Tabitha, speaking? @stainedglass-mentalstate - Tumblr Blog

10:28 PM.

Wind moves the white sleeves and the burlap strip on Arsenic's scythe in time, as his figure perches over the site that all of the Arkham inmates had appeared around. The cops were below him, completely unaware, but he could hear the radio chatter, talking to Batman. He would be there at 1 AM to check on things, make sure nothing crazy was going down. He had to leave before then. But he watches still. Can't miss anything. Arsenic swooping down to nab someone wasn't new to the GCPD, they should learn to expect it. But none of them look up at the fire escapes, none notice the lurking figure that expelled fear.

They will not lay hands on you.

Theres comfort in that, at least.

Ashtyn will be fine.

Mm.

There's also the threat of Bruce finding the bodies and worrying, but he can't voice that. He can't. The doors open, and he makes a beeline for his door. He can't wear these clothes any longer. The blood is crusting.

Jonathan lounges on the sofa, waiting for his husband to return. He loosens his tie. Lights a cigarette.

Feels too familiar. Immediately falling into a routine, his coming home and changing, Jon waiting for him in the living room. Almost like a normal couple, if not for the blood now rushing down the sink, on the floor.

He has to take a moment to himself, convince himself that this wasn't just another hallucination. Anxiously checks his messages, wipes down the scythe, puts it in the back of his closet.

I'm here. Let me in.

Door's unloxked.

He finishes buttoning up his clean shirt, heading back to the living room, hovering by the couch awkwardly, sort of leaning on the armrest.

im not comingg jn by myself. come get me.

He sighs and stands, faltering on his leg, but not stopping. He opens the door to a very disheveled Tabi.

Her fingers are bleeding where she was picking at the skin.

.. Hi.

C'mon. He's in the sitting room.

You are going to get her hurt. He grabs her hand, shutting the door behind her, guides her to the living room.

She's going to puke. She's going to throw up. She's going to be sick. Alex is killing her. She's being sent to die. She's going to die, alone in this apartment, to the man she's dedicated her whole life to. And it's all her fault. For getting attached. For hesitating. Alex is killing her. Alex is killing her. Alex is- Alex is- Alex is-

Jonathan leans forward in his chair, regarding Tabitha. He gives Alex a look that tells him that he should probably deal with his 'friend.'

He pulls the other in, resting a chin on her head, guiding her onto the couch on his lap, right beside Jon. His hold is motherly and comforting, even if he's completely silent. His knee clicks as he shifts, holding her as close as possible.

She twitches, but otherwise stays extremely still. She's picking more at her hands, the blood now sinking into her cuticles.

10:28 PM.

Wind moves the white sleeves and the burlap strip on Arsenic's scythe in time, as his figure perches over the site that all of the Arkham inmates had appeared around. The cops were below him, completely unaware, but he could hear the radio chatter, talking to Batman. He would be there at 1 AM to check on things, make sure nothing crazy was going down. He had to leave before then. But he watches still. Can't miss anything. Arsenic swooping down to nab someone wasn't new to the GCPD, they should learn to expect it. But none of them look up at the fire escapes, none notice the lurking figure that expelled fear.

They will not lay hands on you.

Theres comfort in that, at least.

Ashtyn will be fine.

Mm.

There's also the threat of Bruce finding the bodies and worrying, but he can't voice that. He can't. The doors open, and he makes a beeline for his door. He can't wear these clothes any longer. The blood is crusting.

Jonathan lounges on the sofa, waiting for his husband to return. He loosens his tie. Lights a cigarette.

Feels too familiar. Immediately falling into a routine, his coming home and changing, Jon waiting for him in the living room. Almost like a normal couple, if not for the blood now rushing down the sink, on the floor.

He has to take a moment to himself, convince himself that this wasn't just another hallucination. Anxiously checks his messages, wipes down the scythe, puts it in the back of his closet.

I'm here. Let me in.

Door's unloxked.

He finishes buttoning up his clean shirt, heading back to the living room, hovering by the couch awkwardly, sort of leaning on the armrest.

im not comingg jn by myself. come get me.

He sighs and stands, faltering on his leg, but not stopping. He opens the door to a very disheveled Tabi.

Her fingers are bleeding where she was picking at the skin.

.. Hi.

C'mon. He's in the sitting room.

You are going to get her hurt. He grabs her hand, shutting the door behind her, guides her to the living room.

She's going to puke. She's going to throw up. She's going to be sick. Alex is killing her. She's being sent to die. She's going to die, alone in this apartment, to the man she's dedicated her whole life to. And it's all her fault. For getting attached. For hesitating. Alex is killing her. Alex is killing her. Alex is- Alex is- Alex is-

Jonathan leans forward in his chair, regarding Tabitha. He gives Alex a look that tells him that he should probably deal with his 'friend.'

10:28 PM.

Wind moves the white sleeves and the burlap strip on Arsenic's scythe in time, as his figure perches over the site that all of the Arkham inmates had appeared around. The cops were below him, completely unaware, but he could hear the radio chatter, talking to Batman. He would be there at 1 AM to check on things, make sure nothing crazy was going down. He had to leave before then. But he watches still. Can't miss anything. Arsenic swooping down to nab someone wasn't new to the GCPD, they should learn to expect it. But none of them look up at the fire escapes, none notice the lurking figure that expelled fear.

They will not lay hands on you.

Theres comfort in that, at least.

Ashtyn will be fine.

Mm.

There's also the threat of Bruce finding the bodies and worrying, but he can't voice that. He can't. The doors open, and he makes a beeline for his door. He can't wear these clothes any longer. The blood is crusting.

Jonathan lounges on the sofa, waiting for his husband to return. He loosens his tie. Lights a cigarette.

Feels too familiar. Immediately falling into a routine, his coming home and changing, Jon waiting for him in the living room. Almost like a normal couple, if not for the blood now rushing down the sink, on the floor.

He has to take a moment to himself, convince himself that this wasn't just another hallucination. Anxiously checks his messages, wipes down the scythe, puts it in the back of his closet.

I'm here. Let me in.

Door's unloxked.

He finishes buttoning up his clean shirt, heading back to the living room, hovering by the couch awkwardly, sort of leaning on the armrest.

im not comingg jn by myself. come get me.

He sighs and stands, faltering on his leg, but not stopping. He opens the door to a very disheveled Tabi.

Her fingers are bleeding where she was picking at the skin.

.. Hi.

10:28 PM.

Wind moves the white sleeves and the burlap strip on Arsenic's scythe in time, as his figure perches over the site that all of the Arkham inmates had appeared around. The cops were below him, completely unaware, but he could hear the radio chatter, talking to Batman. He would be there at 1 AM to check on things, make sure nothing crazy was going down. He had to leave before then. But he watches still. Can't miss anything. Arsenic swooping down to nab someone wasn't new to the GCPD, they should learn to expect it. But none of them look up at the fire escapes, none notice the lurking figure that expelled fear.

They will not lay hands on you.

Theres comfort in that, at least.

Ashtyn will be fine.

Mm.

There's also the threat of Bruce finding the bodies and worrying, but he can't voice that. He can't. The doors open, and he makes a beeline for his door. He can't wear these clothes any longer. The blood is crusting.

