a dance of doves & crows ( jonathan crane )

cars and confrontation .

notes: jon, surprisingly, is not taking rejection too well! also, we get a glimpse into harley being harley, as opposed to dr quinzel

song of the chapter: aint no way - aretha franklin

This is what he wanted. For six months he had been waiting for this moment. He won. He won their little game.

Yet, he's fucking fuming. This wasn't how this was supposed to end, or how she would end up losing in an ideal situation. This isn't what he's worked so hard for. It was anticlimactic, it was unfinished, it was a little humiliating and frankly - it was unfair.

Though, he wasn't entirely sure what that ideal situation would even look like. Would it be with her completely under his thumb, controlled as a patient or experiment? Dead, eliminated as a true rival? Right by his side, to claim power and control with him?

He didn't know. He wouldn't get to know. Because she's decided to leave.

Wow. And to think, only yesterday you were telling me off for wanting her. You're even worse than me, pal.

Because you're a slut.

Ouch? I'm literally you?

Not according to the DSM-5. He had to remind himself to unclench his jaw. Grinding his teeth too much always set off a massive migraine, and he didn't need more on his plate today.

Stop taking this out on me. I'm upset she's decided to take the kids, half of our assets and leave us alone in a shitty studio apartment with no furniture too, but —

Stop it. Stop talking about it like that.

It's making him feel ridiculous. He knows for a fact Scarecrow is upset about it as well — he can feel it, his altar's a damn mess — but Crow is somehow making this situation even worse.

Sometimes, he really wished he had some peace and quiet. A way to digest unwelcome news without sarcastic commentary, at least. Maybe this was Scarecrow's way of dealing with it, but it was only further stressing Jonathan out.

Oh, don't tell me you're still in denial. You're having a fit in your car because Jules is transferring to Quinzel's care. This isn't normal.

"I'm not having a fit." He mutters out loud, hands gripping the steering wheel with an an uncomfortable amount of force. His knuckles were starkly white. His arms were feeling a little numb for being stagnate and in the same uncomfortable position for... how long?

Ah. Forty-five minutes.

Crane has been sitting there, unmoving and silent, for forty-five minutes. He most certainly was having a fit. He just wasn't going to admit that to his other half because he could be a bit of a dick most of the time. He blames that one on their grandmother.

Put on some Aretha Franklin. Man, I wish it was raining. Aretha and some rain would really top this situation off, you'd be inconsolable. Why does Gotham weather never cooperate?

Case in point.

He was supposed to go inside in ten minutes or less, but now he was seriously considering turning around and calling in sick. It would ruin his near inhumane attendance record, but —how could he walk in like everything was normal, when today he was supposed to head to his boss' office and sign the papers. Transferring Jules' care over to Quinzel.

One hundred and eighty-five days. Down the drain.

Meaning he'd get assigned some boring, pathetic excuse of a criminal next. And be expected to move on.