Jacqueline hangs around the asylum, until she gets her bearings again. This involves passing out on the cold Arkham ladies' room floor, after the nice nurse leaves, and being woken up an indiscriminate amount of time later by a janitor. She rinses out her mouth in the bathroom sink, and staggers out of the ladies' room a mess; she looks as exhausted and spent as Crane did when he staggered into that restaurant. And as she staggers into Crane's office, after some directions from various Arkham staff members, she realizes that the tables have turned; she looks like hell and he's prim and proper again, sitting behind his desk in his lavishly-decorated office, and Jacqueline finds herself slightly jealous. He glances up from some papers, and gestures towards a chair.

"Sit, Dr. Leblanc." He orders, and though there's no forceful tone in his voice, there doesn't need to be for him to get his point across. She sits down, makeup smeared and the taste of bile on her tongue. She wants to brush her teeth as soon as she gets home. "Let's get straight to the point," Crane says suddenly, and regains her roaming attention. His glasses have slipped low on his nose again, and he presses them back up higher. "That was an idiotic move back there." His deadpan is immovable, but Jacqueline just cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Dr. Crane, I know that. I'm not stupid." She chides him, as if he's the stupid one, and his eyes narrow unnoticeably.

"In any case," He sighs, holding something out to her. Paper. She takes it, gingerly, and looks it over with confusion. It's an application for Arkham as a doctor. Permanency? A permanent doctor's position in Arkham? "It would have been a fiasco if you weren't a gambler. The last thing we need is a swarm of police within Arkham's boundaries, riling up the patients, making the staff irate." He narrates, as Jacqueline reads over the form with a bit of confusion. "Though your actions were…devil-may-care at best," He glances up at her for a moment, a flash of brilliant blue, "but you were able to manipulate Mr. Sanders into a situation that you handled…well."

"And?" She asks him, already feeling a slow pulsing migraine building behind her left eye.

"And," Crane begins, irritated, "I would like to offer you a position as a doctor in Arkham. Your credentials and experience check out. You've proven yourself as able to handle high-stress situations, which is a trait that we look for above many others. Will you accept?"

Jacqueline just stares at him a moment. And when she thinks of Kaseff, pissed beyond belief at her stupid drunken gamble, she feels shame flush her cheeks for a moment. Even if she can't make it up to him in any other way, there's one way that she can at least try.

"I accept." She says, closing her eyes, sighing the answer, and Crane doesn't seem to care if she's accepting for herself or for some outside reason. It's not his problem.

"Good. I'll start up the paperwork to have you transferred to this complex," Crane tells her, beginning to hunt for the appropriate forms. "Be prepared to move within the week. The process is rather quick. And," He looks up at her and meets her eyes, and he smiles at her in a way that seems vaguely threatening, though she can't put her finger on why. "Welcome to Arkham."

Jacqueline leaves then, and Crane refuses to give her the keys to her car again, though he's neglecting the fact that her car isn't even at the asylum (Jacqueline has a creeping suspicion that he's just doing it to fuck with her), and has a cab called for her. It takes her home, and she realizes with chagrin that Crane gave her no way to pay for it except for the money not in her wallet, because there's nothing in there, but in her pocket. She does, but just barely, and then walks in, and decides whether or not to drown herself in her shower right now. Working with Crane, no matter how remote their contact may be, is a rather distasteful notion.

She flips a coin. Heads, she drowns herself, or better yet, drinks herself into oblivion. Tails, she tries the position for a week or two and then decides whether or not to drown herself in alcohol then.

Tails. She's working there. She can't tell if she's happy about this, or not.


The move of her 'project' from Gotham General to her home is arduous. But it is finished. She says her goodbyes to everyone, including Tanya Procter, who tells her to lay off the firewater, though almost jokingly, and the two leave on good terms, as Jacqueline almost unwillingly turns in her Gotham General white doctor's coat, to get her new uniform at Arkham the next day. She also warns Jacqueline to watch out for Crane.

"Because it's always the quiet ones that turn out to be psychos." She tells Jacqueline, who laughs.

"Crane? A psycho? Yeah right; the guy probably can't take a piss without consulting his schedule to see if he has time." She laughs, and Tanya laughs too.

"Watch out, though; Ted Bundy was a real nice guy until you died watching him start to eat what's left of you."

"But that's the beauty of it; Crane is an asshole. There's no way he's secretly a serial killer or something. They have to have charm, finesse; not a stick up their asses." Jacqueline teases, and she wonders if Crane's ears are burning right now. Tanya walks her to the front door as she prepares to go home and prepare, arduously, for her first day at Arkham Asylum tomorrow morning.

"I bet he's a sadist in secret. Be careful if you try and bed him, honey." Tanya laughs, as Jacqueline laughs as well, but harshly and derisively.

"I hate Crane, and he's half my age."

"Never stopped you before, Jack." Tanya notes, offhandedly, and Jacqueline gives her a playful shove as they walk to the front doors outside of the hospital.

"Oh, hush. Me wanting Crane is going to happen right about when I befriend a serial killer who says that he didn't mean to do it." She laughs, and Tanya slaps her on the back.

"Yeah, well, keep in touch in the Giggle Farm, hun." Tanya waves goodbye, and Jacqueline drives home (Crane didn't give her keys back yet, but she has a spare set anyway) and prepares for the next day, looking at her chemical mixes almost longingly. She's thinking about how she's going to continue her research when she remembers Arkham having state-of-the-art equipment. A devious scheme begins to form in her mind, and for once, she doesn't have a glass or three of wine before bed.