Jonathan lounges on the sofa, waiting for his husband to return. He loosens his tie. Lights a cigarette.

Feels too familiar. Immediately falling into a routine, his coming home and changing, Jon waiting for him in the living room. Almost like a normal couple, if not for the blood now rushing down the sink, on the floor.

He has to take a moment to himself, convince himself that this wasn't just another hallucination. Anxiously checks his messages, wipes down the scythe, puts it in the back of his closet.

I'm here. Let me in.

Door's unloxked.

He finishes buttoning up his clean shirt, heading back to the living room, hovering by the couch awkwardly, sort of leaning on the armrest.

im not comingg jn by myself. come get me.

10:28 PM.

Wind moves the white sleeves and the burlap strip on Arsenic's scythe in time, as his figure perches over the site that all of the Arkham inmates had appeared around. The cops were below him, completely unaware, but he could hear the radio chatter, talking to Batman. He would be there at 1 AM to check on things, make sure nothing crazy was going down. He had to leave before then. But he watches still. Can't miss anything. Arsenic swooping down to nab someone wasn't new to the GCPD, they should learn to expect it. But none of them look up at the fire escapes, none notice the lurking figure that expelled fear.

They will not lay hands on you.

Theres comfort in that, at least.

Ashtyn will be fine.

Mm.

There's also the threat of Bruce finding the bodies and worrying, but he can't voice that. He can't. The doors open, and he makes a beeline for his door. He can't wear these clothes any longer. The blood is crusting.

Jonathan lounges on the sofa, waiting for his husband to return. He loosens his tie. Lights a cigarette.

Feels too familiar. Immediately falling into a routine, his coming home and changing, Jon waiting for him in the living room. Almost like a normal couple, if not for the blood now rushing down the sink, on the floor.

He has to take a moment to himself, convince himself that this wasn't just another hallucination. Anxiously checks his messages, wipes down the scythe, puts it in the back of his closet.

I'm here. Let me in.

10:28 PM.

Wind moves the white sleeves and the burlap strip on Arsenic's scythe in time, as his figure perches over the site that all of the Arkham inmates had appeared around. The cops were below him, completely unaware, but he could hear the radio chatter, talking to Batman. He would be there at 1 AM to check on things, make sure nothing crazy was going down. He had to leave before then. But he watches still. Can't miss anything. Arsenic swooping down to nab someone wasn't new to the GCPD, they should learn to expect it. But none of them look up at the fire escapes, none notice the lurking figure that expelled fear.

Movement. Like a portal, opening up, throwing a disgruntled Jonathan on the ground. He looks just like his, only his scars are in different places, and he still had his left hand. Oh God. Oh..

No time to hesitate. The first cop to raise his radio dies, and the rest fall in tandem to Arsenic's blade. He feels nothing but eyes, guilt and hope on his being.

Jonathan's eyes are wild, pissed off in a way that he always was, and disoriented like they've never been. Arsenic can see the way her husband's face scrunches as he realizes where he is, what she's doing. She sees the annoyance and disgust on his face when he realizes his mask is nowhere to be found. He stands, brushing Gotham's dirt off the knees of his pants, straightening his tie. This is an interruption to his schedule, and he will not be having it.

Arsenic takes out every single cop in the area, not risking any reports of this making it to Gordon, and similarly, Bruce. He hadn't killed like this since Scarecrow last asked him to. He hadn't killed like this since before he was shot, before he said he would never kill again and he was nearly killed.

After every cop is dead and every radio is smashed, Arsenic heads straight back to Jonathan, like a faithful hunting dog. He looks almost impatient. Arsenic scans for any hint of approval he can grasp.

Hm. He can work with this. He looks to Arsenic with mild appreciation, letting her do her routine of checking him over per usual. She's dead, might as well leave her thos last comfort.

He takes off the mask to better look at him, simply staring in reverence for now. His hands are covered in blood. Usually he'd care more. That doesn't matter. Not right now. The only thing worrying him is Jon suddenly being torn away again, or maybe not being able to answer any of his questions, being useless —

He'd reach out, but he's scared.

Darling.

He looks at him like he's unwell. Like he looks at his patients at the psychiatrist's office. Like Alex should know the answer by now. The answer to what? What is he asking him to do right now?

Jonny. .?

Eugh, his voice comes out shaky and small. He's incapable of thinking properly. What did he want? God knows he'd get it, if only he could figure out what it was.

Yes, dear?

He sounds impatient. He always sounded impatient. That's just how he was.

He stares dumbly again for a second. Jesus. After a minute, he finally stops gawking at the other and looks at the bodies.

We should go. They'll notice that this site is unmanned soon.

Correct.

His tie is askew. He looks so..... alive. it hurts.

His hands flounder before finding his arm, too scared to grab his hand, and pulling him through the unfamiliar alleys, away from the scene.

He removes his arm from Alex's hold, walking freely beside him.

They walk. Arsenic puts his mask back on the minute they're on a main street again, shielding. Walking on the inside of the sidewalk. It'd look domestic if it weren't so bizzare.

Jonathan walks with a purpose, shoulders back and posture prideful. An academic. Was this.... Is he still a psychologist?

He doesn't dare ask. He's coming up with a question. One that'll get him a view on Jon's world without seeming desperate to talk to him. Maybe a statement. Jesus, he feels like a teenager on a first date. This was stupid. They were married.

You're not wearing your ring.

You are.

The two words mean so much and so little at the same time.

Is there a problem with that?

You have your hand, why wouldn't you wear it?

That might reveal too much. Shit.

You murder policemen. Why would you?

He raises an eyebrow, squinting at him.

To protect you.

He doubts the answer was the same on his end.

I don't believe that is the comfort you were hoping to extend.

He follows Alex, but makes it seem like he's in charge. How the hell does he manage that? It's creepy, how easily he slots back into control.

He would've found us had I not killed them. Reinforcements arrive in an hour, and I didn't want any sign that you'd been there.

He huffs. Frustrating, but soothing. He didn't feel any pressure to actually be the leader here, and it made it easier to think. So long as Jon was in charge, he could stay calm. He could pretend this was normal.

Hm.

The silence stretches, and it's unbearable. Briefly, Alex questions where he's taking them both.

And you don't believe the twelve dead officers will alert my presence? very few rogues use scythes, darling.

I'm the only rogue alive that uses a scythe.

He mutters, briefly fixing the burlap tied on the staff of the weapon.

Hm.

He holds his hand out, asking silently for the scythe.

Where are you taking the both of us?

He gives it to the other without question. Probably not a good idea.

One of my apartments. Or, um, the pottery shop.

A quiet hint to avoid outright asking about Tabitha. Maybe it'd ring a bell.

A... Pottery shop. How public.

His voice drawls, spinning the weapon in his hands, unraveling the burlap once more. Testing Alex. watching for his reaction.

Shut down. Tabitha stays there.

He offers, eyeing the other's hands, for a moment too long.

Ah, you've made a friend.

He gives back the scythe, cloth strip on his hands.

I have. I've made plenty.

Such an act of rebellion, Alex, really. How will he react? You aren't reliant on him. You'll get your net taken down, and you'll be alone. Shut up.

