Deep Into the Nightmare Peering [Jonathan, Heather

Dr. Crane had been deathly quiet in the back of the police car. He knew where they were going and his mind turned and turned on it. He didn’t fear the place, the tall ominous building with its thick walls and promises of captivity. He wouldn’t show anything to these men that took him and VerMillion to the place. Instead he laid against the window like a lifeless corpse with his hands double cuffed behind his back. Over the years the police had become wise to double cuffing him. His body was far too thin to leave him without extra restraints and he could be a very dangerous man up close.

His art made him a very dangerous man but in ten years the police and the Asylum had both seen a lot of it. They had long figured out that without the limber use of his arms and his legs he was hindered in his ability to defend himself. Violent dance focused much more on the movement of the hands and that was the first thing that they would take from him. The doctor had learned some new tricks over the years and he would show some of them to VerMillion unless he was going to be separated from her.

As the thought of being separated from her rolled through his mind an angry began to rise. He told himself that he was never going back to this place. He told others that he was never going back to this place and that was exactly what he intended upon doing. Yet here he was, thinking about how things were going to go inside. Dr. Crane knew that he could escape when he wished, but Dr. Arkham was making it more and more difficult each time. His lifeless eyes sparked toward the window as the place he once worked came into view.

Dr. Arkham….

Dr. Crane’s fingers squeezed in the cuffs behind his back and tried to hold his anger at bay. He couldn’t show that kind of burst to these men and he would restrain himself inside as well. The car came to a stop and he turned to VerMillion. “Just stay quiet.” He whispered to her but the cop in the front seat hit the grate hard. “Shut up!” The bulky officer barked back at them. He was obviously displeased with having to do his job today. Or perhaps it was because he was afraid that the Vigilantes of the city were slowly taking his job. The thought made a sinister smile come to his lips for just a moment. Fear made the officer what he was today and it could destroy him just as easily and yet he continued to push away from it instead of embrace the truth.

The two officers got out of the car and came around to Dr. Crane’s side first. He got one last look at VerMillion before he was drug out and handled roughly by both of them. Once they realized that the doctor wasn’t going to struggle the other officer went back and grabbed VerMillion so she wasn’t far behind him. His feet felt heavy as they took steps up to the place which damned him, the only thing that motivated him to lift his feet at all was knowing that it was also bringing him closer to the man that had caused all of this. Despite the location, he wanted to be closer to that man, to destroy him. The doors came open and orderlies were already waiting to grab him as soon as he entered. Dr. Crane kept his poise, refusing to fight against them as he was led to holding. It was late at night and they currently had little staff on site but something told him that the doctor would be making an appearance shortly.

They brought him into the holding cell; it seemed they had made a special arrangement for him again. Dr. Crane walked into the empty cell but the door remained open until they led VerMillion in also. They were going to keep them together for the moment but they had cleared out an entire holding cell for him. Something was different however as an orderly came in and grabbed Dr. Crane roughly. The doctor jerked at first until he was forced to sit down and something clasped around his cuffs. He tried to move his hands, he tried to get up but he couldn’t! Something was wrong. He turned himself to the left and the right to see what had happened. They had bound him to the bench! The dogs of Arkham were getting better at ensuring he stayed here.

Dr. Crane had sat there in silence with VerMillion, not saying a word to her. It wasn’t wise to speak in an open environment like this, especially so new to entry. His body went lifeless to lean against the cold wall behind them. What choice did he have? Being bound to the bench severely dampened his options, but he doubted he would have chosen any other.

But then…He came to the glass.

He locked eyes with him immediately and pressure came to his feet. It was a clear motion that he had attempted to stand up but had failed because of the binds. The glass between them was just barely enough to keep that man breathing. His eyes flooded over with darkness when he ignored him and began speaking to VerMillion. If he could just get his hands around his throat he’d make him see what ‘happiness’ truly was. Dr. Crane didn’t say a word to him, he didn’t have to, and his action to try and stand was enough of a statement to let him know how he felt.

Now VerMillion was here with him and he was sure that Dr. Arkham was going to use that to his full advantage. But Dr. Crane was always steps ahead, there was very little VerMillion knew about him aside from his habits, which was nothing that he hadn’t seen through the glass anyway. Hopefully she would be reminded of what he told her earlier as Dr. Arkham spoke, she didn’t have to say anything.

