[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.
[Now that's the problem, isn't it? Crane is at home in his office, surrounded by journals and knowledge, some of which are scribed by his own hand. Because much as he respects the work that preceeded his own, he knows his work is an improvement. He knows what his talents are - and is reluctant to suppress himself in the only field where he has power.
This is his domain. He has power here. He has control.]
Every part of my work is data. Nothing about this is a waste.
[ It doesn't offend him. Crane is analytical in his thinking. So is Bruce and sometimes it's easier to think of people are data points, figures to be puzzled out and picked apart so that you can understand them better. Nothing wrong with it on its face. It doesn't help endear Bruce to Crane. But they're not here to be friends, are they? ]
[Lives are certified at birth. Schooling is recorded. Learning curves graded. Names remembered and grudgies carried. Crane leans back in his chair and looks curiously to the other man in the room. Does he want to figure out this man and pull him apart? Or does he simply enjoy being challenged on an intellectual level?]
Even the Batman is a figure of information. Observed through measurement and analysis. Some need to figure him out and know what makes him tick. Others are really just along for the ride.
[ There's no change in Bruce's expression when Crane mentions the Bat. He is, after all, another data point. Nobody of interest to someone like him, right? Bruce does let the silence linger a little longer than necessary. Then he sits back in his chair, ignores Robin, and folds his hands in his lap. ]
I see he's gotten into your head too, Dr. Crane. He's all anyone ever wants to talk about these days.
[Crane sits upright within his chair. Not lounging against the headrest, nor propping himself against the handles, but in a prim and proper position. His hands rise to adjust themselves.]
The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.
[Wilde? Sure. Aren't those two men running a little wild in their costumes, without the grace and gentility of civil manners. How truly thrilling.]
[ The Picture of Dorian Gray. An interesting quote to apply to this situation. The upper echelon is supposed to think the Bat is an urban legend cooked up by the Poorsโข to help them sleep better in their crappy neighborhoods. Considering Crane is bringing him up, he must not think so. ]
I didn't think an educated man like yourself would believe in fairytales.
[Beneath the myth and the legend, the Batman is a man caught in the struggle between good and evil, between courage and fear.]
Fairytales are like parables. Full of moral lessons and political statements from the time they were written. [He rolls his shoulders.] Perhaps the Batman presents himself as an urban legend because it's easier to work that way. Imagine what one could accomplish were half the city afraid.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[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?
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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.
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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?
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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.
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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.]
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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 ]
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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.]
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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.
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[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.
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Sorry, Doctor. I only drink sparkling water.
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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.]
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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.
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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?
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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?
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[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.]
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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. ]
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[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.
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Don't worry, Doctor. Your hard work is going to waste.
[ Robin still lingers. ]
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This is his domain. He has power here. He has control.]
Every part of my work is data. Nothing about this is a waste.
[His hand gestures between them.]
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[ It doesn't offend him. Crane is analytical in his thinking. So is Bruce and sometimes it's easier to think of people are data points, figures to be puzzled out and picked apart so that you can understand them better. Nothing wrong with it on its face. It doesn't help endear Bruce to Crane. But they're not here to be friends, are they? ]
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[Lives are certified at birth. Schooling is recorded. Learning curves graded. Names remembered and grudgies carried. Crane leans back in his chair and looks curiously to the other man in the room. Does he want to figure out this man and pull him apart? Or does he simply enjoy being challenged on an intellectual level?]
Even the Batman is a figure of information. Observed through measurement and analysis. Some need to figure him out and know what makes him tick. Others are really just along for the ride.
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I see he's gotten into your head too, Dr. Crane. He's all anyone ever wants to talk about these days.
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The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.
[Wilde? Sure. Aren't those two men running a little wild in their costumes, without the grace and gentility of civil manners. How truly thrilling.]
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I didn't think an educated man like yourself would believe in fairytales.
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[Beneath the myth and the legend, the Batman is a man caught in the struggle between good and evil, between courage and fear.]
Fairytales are like parables. Full of moral lessons and political statements from the time they were written. [He rolls his shoulders.] Perhaps the Batman presents himself as an urban legend because it's easier to work that way. Imagine what one could accomplish were half the city afraid.
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