Hm.

Jonathan will have to fix that.

Then let us.

They continue on. Alex sends a text, quickly, to Tabitha.

I have him. Are you sure you'd like to see him?

Ten minutes pass. She doesn't answer. Most she does is read the message.

Great. Because she doesn't respond, he can't bring them to the shop. He needs to get them out of the street. His penthouse is close. Does he want to risk taking him there? What if Thea comes home? What if Ashtyn comes back from staying at a friends' early? What if Bruce swings by?

He starts leading him there anyway.

His phone rings. she's fucking calling him. Calling. Does he pick up?

He lets out a stressed exhale, picking up. He never stops walking.

Yes?

Where are you. I don't want him in my shop. I can't- I haven't done anything with it, he won't like it. I'll- where are you.

A shaky breath. She sounds like she's running.

Which house.

Penthouse. We're on 27th right now.

His hands flounder again. They're still covered in blood. Probably a good thing. If they weren't, he'd probably be pulling out his own hair.

I'll meet you there.

She pauses. She's fucking scared. Her one fucking wish is finally here, and she's fucking scared of it. God fucking damn it Tabitha, get a grip. Don't hesitate. He leaves when you hesitate.

What's he like?

He's the same.

He glances over, still convincing himself that he's there. Irritatingly familiar. Achingly familiar.

Is he?

Does he ever stay the same? Does he remember her? Will he stroke her hair and call her Sparrow and make her feel whole again? Will he lock her in her room with only two discs for company? Will they be normal again?

Not the same. But he feels it.

Similar enough that she wants to throw up, she wants to help him, she wants to kill him, she wants to shout and she wants to sob in his arms. But he can't. That's not happening. Not now, not here, not again.

... His head hurt. He felt guilty, always did. It was amplified now. How do you beg for the one man that makes you feel helpless and then dare to want control? He glances over again. It's less worshipping. From holy reverence to theophobic.

How far away are you.

Fifteen if I can catch a cab. So probably 25.

Walking means more opportunities to turn around. to leave. But she can't leave Alex like this. She can't leave him with Jonathan.

10:28 PM.

Wind moves the white sleeves and the burlap strip on Arsenic's scythe in time, as his figure perches over the site that all of the Arkham inmates had appeared around. The cops were below him, completely unaware, but he could hear the radio chatter, talking to Batman. He would be there at 1 AM to check on things, make sure nothing crazy was going down. He had to leave before then. But he watches still. Can't miss anything. Arsenic swooping down to nab someone wasn't new to the GCPD, they should learn to expect it. But none of them look up at the fire escapes, none notice the lurking figure that expelled fear.

Movement. Like a portal, opening up, throwing a disgruntled Jonathan on the ground. He looks just like his, only his scars are in different places, and he still had his left hand. Oh God. Oh..

No time to hesitate. The first cop to raise his radio dies, and the rest fall in tandem to Arsenic's blade. He feels nothing but eyes, guilt and hope on his being.

Jonathan's eyes are wild, pissed off in a way that he always was, and disoriented like they've never been. Arsenic can see the way her husband's face scrunches as he realizes where he is, what she's doing. She sees the annoyance and disgust on his face when he realizes his mask is nowhere to be found. He stands, brushing Gotham's dirt off the knees of his pants, straightening his tie. This is an interruption to his schedule, and he will not be having it.

Arsenic takes out every single cop in the area, not risking any reports of this making it to Gordon, and similarly, Bruce. He hadn't killed like this since Scarecrow last asked him to. He hadn't killed like this since before he was shot, before he said he would never kill again and he was nearly killed.

After every cop is dead and every radio is smashed, Arsenic heads straight back to Jonathan, like a faithful hunting dog. He looks almost impatient. Arsenic scans for any hint of approval he can grasp.

Hm. He can work with this. He looks to Arsenic with mild appreciation, letting her do her routine of checking him over per usual. She's dead, might as well leave her thos last comfort.

He takes off the mask to better look at him, simply staring in reverence for now. His hands are covered in blood. Usually he'd care more. That doesn't matter. Not right now. The only thing worrying him is Jon suddenly being torn away again, or maybe not being able to answer any of his questions, being useless —

He'd reach out, but he's scared.

Darling.

He looks at him like he's unwell. Like he looks at his patients at the psychiatrist's office. Like Alex should know the answer by now. The answer to what? What is he asking him to do right now?

Jonny. .?

Eugh, his voice comes out shaky and small. He's incapable of thinking properly. What did he want? God knows he'd get it, if only he could figure out what it was.

Yes, dear?

He sounds impatient. He always sounded impatient. That's just how he was.

He stares dumbly again for a second. Jesus. After a minute, he finally stops gawking at the other and looks at the bodies.

We should go. They'll notice that this site is unmanned soon.

Correct.

His tie is askew. He looks so..... alive. it hurts.

His hands flounder before finding his arm, too scared to grab his hand, and pulling him through the unfamiliar alleys, away from the scene.

He removes his arm from Alex's hold, walking freely beside him.

They walk. Arsenic puts his mask back on the minute they're on a main street again, shielding. Walking on the inside of the sidewalk. It'd look domestic if it weren't so bizzare.

Jonathan walks with a purpose, shoulders back and posture prideful. An academic. Was this.... Is he still a psychologist?

He doesn't dare ask. He's coming up with a question. One that'll get him a view on Jon's world without seeming desperate to talk to him. Maybe a statement. Jesus, he feels like a teenager on a first date. This was stupid. They were married.

You're not wearing your ring.

You are.

The two words mean so much and so little at the same time.

Is there a problem with that?

You have your hand, why wouldn't you wear it?

That might reveal too much. Shit.

You murder policemen. Why would you?

He raises an eyebrow, squinting at him.

To protect you.

He doubts the answer was the same on his end.

I don't believe that is the comfort you were hoping to extend.

He follows Alex, but makes it seem like he's in charge. How the hell does he manage that? It's creepy, how easily he slots back into control.

He would've found us had I not killed them. Reinforcements arrive in an hour, and I didn't want any sign that you'd been there.

He huffs. Frustrating, but soothing. He didn't feel any pressure to actually be the leader here, and it made it easier to think. So long as Jon was in charge, he could stay calm. He could pretend this was normal.

Hm.

The silence stretches, and it's unbearable. Briefly, Alex questions where he's taking them both.

And you don't believe the twelve dead officers will alert my presence? very few rogues use scythes, darling.

I'm the only rogue alive that uses a scythe.

He mutters, briefly fixing the burlap tied on the staff of the weapon.

Hm.

He holds his hand out, asking silently for the scythe.

Where are you taking the both of us?

He gives it to the other without question. Probably not a good idea.

One of my apartments. Or, um, the pottery shop.

A quiet hint to avoid outright asking about Tabitha. Maybe it'd ring a bell.

A... Pottery shop. How public.

His voice drawls, spinning the weapon in his hands, unraveling the burlap once more. Testing Alex. watching for his reaction.

Shut down. Tabitha stays there.

He offers, eyeing the other's hands, for a moment too long.

Ah, you've made a friend.

He gives back the scythe, cloth strip on his hands.

I have. I've made plenty.

