Miriam

The Docks

Crane looks different when he’s focused on something. The careful façade of mildness fades. His face is hungry, desperate. The man might be the most intense person I’ve ever met. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, humming softly. I don’t dare disturb him again, because I really don’t feel like bringing Scarecrow out. So I swing my leg back and forth, wondering if this job will give me time to finish a few books.
“Ms. Webster, I would ask you to entertain yourself elsewhere,” he snaps, motioning for me to leave.
I make a face behind his back and head for my room.
I’m letting Bill slither around my shoulders when Crane shadows my doorway. His glasses are crooked, shirt buttoned unevenly. There’s a black smudge along his jawline.
“Sir?”
He gives me a face I might call pouty and slumps.
“Something blew up.”
I sigh, putting Bill back in his cage as I stand. He doesn’t move as I head for the doorway, so I carefully fix the buttons on his shirt, straighten his glasses. I hesitate before touching his jaw, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His skin is smooth under my fingers, recently shaved. I smile and step back.
“There you go, sir. Let’s get you some rest while I clean up.”
“Mhm...”
I note the bags under his eyes, how pale his skin is. I put an arm around his waist, lead him to his room next door. He’s complacent, leaning against me. I sit him down on the bed to undo his tie and slip the jacket from his shoulders. He blinks at me as I take his glasses off and put them on the bedside table. I can tell he’s not used to this sort of thing, someone taking care of him. He seems a little bewildered, actually.
“Ms. Webster...”
“Shh. It’s alright, sir.”
I enjoy this part, controlling dangerous people. Makes me feel powerful. And it’s one of the few parts of my job where I’m allowed to be soft, where a gentle hand is better than a fist. I can admit to myself that I like that. He’s not wearing shoes, so I don’t have to worry about that part. I push gently at his shoulders. He winces, making me pull back.
“Sir?”
Crane gives me a slightly maniacal grin, sitting up straight.
“The Batman got me.”
He stills as I begin unbuttoning his shirt, a little frantically. It’ll be my fault if my employer is seriously injured. I’ve had that drilled into me again and again. I slide the shirt off of him, ignoring the fact that, well, Crane’s pretty nicely built for such a skinny guy. There’s a large bruise on his left shoulder, darkened to black. I frown, pressing a palm to it, but nothing feels broken. His ribs are undamaged, breathing uneven. He’ll be alright. I look up into the eyes of Scarecrow. Shit. Should’ve known better than to put my hands all over his bare skin.
“Uh...”
He leers, hooking a finger into the front of my shirt. I take my hands away from him quickly, hoping he doesn’t have any fear toxin nearby. When he’s like this, I have no idea how he’ll act.
“Aren’t you a pretty little nurse. How bout a sponge bath?” I laugh despite myself and something in his eyes softens. He moves his hand away from my shirt, cups the back of my neck. It’s not threatening, although his thumb strokes along my jugular as he smiles. “Pretty girl.”
I’m more disappointed than I would like when Crane reappears. His hand stays at my neck, though. I smile, push him down again.
“I’m sorry, Ms.-”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
“It’s fine, sir. Now, you get some rest, and I’ll bring an icepack for that bruise.”
I can feel him watching me as I leave the room.
There’s a disaster in the kitchen. I can smell smoke before I even walk in, but fortunately there’s nothing on fire. It also smells vaguely of chemicals. I figure Crane wouldn’t send me in if the chemicals are harmful, so I continue on and realize there’s a fucking hole burnt in the middle of the table. I don’t even want to imagine how that happened, so I just clean up the various glass shards, spray air freshener, and use wood scraps to fix the table.
When I finish I’ve still got energy left, so I head to Crane’s room, find him deeply asleep. He sleeps on his back, one arm over his face, the other stretched out to the side. His fingers twitch occasionally, mouth moving as he dreams. I realize that I’m rather fond of him. He’s intense, charming, and clever with a nasty side to make him challenging.
I shrug to myself. Liking the boss will only make the job easier, as long as I don’t get too attached. There’s a journal by the side of his bed. I decide to look into that, see if it’s where he keeps his schedule. His handwriting is the stereotypical doctor’s scrawl, a mix of cursive and print. I can tell when he becomes Scarecrow, where the words are jagged and he presses down too hard. Most of it is just thoughts, or formulas. The things he has to do are starred, which is helpful. I sit against the side of his bed and begin leafing through it.
By the time I’m done, Crane has gotten up, peering over the side of the bed. His breath is hot in my ear.
“What are you doing?”
I look back at him and smile.
“Organizing your schedule, sir.” He nods and rolls over, arm dangling near my head. “Would you like that icepack now, Mr. Crane? You were asleep when I returned and I didn’t want to wake you.”
He grunts an assent, so I put the journal aside and head for the kitchen.
He’s sitting up when I return, shirt buttoned and glasses on. I sit next to him, drape the icepack over his shoulder. His eyes close with contentment.
“I cleaned the kitchen. The table’s fixed.”
“You’re a godsend. I should’ve hired an assistant years ago.”
I grin, pleased.
“I try, sir.” We sit in silence for a moment. It’s comfortable, the lines between us blurred. His leg is warm against mine. “You have an appointment later today, sir. A shipment of chemicals at 10:00 p.m. by Warehouse 36 in the dockyards. Tomorrow afternoon you’ll be meeting the Joker and Two Face at Felini’s Bar for lunch. I would advise that you try the linguini. Wear a suit, it’s an upscale place. I can clean one for you if necessary. After that, you were planning to come home and work on a way to make your fear toxin more natural as well as studying its effects on subjects of different ages. I was wondering if you’d prefer rats or humans for that.”
He’s staring at me, slightly awed.
“I’ll, ah, use rats.”
“I’ll get those for you, then. For the next five days after that you have nothing that requires leaving the base. I assumed you will work and rest during that time. Anything you ask for will be provided.”
Crane looks like he wants to kiss me.
“Uh, thank you. What time is it?”
“Seven, sir. Your shipment arrives in three hours.”
“Alright then. I should, uh, get ready...”
He’s flustered, still sleepy and surprised by my competence. I smile gently at him, standing.
“I’ll make you dinner, sir.”
He’s under control and shaved when I call him for dinner. It’s spaghetti and meatballs, one of my favorites. I catch him eying it almost nervously and have a sudden thought.
“Oh dear. Are you vegetarian, Mr. Crane?”
He shakes his head, smirking.
“No, not at all. I just haven’t had a real meal in quite some time.”
I nod, feeling a small bit of pity for him. Most of the people I’ve worked for have a small army of servants to fawn over them, swell them up like the greedy pigs they are. Crane sits across from me, skinny as hell and slightly hunched over as he inhales the food. I eat more slowly, enjoying my meal.
“Do you want me to go to the docks with you, sir?”
He shakes his head and swallows. I almost manage to hide my disappointed face, but he’s a psychologist. He knows how the mind works.
“Something you want to say?”
I move my hands uselessly, trying to explain.
“I, uh, don’t like the idea of you going alone, sir. It’s the bodyguard side of me. You’re already wounded....And I feel useless, sir. All cooped up in here.”
Crane chuckles, sitting back in his chair.
“You may follow if you wish.”
I grin at him, getting a smile in return.
“Thank you, sir.”

