Jerome Valeska One-Shots

Hiya Doc

Y/N had been hired by the GCPD to sew someone's face back on. She could only assume that that someone was the renowned psychopath Jerome Valeska that had been plastered on all the news channels the duration of the day. Needless to say, she was nothing short of terrified.

She'd spent the evening of terror at Gotham General, patching up his cult's victims and even helping to defend against their occasional attacks on the hospital. She was worn out, and so was her patience.

The GCPD was still in disarray when she arrived on the scene, as officers were continuously bringing in more and more criminal cult members and crazed civilians that had turned on their fellow man.

She recognized the man now approaching her as acting Captain Harvey Bullock.

"Dr. L/N?" He asked rather loudly.

"That's me," she exhaled.

"Sorry about the mess. We're still finding these loonies going nuts in the streets, even with Jerome taken down. I really just want to see him shipped back to Arkham ASAP," Harvey sighed, resting a hand on the back of his head.

"And then he's my problem," Y/N laughed.

"You work at Arkham? You must be crazier than the loonies themselves, doc," Harvey exclaimed.

"Yeah, well, Psychology seemed so fascinating in college. As it turns out, having a Doctorate in it really only gets you into one profession," Y/N chuckled.

"You're a lot funnier than I was expecting you to be. You and Jerome should get along fine," he replied, getting back to business. "Follow me. We've got him chained up in the M.E. office. Figured it'd be easier that way."

With that, Harvey brought Y/N down the stairs and to the office, holding the door open for her.

All she could see as the door swung open was the back of a man with his hands cuffed behind his back and chained to the leg of the table. Harvey gestured her in and shrugged. He pulled the gun out of his pocket and set it on the table by the door, far enough from Jerome so that he couldn't grab it. Then he left, shutting the door behind him.

"Hello, Jerome. I'm Dr. L/N. I'm here to stitch your face back on," she greeted, not sugarcoating anything.

The boy—or man really—slowly turned to face her, his bloody face crudely wrapped in gauze. She noticed his face in a plastic bag on the table beside him. It isn't even on ice!

"Hi-ya doc," he croaked lowly.

"Oh dear. I'm going to have to hurry. I didn't realize that they didn't put your face on ice. If we don't move quickly, it may be too late to get your face back on with minimal damage as it'll soon start to decay and grow all kinds of nasty bacteria," she explained quickly, shrugging off her lab coat to enable more mobility.

She pulled on a pair of latex gloves from her bag and grabbed a needle and medical thread. Y/N threaded the needle efficiently, Jerome silent the entire time.

"Do you want a pain killer first?" Y/N asked sympathetically.

"No. Your beautiful face is all the Novocain I need, doll," he flirted.

She fought back a blush and nodded, grabbing the threaded needle and approaching him calmly.

"I'm going to need you to lie back. Will that be too uncomfortable with the cuffs?" She asked as she picked up the bag with his face in it.

"I promise it looks better on, doc. And I'm sure I'll be fine. I've had worse," Jerome replied.

Y/N felt a flash of sympathy for the killer, having heard about his abusive childhood.