Such an act of rebellion, Alex, really. How will he react? You aren't reliant on him. You'll get your net taken down, and you'll be alone. Shut up.

Hm.

Jonathan will have to fix that.

Then let us.

They continue on. Alex sends a text, quickly, to Tabitha.

I have him. Are you sure you'd like to see him?

Ten minutes pass. She doesn't answer. Most she does is read the message.

Great. Because she doesn't respond, he can't bring them to the shop. He needs to get them out of the street. His penthouse is close. Does he want to risk taking him there? What if Thea comes home? What if Ashtyn comes back from staying at a friends' early? What if Bruce swings by?

He starts leading him there anyway.

His phone rings. she's fucking calling him. Calling. Does he pick up?

He lets out a stressed exhale, picking up. He never stops walking.

Yes?

Where are you. I don't want him in my shop. I can't- I haven't done anything with it, he won't like it. I'll- where are you.

A shaky breath. She sounds like she's running.

Which house.

Penthouse. We're on 27th right now.

His hands flounder again. They're still covered in blood. Probably a good thing. If they weren't, he'd probably be pulling out his own hair.

I'll meet you there.

She pauses. She's fucking scared. Her one fucking wish is finally here, and she's fucking scared of it. God fucking damn it Tabitha, get a grip. Don't hesitate. He leaves when you hesitate.

What's he like?

He's the same.

He glances over, still convincing himself that he's there. Irritatingly familiar. Achingly familiar.

Is he?

Does he ever stay the same? Does he remember her? Will he stroke her hair and call her Sparrow and make her feel whole again? Will he lock her in her room with only two discs for company? Will they be normal again?

10:28 PM.

Wind moves the white sleeves and the burlap strip on Arsenic's scythe in time, as his figure perches over the site that all of the Arkham inmates had appeared around. The cops were below him, completely unaware, but he could hear the radio chatter, talking to Batman. He would be there at 1 AM to check on things, make sure nothing crazy was going down. He had to leave before then. But he watches still. Can't miss anything. Arsenic swooping down to nab someone wasn't new to the GCPD, they should learn to expect it. But none of them look up at the fire escapes, none notice the lurking figure that expelled fear.

Movement. Like a portal, opening up, throwing a disgruntled Jonathan on the ground. He looks just like his, only his scars are in different places, and he still had his left hand. Oh God. Oh..

No time to hesitate. The first cop to raise his radio dies, and the rest fall in tandem to Arsenic's blade. He feels nothing but eyes, guilt and hope on his being.

Jonathan's eyes are wild, pissed off in a way that he always was, and disoriented like they've never been. Arsenic can see the way her husband's face scrunches as he realizes where he is, what she's doing. She sees the annoyance and disgust on his face when he realizes his mask is nowhere to be found. He stands, brushing Gotham's dirt off the knees of his pants, straightening his tie. This is an interruption to his schedule, and he will not be having it.

Arsenic takes out every single cop in the area, not risking any reports of this making it to Gordon, and similarly, Bruce. He hadn't killed like this since Scarecrow last asked him to. He hadn't killed like this since before he was shot, before he said he would never kill again and he was nearly killed.

After every cop is dead and every radio is smashed, Arsenic heads straight back to Jonathan, like a faithful hunting dog. He looks almost impatient. Arsenic scans for any hint of approval he can grasp.

Hm. He can work with this. He looks to Arsenic with mild appreciation, letting her do her routine of checking him over per usual. She's dead, might as well leave her thos last comfort.

He takes off the mask to better look at him, simply staring in reverence for now. His hands are covered in blood. Usually he'd care more. That doesn't matter. Not right now. The only thing worrying him is Jon suddenly being torn away again, or maybe not being able to answer any of his questions, being useless —

He'd reach out, but he's scared.

Darling.

He looks at him like he's unwell. Like he looks at his patients at the psychiatrist's office. Like Alex should know the answer by now. The answer to what? What is he asking him to do right now?

Jonny. .?

Eugh, his voice comes out shaky and small. He's incapable of thinking properly. What did he want? God knows he'd get it, if only he could figure out what it was.

Yes, dear?

He sounds impatient. He always sounded impatient. That's just how he was.

He stares dumbly again for a second. Jesus. After a minute, he finally stops gawking at the other and looks at the bodies.

We should go. They'll notice that this site is unmanned soon.

Correct.

His tie is askew. He looks so..... alive. it hurts.

His hands flounder before finding his arm, too scared to grab his hand, and pulling him through the unfamiliar alleys, away from the scene.

He removes his arm from Alex's hold, walking freely beside him.

They walk. Arsenic puts his mask back on the minute they're on a main street again, shielding. Walking on the inside of the sidewalk. It'd look domestic if it weren't so bizzare.

Jonathan walks with a purpose, shoulders back and posture prideful. An academic. Was this.... Is he still a psychologist?

He doesn't dare ask. He's coming up with a question. One that'll get him a view on Jon's world without seeming desperate to talk to him. Maybe a statement. Jesus, he feels like a teenager on a first date. This was stupid. They were married.

You're not wearing your ring.

You are.

The two words mean so much and so little at the same time.

Is there a problem with that?

You have your hand, why wouldn't you wear it?

That might reveal too much. Shit.

You murder policemen. Why would you?

He raises an eyebrow, squinting at him.

To protect you.

He doubts the answer was the same on his end.

I don't believe that is the comfort you were hoping to extend.

He follows Alex, but makes it seem like he's in charge. How the hell does he manage that? It's creepy, how easily he slots back into control.

He would've found us had I not killed them. Reinforcements arrive in an hour, and I didn't want any sign that you'd been there.

He huffs. Frustrating, but soothing. He didn't feel any pressure to actually be the leader here, and it made it easier to think. So long as Jon was in charge, he could stay calm. He could pretend this was normal.

Hm.

The silence stretches, and it's unbearable. Briefly, Alex questions where he's taking them both.

And you don't believe the twelve dead officers will alert my presence? very few rogues use scythes, darling.

I'm the only rogue alive that uses a scythe.

He mutters, briefly fixing the burlap tied on the staff of the weapon.

Hm.

He holds his hand out, asking silently for the scythe.

Where are you taking the both of us?

He gives it to the other without question. Probably not a good idea.

One of my apartments. Or, um, the pottery shop.

A quiet hint to avoid outright asking about Tabitha. Maybe it'd ring a bell.

A... Pottery shop. How public.

His voice drawls, spinning the weapon in his hands, unraveling the burlap once more. Testing Alex. watching for his reaction.

Shut down. Tabitha stays there.

He offers, eyeing the other's hands, for a moment too long.

Ah, you've made a friend.

He gives back the scythe, cloth strip on his hands.

I have. I've made plenty.

Such an act of rebellion, Alex, really. How will he react? You aren't reliant on him. You'll get your net taken down, and you'll be alone. Shut up.

Hm.

Jonathan will have to fix that.

Then let us.

They continue on. Alex sends a text, quickly, to Tabitha.

I have him. Are you sure you'd like to see him?

Ten minutes pass. She doesn't answer. Most she does is read the message.

