[ Last night, The Batman found the Scarecrow again. Jim Gordon had summoned him, concerned about an excess of chemicals gone missing. Concerned maybed the new player in this game might have been the culprit. Concerned what kind of fresh horror he might have been cooking up with it. Batman didn't know, but when he slipped out of sight (when Jim's back was turned, of course), he was determined to find out.
What he found, is another another lab, though the missing chemicals still remained missing. But Scarecrow is there and honestly? He's the better prize. The fight that ensues scatters the men working there, but Bruce is laser focused on Scarecrow and bringing him to his knees. Instead, he catches a lungful of the toxin being made. He's prepared - of cours he is - and injects himself with the antidote. But Scarecrow is gone in the chaos and the lab a wash. There are clues and Jim collects them. Batman is no where to be found.
Tonight, Bruce is on time. Maybe for the first time in quite a while. He looks as put together as always as he sits down, on the sofa, away from Crane's desk. And on the surface everything seems pristine. No fresh bruises, no cuts or scrapes. Just a man attending an appointment with his therapist. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
Save the ghastly visage standing next to Crane's chair - Robin, face bloodied, suit still smoldering. He stares back at Bruce. The boy isn't there. He's dead and Bruce didn't believe in ghosts. Not this kind anyway.
He doesn't stare. He cannot stare at what's not really there. He only glances then he sets his gaze on Crane. ]
So funny story. I met someone. She threw her drink in my face.
[Crane indulges himself more these days, devotes himself more to his private work than the personal, because of his latest encounter with Batman. Has it been one night or two? He cannot focus on calculating how much time has passed since their encounter. He instead allocates his time to recrafting and perfecting his formula.
But he attends their next session because of curiosity. Bruce Wayne as a man is not so special, but his unique position and importance are what make him interesting. He observes the other man with a cold and chilling gaze. The sofa? Is he a little wobbly on his feet? Everything about this new development is strange and fascinating. Except his intense thoughts are still drifting to last night.]
I missed such a report in the news.
[Had it happened in public, somebody would have gossiped. So either Bruce is putting distance between them or making light of one situation to avoid discussion of another.]
[Evasive speech patterns. Cursory glances. Strange new behaviours. More and more make themselves known, certainly more than was witnessed before. Plus nothing about his behaviour has progressed, suggesting a wilful denial of the process, which suggests another motive for being here.
Crane tilts his head and observes. Something is certainly off, considering the curiously collected man he treated before.]
People with a selfish nature tend to interpret such lack of emotional engagement as being undervalued. Perhaps she thinks you are creating distance.
[ Robin's closer, standing to his left. Pressing his face in close. He wants Bruce to look at him. He can feel the boy's dead eyes burning into the side of his head. His fingers press against Bruce's cheek. They're warm, feverish. Hot. Burning. It feels like Bruce might catch on fire himself.
He isn't afraid. This isn't real.
Bruce doesn't look. ]
I just told her I wanted to take things slow. Get to know her a little before I commit to anything serious. Is that emotionally distant?
Not necessarily. Most would consider it a sign of emotional maturity - so long as you are being clear about your intentions. But that is from an outside perspective. There is always that small voice, that when somebody tells you they want space, tells you they want to keep their option open.
[Crane's gaze is piercing, pinning Bruce to his chair. He rises from his chair and leans against the side of his desk, unknowingly positionin himself on the same side as the hallucination. He crosses his arms and frowns. Something is definately off]
Did you even tell her you enjoy how she makes you happy?
[ Crane moves and so does Robin. He smells the smoke, feels Robin's calloused, charred fingers dragging across his face. It burns him. He can feel his skin bubble and for a minute it feels like it's melting.
This isn't real.
He is not afraid.
When he looks down, flames lick at his shoes, turns the expensive leather to expensive ash. Robin presses in and he can hear him take a breath. His last.
He turns his head to look at nothing. Then at Crane. ]
[Crane pushes away from his desk, pulled by curiosity and impulse towards the couch pushed opposite against the wall. It fascinates him, how quickly this man has changed between extremes, and he needs to understand why.
But he remains at distance and adjusts his glasses before sliding his hands into his pockets. Now he can see clearly - and what he sees is curiously familiar. The symptoms of a particular kind of poisoning. Now he finds himself wondering if Bruce Wayne got his hands on something to get high.]
[ He's always there when Bruce isn't looking at him directly. He can see the gaudy yellow and green, turned sickly and ashen. But when he turns his head to look, he's gone again. A reminder that this isn't real.
Robin isn't a ghost.
He still stands off and away from Crane, staring at Bruce, so when he looks at the doctor, he can see the boy just out of focus. ]
[One step brings them closer. Two brings them closer still. Three, four, five. Now they are within breathing distance. Crane intimately leans forward, intruding into Bruce's personal space for a visual examination.
