[ To leave? To listen to the police scanner and find a criminal that needed to be reminded his place? To break the face of the man who made him like this? ]
[Crane watches Bruce for a while, patient and alert for any microscopic signs of emotion. He could feign empathy, nod in acknowledgement and mirror his posture. But the thought cannot spark his mind. So he indulges in personal moment of introspection; casting a thoughtful look around his table. His eyes catch the briefcase beside his right foot, underneath the desk.
His eyes only blink but his mind aches.]
And what do you think about, when you want to live?
[ Bruce is certainly more interested in whatever Crane is looking at than he is in answering the question. Curiosity is always easier than any thoughtful introspection. Because it was external not a wholly inward thing. ]
Crane twitches at the corner's of his mind's eye, but the expression refuses to repeat anywhere upon his face, save for the cool energy behind his eyes. Misdirection he has heard before. How boring.]
[ Alfred wanted him to have a family. Settle down and raise a couple kids. Be normal. He wanted Bruce to stop going out at night and coming back sometimes half dead from Gotham trying to smash the life out of him.
It's what Alfred wants and it sounds good and normal. Like something someone like him should want. ]
A family, I guess. Two point five kids, a wife, white picket fence. Maybe a dog. That's what everyone wants isn't it?
Not at all. I for one cannot stand the thought of being responsible for another person.
[The corners of his lips crack into a wry smile. Psychiatrist humor.]
But perhaps a man like you, with all the money in world, also doesn't want that kind of responsibility. You have been going out, painting the town, haven't you?
[With fast cars and alcohol and everything else that hides in the dark.]
[Crane tilts his head back, studying Bruce from the lower part of his eyes, secure behind the protection of his glasses. They do offer a pleasing kind of distance from a man who is clearly trying to understand him.]
Well, there's nothing wrong with finding yourself interesting. In any case, I guess I cannot complain, since if you weren't keeping me employed you would be poor company. I imagine you would find me rather boring.
[ Quite the opposite, Doctor. Bruce finds him incredibly intriguing, in a way he's not quite able to articulate. Possibly because he doesn't have a clear picture of Dr. Crane so it can be sorted into something that makes sense.
Or because Dr. Crane is obfuscating because there is something about him that he does not want Bruce - or anyone else - to see. Either is a possibility and Bruce doesn't have a strong opinion either way.
Yet. ]
I don't think that's necessarily true. You like to read. So do I. If that wall of books isn't just for show.
[More than twice, actually. Crane keeps that thought to himself and keeps his position too, studying Bruce from behind glass. He avoids the taunt, aimed at his intelligence, by submerging himself in his persona: an amenable doctor who rarely walks amongst people, to the point he seems awkward or out of place.]
[The first remark earns a dry smile. He chooses not to misdirect, delighting in knowing more about himself than someone believes themselves to know. In any case, it is the second remark that draws his curiosity.]
A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis should fit the bill.
[It is a book published under a pseudonym. Perhaps this man will appreciate the irony.]
Five minutes left, I believe. But we covered enough for today. So, remember to come next week, same time and place. Preferably without crashing another car.
[Crane is already rising from his chair, hands clasped behind him as he rounds his desk, which he leans against before crossing his hands across his stomach. He regards his client with a cold and impassive expression. Perhaps he is insulted the man was checking his watch. Or perhaps, like him, he has places to be.
Perhaps one day he will think of him with his name. But as he waits for him to leave, he knows today is not that day.]
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[He raises his hand in a gesture, a slow and practised movement, to cut off any incoming protest. He has not finished making his point.]
But I have already said you are not being provided with the challenge you need. So perhaps I should be asking, what is it you want?
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To live, Dr. Crane.
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His eyes only blink but his mind aches.]
And what do you think about, when you want to live?
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A lot of things.
[ We love vague answers in this house. ]
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[His voice lacks inclination, soft and pliable but without any depth or warmth, the kind of tone one might exhibit at court.]
Try naming some.
[We hate vague answers in this office. But he pays attention regardless, as his right foot gently pushes against his briefcase.]
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Wrecking my car of course.
[ Is it unhelpful? Obviously, but Bruce isn't here to heal. ]
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Crane twitches at the corner's of his mind's eye, but the expression refuses to repeat anywhere upon his face, save for the cool energy behind his eyes. Misdirection he has heard before. How boring.]
Indulge me. Try naming something else.
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It's what Alfred wants and it sounds good and normal. Like something someone like him should want. ]
A family, I guess. Two point five kids, a wife, white picket fence. Maybe a dog. That's what everyone wants isn't it?
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[The corners of his lips crack into a wry smile. Psychiatrist humor.]
But perhaps a man like you, with all the money in world, also doesn't want that kind of responsibility. You have been going out, painting the town, haven't you?
[With fast cars and alcohol and everything else that hides in the dark.]
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[ Except a big brooding Bat. Oh wait that's himself. ]
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Well, there's nothing wrong with finding yourself interesting. In any case, I guess I cannot complain, since if you weren't keeping me employed you would be poor company. I imagine you would find me rather boring.
[Look around at all his books, sir.]
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Or because Dr. Crane is obfuscating because there is something about him that he does not want Bruce - or anyone else - to see. Either is a possibility and Bruce doesn't have a strong opinion either way.
Yet. ]
I don't think that's necessarily true. You like to read. So do I. If that wall of books isn't just for show.
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[More than twice, actually. Crane keeps that thought to himself and keeps his position too, studying Bruce from behind glass. He avoids the taunt, aimed at his intelligence, by submerging himself in his persona: an amenable doctor who rarely walks amongst people, to the point he seems awkward or out of place.]
But I think you know that.
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I figured. You don't seem to have a busy social calendar. No offense.
[ A lighthearted jab. A lighthearted misdirection. ]
Do you have any recommendations? I might be in the market for a new read.
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A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis should fit the bill.
[It is a book published under a pseudonym. Perhaps this man will appreciate the irony.]
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He watches the doctor for a moment, curious, before he checks his watch and reaches for his jacket. ]
Is our hour over? I have other commitments.
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[Crane is already rising from his chair, hands clasped behind him as he rounds his desk, which he leans against before crossing his hands across his stomach. He regards his client with a cold and impassive expression. Perhaps he is insulted the man was checking his watch. Or perhaps, like him, he has places to be.
Perhaps one day he will think of him with his name. But as he waits for him to leave, he knows today is not that day.]