that he shouldn't take advantage of this, but, well…
Look. There may or may not be a reason people go on dates to scary movies. The clutching, the little gasps of surprise, the fact that people who go through a frightening experience together have a closer relationship…
It's practical, when you think about it. And on a baser level, the fear response-the light fear response, not the true 'my life is in danger' fear response-has…similarities…to other, not-frightening things. He wonders how many children can trace their conception back to the premiere date of The Silence of the Lambs or some such film.
(He's about eighty percent certain he can trace himself back to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which probably should have been taken as an omen. Oh, well.)
Regardless, Kitty really is easy to startle and he's gotten it down to a science-the science of avoiding bodily harm and gaining maximum amusement.
The first time was a hand-to-heart accident, brought about by over a decade of moving silently through a creaky mansion. He'd come home from class a little later than usual-traffic-and had honestly just leaned over the couch to see if she'd fallen asleep like she had the last time he'd been late. Unfortunately, she'd been watching a rerun of The X-Files, and he'd gotten a screech and a pillow to the face for his troubles.
Oops.
All the same, the result had been hilarious-pillow aside-and…well…
All right, so he's got faults. Other people murder their girlfriends and dump their corpses in the sewers for Croc, so really, he may as well have a halo.
Their current apartment has a mirrored medicine cabinet. He has, for the entire six months that they've lived here, not taken advantage of this fact. Mostly it's because he's tired (he has one patient that he just…look, he tries to be understanding, but if this one choked on his pills and died, Jonathan might throw a small office party), but partly it's because he's trying to be a Good Person.
And yeah, okay, he hasn't had an appropriate opportunity. Most of the time she's using the mirror while he's in the shower and thus unable to do anything.
But not today! Today (well, tonight) fate has gifted him with an opportunity.
Arkham needs money. Arkham always needs money. Considering they house an unreasonable amount of creative murderers (Mr. Zsasz, put that spoon down NOW), the city resents giving them anything. Jonathan's tempted, at times, to let a breakout happen, as punishment. But. No matter. They need money, and so they are having a fundraiser.
Kitty's doing something time-consuming with her hair, which means she's in front of the mirror for longer than usual. Now, if he's careful…
"Kitty?"
"What?"
"Would you get my Sudafeds out of there? Since you're standing there already?"
"Are you insinuating that my arse is big?"
WHAT.
"Sudafed. I need them."
She laughs at him.
"God, I wish I'd seen your face…yeah, in a sec, I've got the iron in my hand."
Oh, they'll see who's laughing in a minute. That was uncalled for and there is no safe answer to that question.
Oh, well. Revenge is forthcoming.
It takes three long, careful steps to bring him to the hallway outside the bathroom. It takes three long, agonizing minutes to hear the cabinet open.
It takes one more step to bring him to where he needs to be.
"…a mess, need to stop shoving things in 'ere…there!" She closes the cabinet and promptly does a full-body jerk that sends the box of Sudafed flying over the shower railing and into the tub. "FUCK-! Really? Really?"
It shouldn't be as funny as it is, but she looks like the world's angriest elf and then, of course, the mental image of the stupid shoes and a green dress just makes it better. He doubles over, glasses slipping down his nose, and tries to breathe.
He is not successful.
"Why are you like this."
He manages to choke out, "Angry elf." before falling back into hysterics. The deep, deep exasperation radiating from the bathroom does not help.
He's going to die of laughter and he can't muster up any thought besides, worth it.
"Really." He nods-or maybe spasms from lack of air, he's not sure. She sighs and the exasperation intensifies. A pink, pointy hat appears on his mental picture and it does nothing to help.
The door slams and he sinks to the floor against it, arms bracing his ribs. He'll regret this later, he's sure, but for now…god…
Right. Breathe deeply. Breathe. Deeply.
Oh. He actually does need those Sudafeds, or that deep breathing is going to involve the inhalation of mucus.
Okay, so he regrets this a little bit-
Clunk-creak!
The door opens and he nearly topples backwards in time for the box to land on him with a light whap-rattle! Oh, good. Pills. He stands up, shaking out the foil plate, and hunts through for an unbroken blister.
"I want a new medicine cabinet."
"No."
"Come on, I can't trust you!"
"You shouldn't have trusted me for this long."
"Please?"
"I like the size of this one." Ah, Sudafed, his old friend. "It's fine, we don't need a new medicine cabinet."
She huffs at him and mutters, "I do not look like an angry elf."
Just then, he registers that her dress is, in fact, green.
That's it. The comparison is forever.
He tilts his head down to look at her and says, in the most innocent voice he's got, "Oh, I don't know…"
It's his own fault, he'll admit, that he ends up tackled onto their sofa.
THE END