Miriam

I wake up before Crane does. It’s the proper thing for an employee to do. He hasn’t given me orders for waking him yet, so I scrape up my own breakfast. The only things in his fridge are a half gone bottle of orange juice, some apples, syrup, and the baking soda that seems to exist in every fridge. I’m grabbing an apple when he walks in, wearing the same suit from last night. It’s rumpled now, and his hair is messy, face marked from a pillow. His glasses aren’t on, so he squints at me.
“Ms. Webster?”
It’s a little cute, with his voice still rough from sleep.
“Good morning, sir. I’m afraid there isn’t much to eat besides apples and juice.”
I offer an apple to him anyway. He takes a bite before something else catches his attention. It just looks like a marked up pile of papers to me, but Crane seems to be lost in them, sitting criss-crossed on the edge of the table. His lips move as he reads, takes a pen from somewhere in his hair and scrawls a note. I can see, now, why there’s no food in the fridge. The man gets so lost in his work that he doesn’t notice anything else. The apple sits ignored near his hand.
“....oxygenated....chloride and hydrogen...”
I’ve been around people like this before. Some fringe group once hired me to guard a woman, a scientist. She was into space or something, and she was just like this. Would lock herself in her lab for days, not sleeping, barely eating. She’d fade out in the middle of conversations and start muttering about wormholes. Not the worst job I ever had, but difficult. Had to learn how to draw her out, make her human for a bit. A lot of the job is like that, though. Working with someone’s head. People think it’s all high kicks and punching, but I’ve spent a lot more time reassuring and guiding than I have killing people. Although there’s enough of that, too.
Either way, Crane needs to be brought back. I grab the apple from next to him, cut a slice up and hold it near his face. It’s like taking care of an invalid.
“Mr. Crane, sir. It’s time for breakfast.” He nods absently, blowing a tuft of hair away from his face. “You need to eat, sir.” He doesn’t respond, and I sigh, grabbing his wrist hard enough to feel the bones grind together. “Come back, sir.”
He winces, tugs his hand away. The look in his eyes is nasty enough that I expect Scarecrow to reappear, but he just makes a bitchy face at me.
“I believe part of your contract says not to hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Crane, but you blanked out on me there and it’s time to eat.” I smile brightly, offer the apple slice to him. His eyes dart to the papers in my hand, but he takes it and eats. “I’ll get more food while I’m out,” I tell him, sitting on the couch to pull my tights on.
His eyes follow the line of my legs, and I can see Scarecrow for a moment. Then he smiles, detached as ever, and looks away. I know he did something evil last night, but as I look around the carnival all seems calm. No bodies, no blood, and thankfully, no Batman. I shrug and head for my apartment.

It’s depressingly easy to transfer all my stuff. I don’t own a lot, especially in the way of personal objects. There’s not much I need to remember. My bed has to be disassembled, which takes awhile, but I’m ready to head back to Crane’s in under two hours. I stop by the grocery store beforehand.
Crane is lost again when I return. He’s sprawled out on the floor, looking for all the world like a studying teenager. I’m reminded of the short time I spent in college. I put the groceries away before speaking to him.
“Mr. Crane, I’m back.”
He come back more easily this time, eyes narrowing as he looks up.
“Hmm? Ah. Ms. Webster. Is that everything?”
“Yes, sir. I brought a pet python. Is that alright?”
I’ve never been one for animals, but I was on a job that involved the director of a zoo, and he was a very daft old man who insisted I take his gift of a python’s egg. Bill hatched in my hands, and I’ve been besotted ever since. Crane blinks at me for a second before nodding.
“Yes, it’s fine. I don’t have a problem with snakes.”
I hate this part, the start of a job. It’s awkward figuring out what I can and can’t do. Makes me feel unbalanced and vaguely guilty. It’s not too bad with Crane, though, so I smile and head to my new room.
I picked the room next to Crane’s, of course. I have the feeling he doesn’t really need me around as a body guard, but the instinct is there. I’d sleep in his room if that didn’t make him uncomfortable. It’s less than thirty minutes before my bed is set up and Bill’s tucked away in his cage, sleeping peacefully. I go back to Crane, sit on the couch. He’s absorbed in the papers again, so he doesn’t look up. I’m wondering what he wants me to do. There’s no one to kill or protect him from, he hasn’t asked me to organize anything, and sure I can tell he wants to fuck me, but probably won’t. My leg jiggles restlessly as I glance around the room, gaining his attention.
“Is there something wrong?”
He looks faintly annoyed, blue eyes still hazy from whatever he was doing. Makes it easier to look him straight in the face without feeling like I’m being pinned.
“Is there anything you’d like me to do?”
“Well, no. Not in particular.”
He goes back to his work, but I’m the annoyed one now.
“Why exactly did you hire me, Mr. Crane?”
He makes a low growling noise in his throat as he looks up again, and I can see a flash of Scarecrow.
“I hired you to work for me.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“Yes, but as what? I don’t have to body guard or kill for you, and you don’t seem to require a secretary. I’m not used to sitting around, sir.”
“I did, actually, hire you for organization purposes, Ms. Webster,” he says shortly, angry.
“Well, what are they?”
“My day-to-day life is a tad chaotic. I would use you to tell me where to go and when, so I may focus on my work.” His face softens as he smiles. “I also know that I have a tendency to get lost in my experiments. You’ve already shown that you can pull me away from them when needed.” Crane’s face gets stern again, looking at me like my trainers do. “Don’t go near me when I’m working with toxins of any sort. I would prefer that you aren’t exposed to anything.”
The look in his eyes tells me otherwise. He would love to see me writhing helplessly, overcome by fear. That doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should.
“Alright, sir.”