Dilated pupils. Mydriasis.
Involuntary stares. Nystagmus.
Now a physical examination.
His cold fingers slide down the side and below his jaw, before pressing against the carotid artery in his neck, searching for a pulse.
Hyperthermia. Hypertension.
Perhaps Bruce might notice he didn't ask permission. Perhaps he is too separated from reality to even be aware. Or perhaps he might notice those fingers pressed against his artery are now pressing much more firmly. His voice sounding as equally cold as his touch.]
[ He doesn't know when it starts. Maybe when Crane starts to close in on him, but for a second Bruce doesn't think he can breathe. He thinks thick black furls of smoke are filling him up and Robin is staring at him with his cold blue eyes. He turns to look but he's gone. The smokey feeling doesn't go away. It feels like it's on his tongue, in his nose and eyes. Spilling out of him like a chimney.
Crane's cold hand brings him back, startles him back to reality and it's by instinct he reaches for and grips his wrist, eyes cutting up to look him in the face. Narrowed, confused. Maybe a little angry.
He's quick to let go, when he realizes what he's done. ]
[Fingers coil around his wrist, entangling him with a powerful hold, provoking his nails to claw towards muscle hidden beneath folds of skin. But he controls himself with an overwhelming amount of resolve, unfurls his fingers before they make painful incisions.
Here and now, this is one of the hardest times he has struggled against his impulses. But for all he imagines himself above it all, he refuses to pull away.]
Not to worry. [He pulls his hand away with care but not before patting that neck with feigned affection. Like a doctor reassuring a patient.] I'm certain your reputation will carry you through the worst of it.
[Whatever Bruce Wayne might claim about his identity, people cannot quite picture the strange and somewhat rude doctor whose advice is valued by the courts as some kind of costumed freak.]
[ Crane pats his neck, where seconds ago, he thought they might dig into his skin and tear out something vital. It makes Bruce's skin crawl. But Crane fills his vision and for once he does not see Robin standing off to the side.
Whether or not he suspects anything beyond Crane being a little bit strange and a little bit rude is not something he expresses. Is he a costumed freak? Honestly, Gotham's full of 'em. He wouldn't be the first. He'd just be the latest. ]
[Crane remains uncomfortably close, inserting himself into sight, into personal space. He becomes a distraction of another kind, a physical presence who haunts in person, leaving behind a second image within the mind. Without his mask, he masks himself with reality. He preserves his reputation by manipulating social systems - and recognises somebody doing the same.
He slides his hands into his pockets, returns to his desk and controls his impulses by pouring water from a jug into a glass.]
You are hardly the first to try. Try not to worry about it.
[He returns and holds out the water like a peace offering. Hydration is key to dealing with too much... mental simulation.]
[ When Crane leaves him, it feels like there is room to breathe again, though with that distance, Robin returns to the edges of his vision, the color drained from him. He reaches out again, touches Bruce with his too hot fingers. Bruce's own fingers curl into a fist where it rests on his knee. Part of him wants to shake the boy off, push him away.
But this wasn't real. How could you shake off a hallucination?
He takes the glass out of a sense of politeness but he doesn't drink it. Robin puts his hand over the mouth of the glass and ashes drop into the water. ]
[Crane pours himself a glass but leaves it standing on the table, leaving the allegation of it being poisoned hanging on the air. It is a silence he allows to linger until the last possible moment, before his calm and curious voice disturbs the peace.]
I surely don't have to tell a man like you hydration is important for overcoming an overdose of... whatever it is you're on.
[ The ash is gone. It was never there to begin with. He has no real reaction when Crane calmly accuses him of being on something. He isn't wrong and Bruce could simply play it off as a little experimentation before his session. Someone like Bruce wouldn't be shy about their drug use, would they? It's expected of him. ]
[Those words are ignored while he rounds his desk to return to his chair. Every answer is expected, every answer is calculated. Each time he offers this man his attention, he directs it somewhere else. Perhaps now he understands why.
And he still doesn't touch his own water.]
That's your decision to make. Yours is a preference, not a crime.
[ Crane doesn't touch his water. Bruce doesn't touch his. It doesn't look or smell off. But that doesn't lower the potential hazard or making Bruce seem particularly trusting of his therapist. He honestly thought the man to be strange and not in an entirely harmless way. Strange in a way that makes it easy to believe Crane would dissect his brain if he could.
Strange in a way that Gotham knows all too well. It doesn't stop him from being polite. Robin is still standing to the side of him. It's easier to ignore him now that he's decided to focus on Crane. ]
I feel like I should apologize. Partied a little too hard last night.
[Crane begins writing in his notebook, ignoring the lines in favour of writing freely on the page. His pen swings from the corner to the middle, his mind busy with writing ideas and theories. Perhaps his manner is slightly disturbing. He can recognise others might find it untoward. But everybody in this city is strange. One has to be to survive.]
