Work Text:
Kristen tried so hard to be polite. She'd begun to feel dread rising in her whenever the door to the records room opened, quickly manoeuvring herself into a position where he'll be less likely to trap her between him and the filing cabinets. This time, though, she'd been engrossed in her work, and she'd turned around and he was suddenly there, smiling that too-bright smile that crossed the line from genial to unsettling. There was nothing she could do but grip her files tightly to her chest, return the smile, hers cold and polite, wanting him to hurry up with whatever he had to say and get out, hoping and praying that it was going to be just some simple work enquiry and nothing weird. It never was, of course. And Kristen was always surprised at herself with how much of his oddness she puts up with. She knows that he's trying so hard, always just missing the point where his gestures would be thoughtful and slipping into stalker territory instead. But when he hands her the card, the rising dread returns in her. Even though he assures her that there's nothing weird in there, she knows by now that he has a very different definition of weird to most people.
She waits until there's a big briefing meeting going on for the officers until opening it, so that no one will happen along and see what she's reading. She's half expecting some anecdote about swabbing DNA or something, so when she opens it to find the poem inside, she's very pleasantly surprised. It's incredibly twee, the rhyming and the rhythm and the similes something an 8 year old would come up with in English class, but he's trying. And before she realises she's even doing it, Kristen's grinning, not in amusement at his attempts, but in delight that he's trying to modulate himself. Because, after all, he does seem like a sweet guy, and those are few and far between in Gotham. He'd probably be good for her. If only he weren't so ... weird.