Question Heather about Jonathan’s routine, his habits, perhaps his whereabouts? Was that what Jonathan expected of him? Had he been anyone else, perhaps that wouldn’t have been a ridiculous notion, but he was Jonathan Crane, and comfortable with it or not, he should have known that Jeremiah knew enough about him. He knew his habits well enough, he knew Jonathan well enough. He didn’t care about his whereabouts so long as they didn’t bring him anywhere in the vicinity of his home or family. Jeremiah gave Jonathan something he was not given, space, respect, and what Jonathan did outside the walls of Arkham were certainly interesting, and sometimes his business. He would love to know where the Scarecrow haunted and hunted when not in Arkham, but he knew he wouldn’t get it from Heather. He would have told her little because that’s just how he was. As for Heather? She was loyal; she’d not rat him out.

Not only had he no want to ask and interrogate the girl, he knew how fruitless it would be. But what he could take note in was that despite not speaking a single word, but of them acknowledged him.

Jeremiah felt his lip twitch at the slightest movement in his vision. Jonathan had tried to stand and the expression was tinged in surprise when he failed. Jeremiah tilted his head with a curious quirk, but his lips did stretch into the smile that had flickered over them moments before.

“So idiots can learn new tricks,” he commented, “and here I thought those orderlies unable to be trained. Maybe one of your attacks to the head finally jarred the stupid loose, though even Pavlov was able to train dogs with a simple bell.” He shifted his attention back to Heather, unaware until that moment that he wasn’t in the presence of the woman he’d last met in his car after she’d received a concussion. Yet the moment his eyes met hers, something fired in his brain. A niggle of danger, of realization that this was not Heather, at least not the same he’d known that winding, short time from before.

He did not look away from her baleful glare immediately. He could feel the fury behind it like it was a living organism with breath. He broke it only to glance at Jonathan before his attention was back on this person who was Heather and who was not.

“The last time I saw you, you fainted. You couldn’t look me in the eye, yet the stressors present were the same, in fact, being captured should have a more pronounced effect. And yet it doesn’t.” He let his gaze flicker over her stifling disbelief. “You should be pacing, unable to stop talking. You should be cowering. And yet you’re not. You’re not frightened at all. You’re bristling instead.” He raised a brow. “Extraordinary.”

He paced the front of the cell and then craned his head to peer in at Jonathan, “Your doing,” he asked, gesturing to her and then shook his head. “You wouldn’t tell me, I’d imagine.” He clasped his hand behind his back. Now the joy was becoming more genuine in having them here. Before it was not an emotion seeped in any happiness, but was made of mustard, bitter and chalky and churning. It was an icy joy, but now it was warming. He came in order to see both of them clearly once again. It would do well to keep them both in sight. He let the pique of his fall and he rolled his shoulders. “It’s time to let you know what will be happening now that you’ve both been transferred from police custody into mine.”

He met Jonathan’s gaze, “You’re already aware of it. You’ll be taken to solitary, not because I came in and just couldn’t stand your face. Contrary, actually, to that belief, I happen to like you, but I believe it’ll be to the benefit of all parties if you spent the night there at the least. I’ll discuss whether to stay your return to your cell with the security staff in the morning when there is actually a sun.” He spoke in a tone that belied nothing, but fact and as if it was common speech to give to Jonathan and for all many knew, it may have been. He turned his body towards VerMillion, and his attention was on her once again.“Though now there is another circumstance to deal with. Ms. Glass, the police weren’t certain what to make of you but decided since you voluntarily associate with Dr. Crane, you are to be brought here for evaluation. You’ll be under twenty-four surveillance—something I actually think unnecessary—and after which, some sort of contact will be retrieved for you, most likely your parents if they are still living.”

Again it was nothing, but factual. He glanced between the two of them. “Any questions so far before I move on to explaining what will happen next for Ms. Glass’s benefit?”

As Dr. Arkham continues to talk to her, VerMillion's expression shifts from mere anger to something approaching contempt. She stands up straighter, listening to his description of the different way she presents herself and answering it with more silence. However he chooses to describe her is utterly meaningless to her - in fact she finds it rather presumptuous of him that he thinks that he has anything to say about her at all.