Crane is not the easiest to follow, even if he’s letting me. The man’s like a snake, slippery and good at finding the best places to hide. He’s dressed normally, too, which makes it even harder. I’m not sure how he manages to blend in so well, either. Crane’s striking, especially with those incredible eyes. I crouch on a roof to watch as he strolls down a dark alley, hands in his pockets. He’s wearing black jeans and a gray jacket, a skullcap covering his dark hair. He looks small and vulnerable from above, an easy target. I know that’s not true, though. He’s got his needles somewhere, and I’ve learned from experience that he’s good in a fight.
We manage to reach the docks without incident, meet up with a group of shady guys who barely speak as they hand the drugs over. Crane’s got the mask on, and that makes them nervous, I can tell. He hands over a briefcase and nods, then melts into the shadows. The men are peering around, looking anxious, but eventually they shrug and disperse. I wait for their footsteps to fade before dropping down behind Crane. The mask is still on, but I can tell by his body language that he’s not Scarecrow.
“Sir.”
He jumps slightly and turns.
“You managed to frighten the Scarecrow, Ms. Webster. Impressive.” I smile, waiting. His head is tilted, giving him an almost childish look that clashes with the mask. “Did you feel I needed protection, Ms. Webster?” he asks, removing the mask.
“They were thugs. You could’ve handled them easily,” I say casually, heading off in the direction of home.
“Where are you going?”
I pause and look back at him.
“Home? You’re done here, right?”
He nods, a little awkward.
“I generally use my time in disguise to enjoy a good meal, visit a few places that I’m fond of,” he explains. “You may come if you like.”
I walk back to Crane and nod, motioning for him to lead the way.
“Alright, sir.”
♠ ♠ ♠
The Scarecrow: What are you, Batman? Chicken?