[Everybody imagines they are special. Nobody understands they are ordinary.]
Let me suggest the opposite. You attend those parties although you really don't want to be there. Other guests doubtlessly attend for similar reasons. Everything about that similarity is normal. People follow societal rules otherwise, well...
[His clinical, detached way of speaking breaks the remark apart. He idly gestures with one hand.]
That's the power of society, you really have to play along.
[Society is predictable. People clamber to shove each other, tredding upon them to climb to the top of the pile, only to hit the ceiling.]
[ Bruce can't decide if Crane is saying this because Bruce has effectively diverted Crane off the trail, convinced him Bruce really cares what his peers think of him. Or because that's what he wants Bruce to think. Was he playing the game? Bruce hates the uncertainty of it. ]
Peer pressure is powerful. Especially in a world like mine.
[Crane falls silent for a moment, staring at Bruce in a manner his peers had found challenging, but his grandmother had found insolent. He understands, truly, the pressure to conform.
He licks his lips and draws back, but only seems to fill more of the room.
Does he think Bruce does this because he wants to? Because he doesn't? Neither, really.]
[ It's funny how often Crane stops and stares at him. Bruce never looks away from him, even if the staring edges into uncomfortable. And he can't help but feel like he's being sized up. ]
And because I like a good martini or three.
[ Under normal circumstances, Bruce thinks he'd get a chuckle or two out of the people he's chatting with. He doesn't think he'll get much of a reaction from Crane. ]
[ Crane exudes intensity in a way Bruce is familiar with because he could match that energy. So the smile is. Unexpected. Something else to note about Dr. Crane. ]
No I can't handle more than three if I'm the designated driver.
[One change in expression to pull the rug from beneath his feet. One more back to normal to toss it aside. He draws his smile into a line that thins his face; changing expressions is simple for a man who can control his emotions. Perhaps that is one reason he enjoys wearing his mask. He doesn't have to hide. He doesn't have to pretend.]
Isn't that illegal?
[But he's smiling inside? It is illegal. But does he care?]
[ When Crane's face thins, Bruce's doesn't change. He's settled somewhere between relaxed and confident to give credence to the idea that he finds drinking and driving perfectly acceptable. Nobody gets hurt. Everyone gets home safe. Except that last time, when his Ferrari 812 GTS ended up in a ditch.
It disgusts him. This person he's pretending to be, someone who's got so little regard for the life others. It's subtle, but if Crane is watching him closely, he can probably detect the minutest shift in his expression as he speaks. ]
[Crane, too, refuses to change his expression. The skin over his face feels tighter, and his skin begins to itch; mental problems with physical solutions and nothing more.
Instead, he focuses on those slight changes, those physical tells nobody can control. And he turns from sizing Bruce up to staring him down. His stare becomes unblinking, revealing over ten seconds that he really doesn't like feeling threatened.
That is the only reason anyone would lie.]
Not at all. The Batman has bigger problems, doesn't he?
[ The session didn't feel productive. Not in a way that was meant to help Bruce's mental well being. Maybe it was because he didn't feel like he needed the help. Maybe because he's spent these last many minutes feeling like he's being appraised for an experiment. Or a fight.
Dr. Crane is unusual. Not only in his demeanor, but his mannerism. The staring would be off putting if Bruce were someone else. The near uncanny way his face can change would be unsettling if Bruce were anyone else. But it makes him curious instead. Because such things usually means something deeper is happening.
[Appraised. Studied. Dissected. People generally become uncomfortable over having their lives picked apart. Fewer still understand how it can be beneficial, to be broken down and rebuilt, for their maladaptive behaviours to be replaced by something better. Those people - like Bruce at this moment - divert and pretend and lie and mislead.
Crane hardly shows it on his face, but he is glad when people find him uncomfortable. It always means he is hitting those sore and sensitive spots that are the root cause of their problems. Bruce is lying about his public image, and one's public image is something shared with your loved ones.]
Correct. [Wait for it.] And perhaps your loved ones believe the same about you.
[There we go. Bruce and his problems are likely about more than loss. Who wouldn't be concerned about a family member who wears a false face and goes around gallavanting in the dark? Do you even make it home at a good hour, sir?]
[ Bruce...considers that. Alfred had only wanted Bruce to deal with his grief, not pretend it doesn't exist. But that's what he's been doing and Bruce is aware of that. It's how he dealt with the death of his parents - why it still eats him up to think about them even now. He shoves it all down and buries under a lot of rage.
But he's not going to tell Crane any of that.
He needs him to think Bruce is as shallow and vapid as his peers. ]
Then I should set them at ease. I suppose by being a bit more responsible in communicating with them.
[ No he did not and that is not any of your business, mister. ]
Well, one reason you are here is that struggle to communicate.
[Which makes this sudden revelation all the more remarkable. Crane is reminded of a father who gifts his child his present early to stop him complaining, to keep him quiet, placid and controllable.
It is enough to make him frown in disappointment. It is perfectly belivable one side of Bruce is mindless and predictable; as much a pain as any other man on the street. It is also belivable that there are other sides to the man that are utterly fascinating. The question is how far must he drive down before reaching his unconscious? Or hell, any seam that evokes soreness and pain.]