Though her eyes narrow in another surge of anger when he asks if it was Jon's doing. Of course he can't know all the crap she's been through since the last time he saw her, but the question still rankles. Jon would never do to her what the Penguin did to her, and the mere thought angers her even though she knows that he can't know what he's saying. Being angry is simply extremely easy at the moment. And it's a preferable to emotion number two: sadness.

And with the reality that she'll be separated from Jon gradually dawning on her, the sadness that her anger is masking is not likely to go away any time soon. Her inability to fear eliminates or reduces a broad category of other emotions she could be feeling now - it's not as if she's afraid to leave his side. She simply does not want to be away from him, even though she's quite sure that everything will be okay whether she's with him or not. Especially since that will leave her to have to deal with Heather by herself, and her alter ego is far more dependent on Jon than she is. Attempting to convince Heather that everything is going to be okay is going to be a real pain.

Her mind drifts off in that direction as Dr. Arkham explains to Jon that he's being sent to solitary - not something to disturbs her much as she knows that Jon will be perfectly fine - though her attention returns promptly when the doctor starts talking to her again. His explanation about her apparent need to be evaluated is met by a dispassionate look as she'd already overheard the police saying the same thing and has already done most of the mental grumbling about it that she cares to do. The mention of Heather's parents, on the other hand, causes her eyes to visibly lower. They're coming? Ugh... She can handle that, sure, but...

Of course when he asks if she has any questions she keeps her mouth shut. All the questions she has will be answered soon enough anyway, so there's no point in voicing them. Though she is mildly surprised when Jon unexpectedly speaks up. Looking at him with a puzzled expression, her mouth quirks in slight amusement at his question. Honestly, Heather will probably be completely useless with anything here, though then again the girl's advice is often helpful. Without fear to alert her to problems, her other half often fills that function for her. At least when she's not going to the other extreme, worrying about nothing, and attempting to convince her that it's actually important.

But the two can make quite a team when they manage to work together, as they can bring into play the advantages of both fear and fearlessness at the same time. That's why, even beyond her inability to worry, VerMillion can be so confident that no matter what happens it will turn out okay: Jon can take care of himself, Heather can take care of her, and she can take care of Heather. So the only real question is how long it will take for them to get themselves out of this situation.

She shifts her attention back to Dr. Arkham, her somewhat expectant seeming to indicate that he should by all means explain what happens next. Whatever it is, the sheer amount of confidence behind her angry expression shows that she's already completely certain of her ability to handle it just fine. Even if it includes a chat with Heather's parents.

Dr. Crane had nowhere to go after he spoke his question. He couldn’t pace or announce his philosophy about the room as he’d like as long as he was confined to this bench. He was able to catch a glance at VerMillion, deliberately looking away from Dr. Arkham because of his incompetence for what he truly didn’t understand, and never would. The way her eye turned down spoke wonders of how he was going to meet her family, one way or another. Probably more over the phone. He could only image the amount of “torture” Dr. Arkham would try to put him through on that one, but the girl’s parents wouldn’t be a problem.

When the doctor mentioned the old experiment an amount of angst came onto his features but was quickly dropped. The amateur that took care of that last experiment didn’t even last through it, but Dr. Crane couldn’t deny that he had no desire to be put back in a room filled with his reflection. He didn’t put it passed him to have it done again either, but he would learn just about as much more it as he did last time. This visit he had VerMillion which was a fascinating subject on her own, one that he would rather he left alone completely, but that was an impossible thought.

“Anything to help you cope”

The jab made his glare darken. Like coping with this place was going to be a problem. It was a home for him before although now it seemed like a home away from home. Dr. Crane could survive in here, but VerMillion would be a rough task to get through. This would be her first time and she didn’t know any of the unspoken rules, most of which he was above, but she wasn’t. They would be separated for some time he assumed. Dr. Arkham wanted to keep Dr. Crane in solitary for just that reason, get him out of his hair and forget about him while he was able to interrogate the girl. But he knew that she wouldn’t say anything, she didn’t know anything.

Dr. Crane coked his head as his own name hit his ears. His wing? He was using his wing? He still called it his wing? His glare darkened even more so. Was this to mock him? Keep it as a reminder to what he had stripped from him? It would be a bold move to have him removed from this bench right now. Just as he opened his mouth to rip Dr. Arkham apart a voice came from the corridor. It was a beautiful voice, almost like it was sent of an entity above and it spoke that beautiful word. “Dad’.