Great. Because she doesn't respond, he can't bring them to the shop. He needs to get them out of the street. His penthouse is close. Does he want to risk taking him there? What if Thea comes home? What if Ashtyn comes back from staying at a friends' early? What if Bruce swings by?

He starts leading him there anyway.

His phone rings. she's fucking calling him. Calling. Does he pick up?

He lets out a stressed exhale, picking up. He never stops walking.

Yes?

Where are you. I don't want him in my shop. I can't- I haven't done anything with it, he won't like it. I'll- where are you.

A shaky breath. She sounds like she's running.

Which house.

Penthouse. We're on 27th right now.

His hands flounder again. They're still covered in blood. Probably a good thing. If they weren't, he'd probably be pulling out his own hair.

I'll meet you there.

She pauses. She's fucking scared. Her one fucking wish is finally here, and she's fucking scared of it. God fucking damn it Tabitha, get a grip. Don't hesitate. He leaves when you hesitate.

What's he like?

10:28 PM.

Wind moves the white sleeves and the burlap strip on Arsenic's scythe in time, as his figure perches over the site that all of the Arkham inmates had appeared around. The cops were below him, completely unaware, but he could hear the radio chatter, talking to Batman. He would be there at 1 AM to check on things, make sure nothing crazy was going down. He had to leave before then. But he watches still. Can't miss anything. Arsenic swooping down to nab someone wasn't new to the GCPD, they should learn to expect it. But none of them look up at the fire escapes, none notice the lurking figure that expelled fear.

Movement. Like a portal, opening up, throwing a disgruntled Jonathan on the ground. He looks just like his, only his scars are in different places, and he still had his left hand. Oh God. Oh..

No time to hesitate. The first cop to raise his radio dies, and the rest fall in tandem to Arsenic's blade. He feels nothing but eyes, guilt and hope on his being.

Jonathan's eyes are wild, pissed off in a way that he always was, and disoriented like they've never been. Arsenic can see the way her husband's face scrunches as he realizes where he is, what she's doing. She sees the annoyance and disgust on his face when he realizes his mask is nowhere to be found. He stands, brushing Gotham's dirt off the knees of his pants, straightening his tie. This is an interruption to his schedule, and he will not be having it.

Arsenic takes out every single cop in the area, not risking any reports of this making it to Gordon, and similarly, Bruce. He hadn't killed like this since Scarecrow last asked him to. He hadn't killed like this since before he was shot, before he said he would never kill again and he was nearly killed.

After every cop is dead and every radio is smashed, Arsenic heads straight back to Jonathan, like a faithful hunting dog. He looks almost impatient. Arsenic scans for any hint of approval he can grasp.

Hm. He can work with this. He looks to Arsenic with mild appreciation, letting her do her routine of checking him over per usual. She's dead, might as well leave her thos last comfort.

He takes off the mask to better look at him, simply staring in reverence for now. His hands are covered in blood. Usually he'd care more. That doesn't matter. Not right now. The only thing worrying him is Jon suddenly being torn away again, or maybe not being able to answer any of his questions, being useless —

He'd reach out, but he's scared.

Darling.

He looks at him like he's unwell. Like he looks at his patients at the psychiatrist's office. Like Alex should know the answer by now. The answer to what? What is he asking him to do right now?

Jonny. .?

Eugh, his voice comes out shaky and small. He's incapable of thinking properly. What did he want? God knows he'd get it, if only he could figure out what it was.

Yes, dear?

He sounds impatient. He always sounded impatient. That's just how he was.

He stares dumbly again for a second. Jesus. After a minute, he finally stops gawking at the other and looks at the bodies.

We should go. They'll notice that this site is unmanned soon.

Correct.

His tie is askew. He looks so..... alive. it hurts.

His hands flounder before finding his arm, too scared to grab his hand, and pulling him through the unfamiliar alleys, away from the scene.

He removes his arm from Alex's hold, walking freely beside him.

They walk. Arsenic puts his mask back on the minute they're on a main street again, shielding. Walking on the inside of the sidewalk. It'd look domestic if it weren't so bizzare.

Jonathan walks with a purpose, shoulders back and posture prideful. An academic. Was this.... Is he still a psychologist?

He doesn't dare ask. He's coming up with a question. One that'll get him a view on Jon's world without seeming desperate to talk to him. Maybe a statement. Jesus, he feels like a teenager on a first date. This was stupid. They were married.

You're not wearing your ring.

You are.

The two words mean so much and so little at the same time.

Is there a problem with that?

You have your hand, why wouldn't you wear it?

That might reveal too much. Shit.

You murder policemen. Why would you?

He raises an eyebrow, squinting at him.

To protect you.

He doubts the answer was the same on his end.

I don't believe that is the comfort you were hoping to extend.

He follows Alex, but makes it seem like he's in charge. How the hell does he manage that? It's creepy, how easily he slots back into control.

He would've found us had I not killed them. Reinforcements arrive in an hour, and I didn't want any sign that you'd been there.

He huffs. Frustrating, but soothing. He didn't feel any pressure to actually be the leader here, and it made it easier to think. So long as Jon was in charge, he could stay calm. He could pretend this was normal.

Hm.

The silence stretches, and it's unbearable. Briefly, Alex questions where he's taking them both.

And you don't believe the twelve dead officers will alert my presence? very few rogues use scythes, darling.

I'm the only rogue alive that uses a scythe.

He mutters, briefly fixing the burlap tied on the staff of the weapon.

Hm.

He holds his hand out, asking silently for the scythe.

Where are you taking the both of us?

He gives it to the other without question. Probably not a good idea.

One of my apartments. Or, um, the pottery shop.

A quiet hint to avoid outright asking about Tabitha. Maybe it'd ring a bell.

A... Pottery shop. How public.

His voice drawls, spinning the weapon in his hands, unraveling the burlap once more. Testing Alex. watching for his reaction.

Shut down. Tabitha stays there.

He offers, eyeing the other's hands, for a moment too long.

Ah, you've made a friend.

He gives back the scythe, cloth strip on his hands.

I have. I've made plenty.

Such an act of rebellion, Alex, really. How will he react? You aren't reliant on him. You'll get your net taken down, and you'll be alone. Shut up.

Hm.

Jonathan will have to fix that.

Then let us.

They continue on. Alex sends a text, quickly, to Tabitha.

I have him. Are you sure you'd like to see him?

Ten minutes pass. She doesn't answer. Most she does is read the message.

Great. Because she doesn't respond, he can't bring them to the shop. He needs to get them out of the street. His penthouse is close. Does he want to risk taking him there? What if Thea comes home? What if Ashtyn comes back from staying at a friends' early? What if Bruce swings by?

He starts leading him there anyway.

His phone rings. she's fucking calling him. Calling. Does he pick up?

He lets out a stressed exhale, picking up. He never stops walking.

Yes?

Where are you. I don't want him in my shop. I can't- I haven't done anything with it, he won't like it. I'll- where are you.

A shaky breath. She sounds like she's running.

Which house.

A call. A call? It was Alex's number. Usually she texts. Maybe Bruce was rubbing off on her.

(@arsenicisntmagpie)

She picks up quickly.

Hello?

Hi. Sorry if I scared you, sensitive question. Can't ask over text, and I'm not at liberty to leave work right now.