Though I would think a man so beloved of the media would already be aware there is more than one manner by which to communicate.
[ There's some truth there. Bruce often bucked against Alfred's attempts at getting him to just relax. To be normal. To turn off the Batman for a single night. But the Robin suit in the cave - The joke's on you, Batman - reminds him what's at stake. Why he'd never be able to be normal. Not in the way Alfred wants. ]
It's not from a lack of trying. They challenge me every chance they get.
[ It never works. Bruce always finds a away around it. When this session is over, he's sure Alfred will insist he stay in for the night to think things over. But Bruce also intends to put on his mask too. Brand the town with that fancy new bat themed branding iron he cooked up. So that no one has to guess that he was there. ]
[ 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.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Let me suggest the opposite. You attend those parties although you really don't want to be there. Other guests doubtlessly attend for similar reasons. Everything about that similarity is normal. People follow societal rules otherwise, well...
[His clinical, detached way of speaking breaks the remark apart. He idly gestures with one hand.]
That's the power of society, you really have to play along.
[Society is predictable. People clamber to shove each other, tredding upon them to climb to the top of the pile, only to hit the ceiling.]
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Peer pressure is powerful. Especially in a world like mine.
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[Crane falls silent for a moment, staring at Bruce in a manner his peers had found challenging, but his grandmother had found insolent. He understands, truly, the pressure to conform.
He licks his lips and draws back, but only seems to fill more of the room.
Does he think Bruce does this because he wants to? Because he doesn't? Neither, really.]
But you go because it is necessary.
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And because I like a good martini or three.
[ Under normal circumstances, Bruce thinks he'd get a chuckle or two out of the people he's chatting with. He doesn't think he'll get much of a reaction from Crane. ]
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Crane's face brightens with a smile.]
I had you pegged at four.
[Isn't this fun?]
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No I can't handle more than three if I'm the designated driver.
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Isn't that illegal?
[But he's smiling inside? It is illegal. But does he care?]
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[ When Crane's face thins, Bruce's doesn't change. He's settled somewhere between relaxed and confident to give credence to the idea that he finds drinking and driving perfectly acceptable. Nobody gets hurt. Everyone gets home safe. Except that last time, when his Ferrari 812 GTS ended up in a ditch.
It disgusts him. This person he's pretending to be, someone who's got so little regard for the life others. It's subtle, but if Crane is watching him closely, he can probably detect the minutest shift in his expression as he speaks. ]
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Instead, he focuses on those slight changes, those physical tells nobody can control. And he turns from sizing Bruce up to staring him down. His stare becomes unblinking, revealing over ten seconds that he really doesn't like feeling threatened.
That is the only reason anyone would lie.]
Not at all. The Batman has bigger problems, doesn't he?
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Dr. Crane is unusual. Not only in his demeanor, but his mannerism. The staring would be off putting if Bruce were someone else. The near uncanny way his face can change would be unsettling if Bruce were anyone else. But it makes him curious instead. Because such things usually means something deeper is happening.
Bruce wants to know what. ]
I suppose he does.
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Crane hardly shows it on his face, but he is glad when people find him uncomfortable. It always means he is hitting those sore and sensitive spots that are the root cause of their problems. Bruce is lying about his public image, and one's public image is something shared with your loved ones.]
Correct. [Wait for it.] And perhaps your loved ones believe the same about you.
[There we go. Bruce and his problems are likely about more than loss. Who wouldn't be concerned about a family member who wears a false face and goes around gallavanting in the dark? Do you even make it home at a good hour, sir?]
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But he's not going to tell Crane any of that.
He needs him to think Bruce is as shallow and vapid as his peers. ]
Then I should set them at ease. I suppose by being a bit more responsible in communicating with them.
[ No he did not and that is not any of your business, mister. ]
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[Which makes this sudden revelation all the more remarkable. Crane is reminded of a father who gifts his child his present early to stop him complaining, to keep him quiet, placid and controllable.
It is enough to make him frown in disappointment. It is perfectly belivable one side of Bruce is mindless and predictable; as much a pain as any other man on the street. It is also belivable that there are other sides to the man that are utterly fascinating. The question is how far must he drive down before reaching his unconscious? Or hell, any seam that evokes soreness and pain.]
Though I would think a man so beloved of the media would already be aware there is more than one manner by which to communicate.
[Suspicions, suspicions.]
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[ Finally, a truthful statement, even if it is still nothing more than a smoke screen. ]
After such a long time not being heard, is it any wonder I stopped communicating?
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Not at all. Anybody in your position would start finding satisfaction elsewhere.
[His voice is soft and controlled, suggestive but without the force that makes people think it isn't their idea.]
Perhaps your issue is that you are not finding the challenge you need in those who respect you.
[He says, planning to put his mask on later to go out and paint the town.]
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It's not from a lack of trying. They challenge me every chance they get.
[ It never works. Bruce always finds a away around it. When this session is over, he's sure Alfred will insist he stay in for the night to think things over. But Bruce also intends to put on his mask too. Brand the town with that fancy new bat themed branding iron he cooked up. So that no one has to guess that he was there. ]
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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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