Nothing could contain the sinister smile that came over Dr. Cranes face as the young undergrad came into view. “The loin of Dr. Arkham…” He whispered out toward the boy.What a resemblance to the doctor himself, although a few details were obviously gotten from his mother, whom would be found next if she was still living. So he had two sons? The one that picked up the phone and this one? The doctor had done well for himself with gathering a large pocket of weaknesses. “Oh Doctor…” He breathed out and leaned against the wall, he flashed a rare smile to VerMillion assuring her that everything was about to run very smoothly. “What a “happy” family…..Such a thing to cherish…” A small laughter came into his voice and his chains rattled below him. He was sure that any ability to speak further would be taken away fairly shortly. Dr. Arkham would take him to Solitary and then tell him what was to be his “fate”.

Jeremiah felt and heard Jonathan’s voice. It had a quality of its own with the words therein as it scraped like a snake’s scales over ground. The almost synesthesia unnerved him and Jeremiah fought a shiver as the message slithered across the space, breached the iron bars, and hissed his ear. As Nathaniel approached he almost missed his son’s few words, though Jonathan’s rang clearly in his head. His attention was drawn to him. It always was when he spoke. In that moment he was reminded of the bells of the church he’d used to attend as a child. They had been somber, but booming and always followed by a scathing sermon of fire and brimstone. They had frightened him as a child because he would know what was to happen next—the preacher screaming of his irresolvable sin. It had filled him with dread just as Jonathan’s did. That note of impending doom because he’d breached another wall. Now his family had a face.

It had been one thing for Jonathan to be aware of them, but now he knew what one of them looked like. He felt the walls caving in and then he curled his fists and it stopped. No, Nathaniel could fend for himself. Rage followed quickly after the fear bleed away. Or bleed into it. He was on the defensive. He wanted to glare at Jonathan, tell him something just as penetrative as his words had been. He wanted to tear into his psyche just as much as Jonathan had his. He wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, even if it was only to replace it with anger, those dark eyes focused on him. Yes, as long as it was him and not his son. Another part of himself wanted to claim his innocence of the crime that Jonathan believed him guilty of. To stop this revenge that in reality has no basis save for the warped perception of the man who wanted the resentment. Yet two people stopped him from doing any of this: VerMillion and Nathaniel.

VerMillion’s laughter penetrated Jeremiah’s mind. It was her who gained his critical glare. “Oh, I imagine,” he responded curtly. Though his reasoning was wrong, he knew one thing: she had enjoyed his fear and that was the basis of her laughter. Hadn’t Jonathan just created such a delightful little bird…

Nathaniel, on the other hand, placed his hand on his shoulder. When Jeremiah met his perusal, it was easy to see that Nathaniel’s attention wasn't averted at all towards what Jonathan had said nor VerMillion’s laughter. Instead his eyes, brown like Jeremiah’s, peered into his and then glided over his face. There was something in his face that made Jeremiah’s gut niggle unpleasantly, but then Nathaniel took a deep breath and it was gone, just like his hand on his father’s shoulder. Nathaniel turned to his gaze on the duo in the cell again. He nodded to each of them with a genial smile that hid none of his interest.

Jeremiah assumed he hadn’t wanted it hidden at all. He was much more open than his father.

“Dr. Crane…I remember you. We never met, but when I was younger you were a regular in the halls of Arkham Mansion when you weren’t in your designated wing doing your research. I spent a lot of my after school time in that mansion. It was the only way Dad could be sure I was doing my homework,” he glanced to his father and chuckled, “isn’t that right?” Jeremiah was unsure how he could be so casual and relaxed in the face of the man he knew wanted to probably torture him. Nathaniel’d been schooled on just what Jonathan Crane wanted with him from the moment the man’s vengeful vow was made. But then Jeremiah knew, he knew he knew…Nathaniel was probably very afraid and enjoying every moment of it.

“And you,” Jeremiah watched his son meet VerMillion’s visage. Seeing her seemed to spark something in Nathaniel. It was as if he were internally measuring something about her as he observed her, but then just like his investigation in his father, it was gone and he nodded, “Glass. You’re Ms. Glass. I’d offer my hand to shake and apologize for the interruption but this is hardly a pleasant occasion.”