We all need a little fun in our lives. But you are the one choosing to pursue it.
[ Everybody in this city is strange. Some of them moreso than others. Bruce watches the way Crane's pen scribbles across the page, unorthodox and bizarre. There's nothing sinister about it. At least not when compared to moments ago when he'd put himself in kissing distance of Bruce's face. It's something else to think about and Robin shrinks a little from his peripheral. ]
You could say that. I'm trying to make better choices.
[ Letting people who make poor ones suffer the consequences of them. Bruce is tired of saving them. Tired of living that beautifully, well crafted lie. None of them deserved saving. Not a single one. ]
It's just hard sometimes when the bad ones are so much fun. Do you know what I mean, Doctor Crane?
Addiction is misunderstood to be a disease when it is a function to remove distress.
[Crane cannot stand people who believe they deserve saving. He cannot tolerate people who believe bullies deserve kindness and understanding. Who cares if some of his childhood tormentors drank behind the woodshed? They made their choice.]
What that means is you are needing the power that comes with feeling complete and whole. It is nothing to be ashamed about.
[ He's not an addict. Except in all the ways that he is. Going out at night and putting the fear of the Bat into the bad (and more often now the good) folks of Gotham hits those dopamine receptors in a way not much else does. The liquor helps him sleep. He's not an addict. ]
Don't get me wrong, Dr. Crane. I'm not ashamed. It's just a bad look to come in here like this. Last thing I need is to say something I don't mean, know what I mean?
[ he's cavalier, dismissive. Making this seem not quite so serious. ]
[His voice is smooth but observant, making his cold calculations seem casual. What answer would anyone expect from a man specialised in understanding the terror of being human? Any fool who waves bait like before his face will - though he recognises the trap for what it is - lose a hand and half his arm.]
You really should fix that before your next press conference.
[ His voice is smooth and Bruce finds it irritating. He knew how to navigate his interactions with Bruce that always made Bruce feel like another piece of him is being picked apart. Like Crane knew something that Bruce did not. More than anything, Bruce hated being disadvantaged. ]
Don't worry, Doctor. Your hard work is going to waste.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Sessions (three)
What he found, is another another lab, though the missing chemicals still remained missing. But Scarecrow is there and honestly? He's the better prize. The fight that ensues scatters the men working there, but Bruce is laser focused on Scarecrow and bringing him to his knees. Instead, he catches a lungful of the toxin being made. He's prepared - of cours he is - and injects himself with the antidote. But Scarecrow is gone in the chaos and the lab a wash. There are clues and Jim collects them. Batman is no where to be found.
Tonight, Bruce is on time. Maybe for the first time in quite a while. He looks as put together as always as he sits down, on the sofa, away from Crane's desk. And on the surface everything seems pristine. No fresh bruises, no cuts or scrapes. Just a man attending an appointment with his therapist. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
Save the ghastly visage standing next to Crane's chair - Robin, face bloodied, suit still smoldering. He stares back at Bruce. The boy isn't there. He's dead and Bruce didn't believe in ghosts. Not this kind anyway.
He doesn't stare. He cannot stare at what's not really there. He only glances then he sets his gaze on Crane. ]
So funny story. I met someone. She threw her drink in my face.
no subject
But he attends their next session because of curiosity. Bruce Wayne as a man is not so special, but his unique position and importance are what make him interesting. He observes the other man with a cold and chilling gaze. The sofa? Is he a little wobbly on his feet? Everything about this new development is strange and fascinating. Except his intense thoughts are still drifting to last night.]
I missed such a report in the news.
[Had it happened in public, somebody would have gossiped. So either Bruce is putting distance between them or making light of one situation to avoid discussion of another.]
no subject
We were at my penthouse. Our third date. I think she had high expectations.
no subject
Crane tilts his head and observes. Something is certainly off, considering the curiously collected man he treated before.]
People with a selfish nature tend to interpret such lack of emotional engagement as being undervalued. Perhaps she thinks you are creating distance.
[He wouldn't know what that's like.]
no subject
He isn't afraid. This isn't real.
Bruce doesn't look. ]
I just told her I wanted to take things slow. Get to know her a little before I commit to anything serious. Is that emotionally distant?
no subject
[Crane's gaze is piercing, pinning Bruce to his chair. He rises from his chair and leans against the side of his desk, unknowingly positionin himself on the same side as the hallucination. He crosses his arms and frowns. Something is definately off]
Did you even tell her you enjoy how she makes you happy?
no subject
This isn't real.
He is not afraid.
When he looks down, flames lick at his shoes, turns the expensive leather to expensive ash. Robin presses in and he can hear him take a breath. His last.
He turns his head to look at nothing. Then at Crane. ]
I'm sorry, Dr. Crane. What did you say?
no subject
[Crane pushes away from his desk, pulled by curiosity and impulse towards the couch pushed opposite against the wall. It fascinates him, how quickly this man has changed between extremes, and he needs to understand why.