Papers rustle around her. Faint chatter can be heard around her. Precinct? Morgue? ACE?

God, I'm going to be killed for this. Say there was a case, and... hm. So, there's been doppelgängers popping up. Civilians and thugs who already exist here in Gotham, and it's not fraud. Even... deceased people, popping up again.

She holds her breath.

..Jonathan. Right?

Shit shit shit shit shit she needed to get out. If. Shit. Ohh shit.

He hasn't... Had a doppelgänger. And for unselfish reasons I really hope he doesn't. Would you like me to alert you, if he does pop up? There's no guarantee he'll recognize anyone, even me or you.

But it's Jon. He'll hurt us anyway.

Why did you call. What's this about.

She's snappy. Agitated.

There's a high chance he's on his way.

She sighs quietly, head on the desk. She taps her pen on the hardwood.

We got Eddie today. Whoever sending people to our Gotham, they're hitting Arkham. I want you to know what's going on and I want you to be able to protect yourself when it happens.

You know as well as I do there will be no protecting.

God, he's gonna kill me. I broke the music box.

Don't give me that bullshit.

You should still know. I needed you to know. I would've felt crazy seeing it on the news.

How much of a dick would she feel like not telling her? Especially if Jonny decides to be slippery. He could be on the streets right now, and they wouldn't actually know until the car hauling doppelgängers in pulls up.

So what next? What happens if-

What if he comes back. What if he's different. What if he's hurt. What if they take him again. What if he doesn't remember me. What if he does.

Tabitha wants to scream. She'll stop by the shop later and throw something on the wheel so she can smash it. Or just smash the already hardened pieces. She needs to feel something break, in order to hold herself together.

I don't know. I have no idea. Eddie didn't recognize me. I have my reasons to believe Jonny wont either. I don't know how to feel.

The sound of a door opening. She's stepped outside.

I'm not asking to be taken off the case. But if they do take him in... I hope to find him first, I'm taking patrol tonight. I don't know what I'm doing. I do want you to be safe, though. Are you going to be at the pottery shop tonight? Or one of my apartments?

Does it matter?

She feels sick. She hates Alex. She hates her. She hates her so much. Why would she do this to her. Why would she dangle this in front of her just to rip it away. She hates her.

It does. Quite a bit. Look, i called to ask, um. If you'd like to see him, if that happened. But I'm—I can't figure out a safe way to do that.

Safe. Nothing about this was safe, she was planning to kidnap her alternate universe husband before the cops could get him and before Bruce checked out how the case was going. This was stupid and vaguely suicidal and just going to make everything worse.

... would you?

No.

Her voice shakes, but its adamant. She's positive.

I- I can't. I can't- you can't make me. I won't.

You don't have to. I'll keep him away from you. I promise.

She lights a cigarette, calculating when she'd get off work, when she could don her mask and start scouring the sites the rest of the doppelgängers popped up. She'd have to go as Arsenic. Magpie looking too hard at those sites would be... it would raise too many questions.

He's.

She shudders as cold hands harshly grab the back of her neck.

Alex, what the fuck is wrong with you.

I don't know! I don't know. I get off in half an hour. I've got to finish filing the rest of the paperwork for everybody we took in today. I'm.. Stay safe.

She hung up. She actually hung up. What the hell?

Her phone pings.

Does your boytoy know you're going to do this.

He's busy with other cases.

She huffs, snuffing out her cigarette on her wrist and heading back inside.

I'm at the shop tonight. Meet me before you go. I changed my mind.

She manages to catch the bin before she falls to her knees, hurling her dinner.

You sure?

She throws her phone on the desk, sitting back down and scribbling down all of the answers, making small changes that'd make her less easy to catch if she did find Crane.

Don't let me change my mind.

A call. A call? It was Alex's number. Usually she texts. Maybe Bruce was rubbing off on her.

(@arsenicisntmagpie)

She picks up quickly.

Hello?

Hi. Sorry if I scared you, sensitive question. Can't ask over text, and I'm not at liberty to leave work right now.

Papers rustle around her. Faint chatter can be heard around her. Precinct? Morgue? ACE?

God, I'm going to be killed for this. Say there was a case, and... hm. So, there's been doppelgängers popping up. Civilians and thugs who already exist here in Gotham, and it's not fraud. Even... deceased people, popping up again.

She holds her breath.

..Jonathan. Right?

Shit shit shit shit shit she needed to get out. If. Shit. Ohh shit.

He hasn't... Had a doppelgänger. And for unselfish reasons I really hope he doesn't. Would you like me to alert you, if he does pop up? There's no guarantee he'll recognize anyone, even me or you.

But it's Jon. He'll hurt us anyway.

Why did you call. What's this about.

She's snappy. Agitated.

There's a high chance he's on his way.

She sighs quietly, head on the desk. She taps her pen on the hardwood.

We got Eddie today. Whoever sending people to our Gotham, they're hitting Arkham. I want you to know what's going on and I want you to be able to protect yourself when it happens.

You know as well as I do there will be no protecting.

God, he's gonna kill me. I broke the music box.

Don't give me that bullshit.

You should still know. I needed you to know. I would've felt crazy seeing it on the news.

How much of a dick would she feel like not telling her? Especially if Jonny decides to be slippery. He could be on the streets right now, and they wouldn't actually know until the car hauling doppelgängers in pulls up.

So what next? What happens if-

What if he comes back. What if he's different. What if he's hurt. What if they take him again. What if he doesn't remember me. What if he does.

Tabitha wants to scream. She'll stop by the shop later and throw something on the wheel so she can smash it. Or just smash the already hardened pieces. She needs to feel something break, in order to hold herself together.

I don't know. I have no idea. Eddie didn't recognize me. I have my reasons to believe Jonny wont either. I don't know how to feel.

The sound of a door opening. She's stepped outside.

I'm not asking to be taken off the case. But if they do take him in... I hope to find him first, I'm taking patrol tonight. I don't know what I'm doing. I do want you to be safe, though. Are you going to be at the pottery shop tonight? Or one of my apartments?

Does it matter?

She feels sick. She hates Alex. She hates her. She hates her so much. Why would she do this to her. Why would she dangle this in front of her just to rip it away. She hates her.

It does. Quite a bit. Look, i called to ask, um. If you'd like to see him, if that happened. But I'm—I can't figure out a safe way to do that.

Safe. Nothing about this was safe, she was planning to kidnap her alternate universe husband before the cops could get him and before Bruce checked out how the case was going. This was stupid and vaguely suicidal and just going to make everything worse.

... would you?

No.

Her voice shakes, but its adamant. She's positive.

I- I can't. I can't- you can't make me. I won't.

You don't have to. I'll keep him away from you. I promise.

She lights a cigarette, calculating when she'd get off work, when she could don her mask and start scouring the sites the rest of the doppelgängers popped up. She'd have to go as Arsenic. Magpie looking too hard at those sites would be... it would raise too many questions.

He's.

She shudders as cold hands harshly grab the back of her neck.

Alex, what the fuck is wrong with you.

I don't know! I don't know. I get off in half an hour. I've got to finish filing the rest of the paperwork for everybody we took in today. I'm.. Stay safe.