“Speaking of interruptions, why are you still here,” Jeremiah interrupted Nathaniel before he could continue. “Your shifted ended at 3 pm yesterday, and you’re not due back until that time today.”

Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair and Jeremiah noticed the circles under his eyes. “Called being a grad student. I stayed here to pull the research files you’d let me borrow for my doctorial research. I have to show it to Professor Pigeon tomorrow and so I went to the break room and have been checking my research for errors. I’d had a total of an hour of sleep before the intercom woke me up to announce the admittance of a Class E patient.” He gestured to Jonathan. “Which is lucky for me, since they called you. I need more one file from the room.”

Jeremiah had been listening to his son’s dilemma. He’d been listening at least enough to know what had brought him down here, but what he was really focused on was getting him out of there before Jonathan got any more of a read on him or himself, because there was no denial of his anxiety. He did not want his son around the man who wanted so much to use him against him. Nathaniel didn’t deserved to be damned just because he was his son. “Keys are in my office.” Nathaniel’s introduction to Jonathan had been enough.

“Your office is locked,” came Nathaniel’s quick reply as he wandered to the small dry erase board that was meant to detail who the head guard and security was on shift, “I checked before I came, but it’s convenient anyway,” he picked up a red, dry erase marker up and began to write on the board, “because I need to talk to you about a patient of yours.”

Instantly Jeremiah wasn’t staring at the two prisoners—mostly Jonathan—anymore. He was turned to his son. “I told you, despite your qualifications that I was not going to authorize you to treat—”

“I wasn’t talking about them,” Nathaniel capped the red marker and stopped scribbling. “I accepted that decision. This is about an out-patient of yours.”

Jeremiah relaxed. “Then it can wait,” he said and turned back to face VerMillion and Jonathan. “I should be finished soon. Wait outside the holding area and we can talk about the patient and I’ll get the file room keys for you.” Then he was addressing Jonathan and VerMillion again. “Yes, Ms. Glass…Jonathan…my son, Nathaniel. He’s a therapist here working towards his Doctorate in Psychology from Gotham University and I’m hoping Medical School,” he cleared his throat, “but let’s get back on track. Now where was I?” He pretended he didn’t know that Nathaniel had yet to leave, though he was aware of it. He could see him leaning against the rear wall as if he was a student listening attentively to a lecture. “The cell arrangement for you, Ms. Glass, right? The evaluation will make it final, but I doubt we’ll have you house you in Jonathan’s wing…No need for you to go to Intensive Treatment I doubt. I’m not expecting you to be happy about being here, nor do I expect it will be extremely prolonged unless something comes up. I imagine your family will insist on your being moved elsewhere if the findings are favorable.”

“Could I ask Ms. Glass a question, Dad?” Nathaniel straightened, Jeremiah stiffened. “I thought I asked you wait outside, Nate.”

Nathaniel strolled his side, “Sorry, I wanted to observe,” his attention was fixed on VerMillion, “Ms. Glass, I was just wondering how long you’ve been incapable of feeling fear and anxiety of any kind?” Jeremiah recognized the flow and tone of Nathaniel’s voice change to cadence he used when administering therapy. Yet he didn’t hide the neutral intrigue either. Jeremiah blinked.

“No fear?”

“It’s possible it’s an exceptional poker face,” Nathaniel shrugged, “and I press exceptional. From what I’ve told of you, however, I seriously doubt that. You’re not ‘submissive.’ There’s absolutely no trace of anxiety in your body language anywhere. You’ve never been held in jail nor done anything illegal. Your limbs are drawn in, but it’s in defense in anger, not anxiety. There’s no visible pulse or fidgeting, no anxious tension in your body anywhere. There’s almost no possibility that you couldn’t not be feeling anxiety unless you very much simply couldn’t.” He smiled faintly. “Professionally that’s extraordinary especially in my field of study.”

“You’re certain of this?”

Nathaniel nodded and stepped back to regard his father, “Fear, Phobias, and Anxiety are my field of study. I’d be a poor student in it if I couldn’t at least pick out the physical signs or lack thereof. This woman has none. The cause needs to be found because if she was higher in the stress spectrum at your last meeting something drastic has happened. A large psychological trauma.”