But he remains at distance and adjusts his glasses before sliding his hands into his pockets. Now he can see clearly - and what he sees is curiously familiar. The symptoms of a particular kind of poisoning. Now he finds himself wondering if Bruce Wayne got his hands on something to get high.]
What are you seeing right now?
no subject
Robin isn't a ghost.
He still stands off and away from Crane, staring at Bruce, so when he looks at the doctor, he can see the boy just out of focus. ]
You.
no subject
Dilated pupils. Mydriasis.
Involuntary stares. Nystagmus.
Now a physical examination.
His cold fingers slide down the side and below his jaw, before pressing against the carotid artery in his neck, searching for a pulse.
Hyperthermia. Hypertension.
Perhaps Bruce might notice he didn't ask permission. Perhaps he is too separated from reality to even be aware. Or perhaps he might notice those fingers pressed against his artery are now pressing much more firmly. His voice sounding as equally cold as his touch.]
Really?
no subject
Crane's cold hand brings him back, startles him back to reality and it's by instinct he reaches for and grips his wrist, eyes cutting up to look him in the face. Narrowed, confused. Maybe a little angry.
He's quick to let go, when he realizes what he's done. ]
I'm afraid I'm not feeling like myself tonight.
no subject
Here and now, this is one of the hardest times he has struggled against his impulses. But for all he imagines himself above it all, he refuses to pull away.]
Not to worry. [He pulls his hand away with care but not before patting that neck with feigned affection. Like a doctor reassuring a patient.] I'm certain your reputation will carry you through the worst of it.
[Whatever Bruce Wayne might claim about his identity, people cannot quite picture the strange and somewhat rude doctor whose advice is valued by the courts as some kind of costumed freak.]
no subject
Whether or not he suspects anything beyond Crane being a little bit strange and a little bit rude is not something he expresses. Is he a costumed freak? Honestly, Gotham's full of 'em. He wouldn't be the first. He'd just be the latest. ]
I didn't hurt you did I?
[ A self deprecating, insincere smile ]
no subject
He slides his hands into his pockets, returns to his desk and controls his impulses by pouring water from a jug into a glass.]
You are hardly the first to try. Try not to worry about it.
[He returns and holds out the water like a peace offering. Hydration is key to dealing with too much... mental simulation.]
no subject
But this wasn't real. How could you shake off a hallucination?
He takes the glass out of a sense of politeness but he doesn't drink it. Robin puts his hand over the mouth of the glass and ashes drop into the water. ]
I never worry.
no subject
[Crane pours himself a glass but leaves it standing on the table, leaving the allegation of it being poisoned hanging on the air. It is a silence he allows to linger until the last possible moment, before his calm and curious voice disturbs the peace.]
I surely don't have to tell a man like you hydration is important for overcoming an overdose of... whatever it is you're on.
no subject
Sorry, Doctor. I only drink sparkling water.
no subject
And he still doesn't touch his own water.]
That's your decision to make. Yours is a preference, not a crime.
[Whatever. He's not a cop.]
no subject
Strange in a way that Gotham knows all too well. It doesn't stop him from being polite. Robin is still standing to the side of him. It's easier to ignore him now that he's decided to focus on Crane. ]
I feel like I should apologize. Partied a little too hard last night.
no subject
We all need a little fun in our lives. But you are the one choosing to pursue it.
[He looks up from the page.]
Are you addicted to the chase?
no subject
You could say that. I'm trying to make better choices.
[ Letting people who make poor ones suffer the consequences of them. Bruce is tired of saving them. Tired of living that beautifully, well crafted lie. None of them deserved saving. Not a single one. ]
It's just hard sometimes when the bad ones are so much fun. Do you know what I mean, Doctor Crane?
no subject
[Crane cannot stand people who believe they deserve saving. He cannot tolerate people who believe bullies deserve kindness and understanding. Who cares if some of his childhood tormentors drank behind the woodshed? They made their choice.]
What that means is you are needing the power that comes with feeling complete and whole. It is nothing to be ashamed about.
[He certainly isn't. Fear gas goes brrrr.]
no subject
Don't get me wrong, Dr. Crane. I'm not ashamed. It's just a bad look to come in here like this. Last thing I need is to say something I don't mean, know what I mean?
[ he's cavalier, dismissive. Making this seem not quite so serious. ]
no subject
[His voice is smooth but observant, making his cold calculations seem casual. What answer would anyone expect from a man specialised in understanding the terror of being human? Any fool who waves bait like before his face will - though he recognises the trap for what it is - lose a hand and half his arm.]
You really should fix that before your next press conference.
no subject
Don't worry, Doctor. Your hard work is going to waste.
[ Robin still lingers. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)