She hung up. She actually hung up. What the hell?

Her phone pings.

Does your boytoy know you're going to do this.

He's busy with other cases.

She huffs, snuffing out her cigarette on her wrist and heading back inside.

I'm at the shop tonight. Meet me before you go. I changed my mind.

She manages to catch the bin before she falls to her knees, hurling her dinner.

#tw emetophobia

A call. A call? It was Alex's number. Usually she texts. Maybe Bruce was rubbing off on her.

(@arsenicisntmagpie)

She picks up quickly.

Hello?

Hi. Sorry if I scared you, sensitive question. Can't ask over text, and I'm not at liberty to leave work right now.

Papers rustle around her. Faint chatter can be heard around her. Precinct? Morgue? ACE?

God, I'm going to be killed for this. Say there was a case, and... hm. So, there's been doppelgängers popping up. Civilians and thugs who already exist here in Gotham, and it's not fraud. Even... deceased people, popping up again.

She holds her breath.

..Jonathan. Right?

Shit shit shit shit shit she needed to get out. If. Shit. Ohh shit.

He hasn't... Had a doppelgänger. And for unselfish reasons I really hope he doesn't. Would you like me to alert you, if he does pop up? There's no guarantee he'll recognize anyone, even me or you.

But it's Jon. He'll hurt us anyway.

Why did you call. What's this about.

She's snappy. Agitated.

There's a high chance he's on his way.

She sighs quietly, head on the desk. She taps her pen on the hardwood.

We got Eddie today. Whoever sending people to our Gotham, they're hitting Arkham. I want you to know what's going on and I want you to be able to protect yourself when it happens.

You know as well as I do there will be no protecting.

God, he's gonna kill me. I broke the music box.

Don't give me that bullshit.

You should still know. I needed you to know. I would've felt crazy seeing it on the news.

How much of a dick would she feel like not telling her? Especially if Jonny decides to be slippery. He could be on the streets right now, and they wouldn't actually know until the car hauling doppelgängers in pulls up.

So what next? What happens if-

What if he comes back. What if he's different. What if he's hurt. What if they take him again. What if he doesn't remember me. What if he does.

Tabitha wants to scream. She'll stop by the shop later and throw something on the wheel so she can smash it. Or just smash the already hardened pieces. She needs to feel something break, in order to hold herself together.

I don't know. I have no idea. Eddie didn't recognize me. I have my reasons to believe Jonny wont either. I don't know how to feel.

The sound of a door opening. She's stepped outside.

I'm not asking to be taken off the case. But if they do take him in... I hope to find him first, I'm taking patrol tonight. I don't know what I'm doing. I do want you to be safe, though. Are you going to be at the pottery shop tonight? Or one of my apartments?

Does it matter?

She feels sick. She hates Alex. She hates her. She hates her so much. Why would she do this to her. Why would she dangle this in front of her just to rip it away. She hates her.

It does. Quite a bit. Look, i called to ask, um. If you'd like to see him, if that happened. But I'm—I can't figure out a safe way to do that.

Safe. Nothing about this was safe, she was planning to kidnap her alternate universe husband before the cops could get him and before Bruce checked out how the case was going. This was stupid and vaguely suicidal and just going to make everything worse.

... would you?

No.

Her voice shakes, but its adamant. She's positive.

I- I can't. I can't- you can't make me. I won't.

You don't have to. I'll keep him away from you. I promise.

She lights a cigarette, calculating when she'd get off work, when she could don her mask and start scouring the sites the rest of the doppelgängers popped up. She'd have to go as Arsenic. Magpie looking too hard at those sites would be... it would raise too many questions.

He's.

She shudders as cold hands harshly grab the back of her neck.

Alex, what the fuck is wrong with you.

I don't know! I don't know. I get off in half an hour. I've got to finish filing the rest of the paperwork for everybody we took in today. I'm.. Stay safe.

She hung up. She actually hung up. What the hell?

#tabitha's trying to hit a nerve. she wants alex to react like she is.

Her phone pings.

Does your boytoy know you're going to do this.

A call. A call? It was Alex's number. Usually she texts. Maybe Bruce was rubbing off on her.

(@arsenicisntmagpie)

She picks up quickly.

Hello?

Hi. Sorry if I scared you, sensitive question. Can't ask over text, and I'm not at liberty to leave work right now.

Papers rustle around her. Faint chatter can be heard around her. Precinct? Morgue? ACE?

God, I'm going to be killed for this. Say there was a case, and... hm. So, there's been doppelgängers popping up. Civilians and thugs who already exist here in Gotham, and it's not fraud. Even... deceased people, popping up again.

She holds her breath.

..Jonathan. Right?

Shit shit shit shit shit she needed to get out. If. Shit. Ohh shit.

He hasn't... Had a doppelgänger. And for unselfish reasons I really hope he doesn't. Would you like me to alert you, if he does pop up? There's no guarantee he'll recognize anyone, even me or you.

But it's Jon. He'll hurt us anyway.

Why did you call. What's this about.

She's snappy. Agitated.

There's a high chance he's on his way.

She sighs quietly, head on the desk. She taps her pen on the hardwood.

We got Eddie today. Whoever sending people to our Gotham, they're hitting Arkham. I want you to know what's going on and I want you to be able to protect yourself when it happens.

You know as well as I do there will be no protecting.

God, he's gonna kill me. I broke the music box.

Don't give me that bullshit.

You should still know. I needed you to know. I would've felt crazy seeing it on the news.

How much of a dick would she feel like not telling her? Especially if Jonny decides to be slippery. He could be on the streets right now, and they wouldn't actually know until the car hauling doppelgängers in pulls up.

So what next? What happens if-

What if he comes back. What if he's different. What if he's hurt. What if they take him again. What if he doesn't remember me. What if he does.

Tabitha wants to scream. She'll stop by the shop later and throw something on the wheel so she can smash it. Or just smash the already hardened pieces. She needs to feel something break, in order to hold herself together.

I don't know. I have no idea. Eddie didn't recognize me. I have my reasons to believe Jonny wont either. I don't know how to feel.

The sound of a door opening. She's stepped outside.

I'm not asking to be taken off the case. But if they do take him in... I hope to find him first, I'm taking patrol tonight. I don't know what I'm doing. I do want you to be safe, though. Are you going to be at the pottery shop tonight? Or one of my apartments?

Does it matter?

She feels sick. She hates Alex. She hates her. She hates her so much. Why would she do this to her. Why would she dangle this in front of her just to rip it away. She hates her.

It does. Quite a bit. Look, i called to ask, um. If you'd like to see him, if that happened. But I'm—I can't figure out a safe way to do that.

Safe. Nothing about this was safe, she was planning to kidnap her alternate universe husband before the cops could get him and before Bruce checked out how the case was going. This was stupid and vaguely suicidal and just going to make everything worse.

... would you?

No.

Her voice shakes, but its adamant. She's positive.

I- I can't. I can't- you can't make me. I won't.

You don't have to. I'll keep him away from you. I promise.

She lights a cigarette, calculating when she'd get off work, when she could don her mask and start scouring the sites the rest of the doppelgängers popped up. She'd have to go as Arsenic. Magpie looking too hard at those sites would be... it would raise too many questions.