And yet Jeremiah had stopped listening. He was stuck being in complete awe at VerMillion, who he still believed to be Heather. If Nathaniel was correct what a discovery! But on that same note Nathaniel had given Jonathan even more to know of him in his excitement. He’d named his field of expertise in psychology.

Fear and Phobias.

Jeremiah remembered how upset and angry he’d been when Nathaniel had finally told him what he was going to specialize in. It was the very same field of study that had changed his son’s life, and standing before them was the man indirectly responsible.

And if it was the last thing he did he’d make sure Jonathan never found out just how much he’d “inspired” his son.

Oh, it's funny all right! That instant and total look of panic for no good reason? Well, to be sure Jon is dangerous when he wants to be, but he's clearly been rendered unable to move much so there's no reason to freak out just because someone you care about is in the same room with him. Especially when that person doesn't appear to be troubling himself about it either. Yep, this is definitely hilarious - so much so that the look Jon gives her doesn't stop her laughter. Granted, she tries, but it's to the point of being largely involuntary. It isn't until Dr. Arkham manages to compose his features that she becomes able to contain her amusement. Still, the glare he gives her is responded to with a very amused smile - no, she won't apologize to him for laughing.

Of course, by this time much of her intense anger has melted away. She's not really angry at these people, after all. If anything, she's more angry at the vigilantes - they're the ones who put them into this mess. It's the anger of a sore loser, really, though the consequences of it are more severe than losing any ordinary game. Still, she has a hard time taking any of this that seriously - it's just a setback in her eyes. Between her and Jon they'll figure out some way to get themselves back on track, and she doubts that this place will turn out to be that bad. Probably a step up from where they were living, actually, though she'd still count it as a step backward simply because she won't be able to be around Jon.

When she's identified, a twitch of discomfort crosses her features as she turns to look at the man who has joined them. She's not 'Ms. Glass' - that would be Heather. One could argue that it still applies because it's the closest thing she has to a last name, but she just doesn't feel like it's her last name: she's simply VerMillion. And though she understands why people can so easily make the mistake of calling her by Heather's name, she doesn't really like it - generally speaking, her forgiveness ends the moment the other person has had a chance to see that she's the one currently 'out'. Perhaps it's only Dr. Arkham's interruption of his son that stops her from correcting him.

They're little exchange is observed, but not really paid attention to - it's like watching a television show that she's not particularly interested in, but she doesn't have the remote at hand so she simply watches it because it's on. She really wishes that she could simply retreat within her self and make Heather deal with all of this, but she suspects that her other half wouldn't manage this situation very well. Though Heather's being silent for the moment, it's clear that her other self is rather distressed by what's happening and in VerMillion's experience you get the best outcome with Heather when it's calm, whether or not she agrees that her alter ego's mood is appropriate for the situation or not.

Though she does take a bit more interest in the happenings when Dr. Arkham adds to what he was saying about what's going to happen to her. Especially when he brings up Heather's family again - would they want to move her? Probably, as they're all still in Kansas and Gotham is just so far away. Cue the return of lowered eyelids as she ponders that idea. On one level, being away from Jon is being away from Jon, no matter how close or far apart they are. But she'd still prefer to at least remain in the same facility as him simply because being elsewhere would just make everything more complicated. Though she can't really see anything she can do to prevent that... ugh.

Yet she's pulled away quickly from that happy thought when the other guy suddenly has a question for her. Her expression changes to surprise at it, and then amusement when Dr. Arkham seems to have not known that already. Well duh she can't fear! She'd have thought that would be obvious to anyone, though that perception on her part is because she's just not had much experience being around people herself and Heather's memories don't include many situations where she was on brave toxin and was with people besides Jon. So she's just not used to how people respond to her lack of fear, and her observations on Heather lead her to believe that fear or the lack thereof is an obvious thing.

But her attention returns to Nathaniel as he continues to list his observations, and her expression grows almost smug before he's finished. She can't take credit for her condition, but no she's not afflicted by fear at all. Heather may have proved to her that it's a useful emotion to have at times, but all the same she's quite happy to be without it. The times it turns Heather into a nervous wreck certainly outweighs the times that it's at all useful. So when it comes to her, out of all the rest of humanity, being truly fearless: why yes she is, thank you, and she's proud to be so. Though the comment about trauma gets a slight eye-roll. That stuff with the Penguin was unpleasant business, yes, but it could have easily been worse. She doesn't think it would qualify as such a large trauma - a medium one, tops.