He's.

She shudders as cold hands harshly grab the back of her neck.

Alex, what the fuck is wrong with you.

A call. A call? It was Alex's number. Usually she texts. Maybe Bruce was rubbing off on her.

(@arsenicisntmagpie)

She picks up quickly.

Hello?

Hi. Sorry if I scared you, sensitive question. Can't ask over text, and I'm not at liberty to leave work right now.

Papers rustle around her. Faint chatter can be heard around her. Precinct? Morgue? ACE?

God, I'm going to be killed for this. Say there was a case, and... hm. So, there's been doppelgängers popping up. Civilians and thugs who already exist here in Gotham, and it's not fraud. Even... deceased people, popping up again.

She holds her breath.

..Jonathan. Right?

Shit shit shit shit shit she needed to get out. If. Shit. Ohh shit.

He hasn't... Had a doppelgänger. And for unselfish reasons I really hope he doesn't. Would you like me to alert you, if he does pop up? There's no guarantee he'll recognize anyone, even me or you.

But it's Jon. He'll hurt us anyway.

Why did you call. What's this about.

She's snappy. Agitated.

There's a high chance he's on his way.

She sighs quietly, head on the desk. She taps her pen on the hardwood.

We got Eddie today. Whoever sending people to our Gotham, they're hitting Arkham. I want you to know what's going on and I want you to be able to protect yourself when it happens.

You know as well as I do there will be no protecting.

God, he's gonna kill me. I broke the music box.

Don't give me that bullshit.

You should still know. I needed you to know. I would've felt crazy seeing it on the news.

How much of a dick would she feel like not telling her? Especially if Jonny decides to be slippery. He could be on the streets right now, and they wouldn't actually know until the car hauling doppelgängers in pulls up.

So what next? What happens if-

What if he comes back. What if he's different. What if he's hurt. What if they take him again. What if he doesn't remember me. What if he does.

Tabitha wants to scream. She'll stop by the shop later and throw something on the wheel so she can smash it. Or just smash the already hardened pieces. She needs to feel something break, in order to hold herself together.

I don't know. I have no idea. Eddie didn't recognize me. I have my reasons to believe Jonny wont either. I don't know how to feel.

The sound of a door opening. She's stepped outside.

I'm not asking to be taken off the case. But if they do take him in... I hope to find him first, I'm taking patrol tonight. I don't know what I'm doing. I do want you to be safe, though. Are you going to be at the pottery shop tonight? Or one of my apartments?

Does it matter?

She feels sick. She hates Alex. She hates her. She hates her so much. Why would she do this to her. Why would she dangle this in front of her just to rip it away. She hates her.

It does. Quite a bit. Look, i called to ask, um. If you'd like to see him, if that happened. But I'm—I can't figure out a safe way to do that.

Safe. Nothing about this was safe, she was planning to kidnap her alternate universe husband before the cops could get him and before Bruce checked out how the case was going. This was stupid and vaguely suicidal and just going to make everything worse.

... would you?

No.

Her voice shakes, but its adamant. She's positive.

I- I can't. I can't- you can't make me. I won't.

A call. A call? It was Alex's number. Usually she texts. Maybe Bruce was rubbing off on her.

(@arsenicisntmagpie)

She picks up quickly.

Hello?

Hi. Sorry if I scared you, sensitive question. Can't ask over text, and I'm not at liberty to leave work right now.

Papers rustle around her. Faint chatter can be heard around her. Precinct? Morgue? ACE?

God, I'm going to be killed for this. Say there was a case, and... hm. So, there's been doppelgängers popping up. Civilians and thugs who already exist here in Gotham, and it's not fraud. Even... deceased people, popping up again.

She holds her breath.

..Jonathan. Right?

Shit shit shit shit shit she needed to get out. If. Shit. Ohh shit.

He hasn't... Had a doppelgänger. And for unselfish reasons I really hope he doesn't. Would you like me to alert you, if he does pop up? There's no guarantee he'll recognize anyone, even me or you.

But it's Jon. He'll hurt us anyway.

Why did you call. What's this about.

She's snappy. Agitated.

There's a high chance he's on his way.

She sighs quietly, head on the desk. She taps her pen on the hardwood.

We got Eddie today. Whoever sending people to our Gotham, they're hitting Arkham. I want you to know what's going on and I want you to be able to protect yourself when it happens.

You know as well as I do there will be no protecting.

God, he's gonna kill me. I broke the music box.

Don't give me that bullshit.

You should still know. I needed you to know. I would've felt crazy seeing it on the news.

How much of a dick would she feel like not telling her? Especially if Jonny decides to be slippery. He could be on the streets right now, and they wouldn't actually know until the car hauling doppelgängers in pulls up.

So what next? What happens if-

What if he comes back. What if he's different. What if he's hurt. What if they take him again. What if he doesn't remember me. What if he does.

Tabitha wants to scream. She'll stop by the shop later and throw something on the wheel so she can smash it. Or just smash the already hardened pieces. She needs to feel something break, in order to hold herself together.

I don't know. I have no idea. Eddie didn't recognize me. I have my reasons to believe Jonny wont either. I don't know how to feel.

The sound of a door opening. She's stepped outside.

I'm not asking to be taken off the case. But if they do take him in... I hope to find him first, I'm taking patrol tonight. I don't know what I'm doing. I do want you to be safe, though. Are you going to be at the pottery shop tonight? Or one of my apartments?

Does it matter?

She feels sick. She hates Alex. She hates her. She hates her so much. Why would she do this to her. Why would she dangle this in front of her just to rip it away. She hates her.

A call. A call? It was Alex's number. Usually she texts. Maybe Bruce was rubbing off on her.

(@arsenicisntmagpie)

She picks up quickly.

Hello?

Hi. Sorry if I scared you, sensitive question. Can't ask over text, and I'm not at liberty to leave work right now.

Papers rustle around her. Faint chatter can be heard around her. Precinct? Morgue? ACE?

God, I'm going to be killed for this. Say there was a case, and... hm. So, there's been doppelgängers popping up. Civilians and thugs who already exist here in Gotham, and it's not fraud. Even... deceased people, popping up again.

She holds her breath.

..Jonathan. Right?

Shit shit shit shit shit she needed to get out. If. Shit. Ohh shit.

He hasn't... Had a doppelgänger. And for unselfish reasons I really hope he doesn't. Would you like me to alert you, if he does pop up? There's no guarantee he'll recognize anyone, even me or you.

But it's Jon. He'll hurt us anyway.

Why did you call. What's this about.

She's snappy. Agitated.

There's a high chance he's on his way.

She sighs quietly, head on the desk. She taps her pen on the hardwood.

We got Eddie today. Whoever sending people to our Gotham, they're hitting Arkham. I want you to know what's going on and I want you to be able to protect yourself when it happens.

You know as well as I do there will be no protecting.

God, he's gonna kill me. I broke the music box.

Don't give me that bullshit.

You should still know. I needed you to know. I would've felt crazy seeing it on the news.

How much of a dick would she feel like not telling her? Especially if Jonny decides to be slippery. He could be on the streets right now, and they wouldn't actually know until the car hauling doppelgängers in pulls up.