Jon's reaction to their discussion about her is mostly ignored - not because she doesn't care but because she doesn't get why he's laughing. Then again, Jon does a lot of things she doesn't understand, so she doesn't worry herself about it. At least not until the rattle of his chains causes her to glance his way to see what he's doing and she notes that he seems to want her attention - which of course she'll give him the moment he asks. Though what he says causes her to frown slightly and say, "Okay..." The extremely unconcerned way she says that indicates she hasn't the slightest idea why she shouldn't comment on that. Seriously, what would be the harm? But she can only figure that Jon has his reasons for telling her so, and since she has no strong desire to talk anyway she'll do as he's asked.

There was always a very deep seeded and deeply rooted meaning behind everything Dr. Crane did. There was nothing put into or out of his reach that he didn’t form to his will in some way. It wasn’t difficult after all, he had the training and the mental ability, he had the education and the talent to do so and he had one influence that no one could understand but himself. That one influence was the embodiment of who he was the ultimate essence of fear itself. When the entire world runs on that presence and you control that presence? You control the world. Some would ask why he didn’t rule the world then if that were true.

To that he would simply offer the speculation that who are they to say he isn’t?

The doctor acted as if their chit chat was unbearable. In his current state of being unable to stand up let alone move more than a few centimeters it almost was. But he was listening, he would listen as long as they spoke and no word would go without use. His body was lifeless and still once more, making it difficult to tell if he was even breathing besides a husk of a hiss that flowed from his teeth, soft and flowing until it spread into words that seemed to be directed at no one. “The boy crawls into small holes in the darkness with the whites of his eyes leading the way…” The doctors spoke in his cryptics barely above a whisper to the top of the room. There was an audience for his words, but he never expected any of them to ever understand….They never did.

When Dr. Arkham returned the attention back to him the corpse’s eyes barely turned to acknowledge that his presence had come back into focus. His mind had left, wandered off into a space that only he could see. He was probably going to tell him about some “new” surprise he was going to be getting. A restriction, a privilege, or a new room. It was always something with the way he worked. Each time he would come back and something would have changed for him but the result was always the one inevitable truth. They just couldn’t contain what was already loose in their minds.

But then a Doctors name was mentioned….

He had never heard of Dr. Ledford before, she must have come to the Asylum well after he left. Dr. Crane’s fingers curled within his bounds at the thought of being transferred to another doctor. The thought alone as enough to send a blazing fire through his mind, he’d spread it through the whole asylum if unleashed, but instead he remained calm and collected on the exterior as if none of it affected him at all. Instead a heavy sigh left the doctors chest as if he was exhausted of Dr. Arkham’s repeated routine. “You’re back to the revolving door for me now?” He moved his chin to the side as if to shrug without doing to motion. It didn’t matter much regardless. He would be back to him within the week because she wouldn’t last a week. Just like the others.

The way that they spoke of this woman he paid very close attention to, even though it didn’t look like his mind was set on them. But the doctor was listening, catching every word. He could draw her out in his mind and picture everything; right down to the way she stood, the way that fear carried her in its embrace. Qualification meant nothing; she had ever dealt with someone as high profile as him before, of that he was certain. Having the drive was a different story. He was more interested in…what brought that drive on. What drove her to become interested in this? He twitched slightly in his chains. What fear brought her to where she is now? One thing was for certain, she would know it herself by the time the first session was over. His boy working with her how ever could prove to be useful. What a fool he was for allowing him to get close.

The thought of being thrown in solitary didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t fear the darkness…He embraced it. But there were things that happened in solitary that made it difficult for him to pursue the needs that he had. Isolation meant he couldn’t study anything or anyone and the guards were all too happy to forget about the scarecrow in the last block. There were times he could remember going days without even being offered food; scarcely did he ever eat it regardless. “I suppose I’ve become too much for you to bare…” He parted his lips and let them lift to the cold air above. “Fitting that you would flee from me but you are in a habit of sacrificing staff to me....…and take your gift with you..” He popped his tongue along the top of his teeth, only himself truly understanding the meaning behind that statement.