The Overture [Iris]

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Nathaniel didn’t believe in love at first sight. He was product of such notions, yes, but love was too delicate a thing to judge on first sight. He believed in attraction at first sight. He believed in intrigue and interest at first sight, and Iris Ledford was interesting. She wasn’t like a lot of the people of Gotham, happy with the status quo, apathetic and willing to let a vigilante do all the work without doing much themselves. She also wasn’t like the usual employee at Arkham Asylum. He didn’t have disrespect per se for the others, but it just seemed that despite their opinions, little was done. Brilliant minds, but they fell and they fell hard into being the pray of Groupthink. Too absorbed in being sure there was consensus amongst them that they didn’t offer opinions that could have been valuable.

He knew Iris had opinions. He knew she wanted to share them. He knew he wanted to listen. What else did he know? That Ms. Ledford was not unattractive, but he was summoned by more than just a pretty face. Beauty was tool that convinced people that someone was thought to be intelligent, popular, free-thinking, but it could fade. Nathaniel was a lover of the mind, the soul, the personality. He loved the ideas that made a person tick and he thought that somehow their rhythms had synchronized. He couldn’t explain the feeling of being drawn to her. He knew how she was different and that was fascinating in of itself, but there was something else—something intrinsic—that was attention-grabbing about her. At least it was grabbing his attention. He wondered if she noticed he often at least gave a pleasant greeting in the halls, much warmer and with actual meaning than the expected “Good days”, “How are yous?” that they all repeated like copiers. He actually meant his words. Just like at that moment he was walking through the halls with take-out, including an extra serving of it that he’d accidently ordered on purpose just to speak with her.

They often had their lunch breaks at the same time and it was a perfect opportunity to not only speak with her casually, but to ask if he could speak with her more. Maybe…

He shook his head as he came to her office door. There was no need to get ahead of himself, though he enjoyed the niggle in his gut that told him he was nervous. It meant this was important to himself in some way. It gave him drive to take a breath and knock the door, stepping back politely after he was done to await an approval of entry.

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Love and Iris have had a very rocky relationship for the past several years. She'd had it once, years ago, and it was wonderful... while it lasted. But in the end it betrayed her and though much time has since then the scars on her heart are still there. Of course, Love is and emotion that tends to find its way back to you when it gets lost, and it has revisited Iris from time to time since. But it didn't return to the same warm home it left; instead it was greeted with wariness and suspicion. It's not that Iris doesn't want to love again - quite the opposite, in fact. No, it's that she's no longer blind to its darker side and she fears it just as strongly as she desires its return.

But that's the reason that she's responded to Nathaniel's interest the way that she has. She's definitely not missed the way he speaks to her, even those simple words usually spoken in passing. There's a certain sense of sincerity to them which she likes even though it also causes a slight twinge of nervousness. But aside from responding in kind to his greetings, she's intentionally not done a thing to encourage him further. For several reasons, actually: if his interest is really that strong he'll take it further than simple greetings as they pass, if he has enough strength to his personality to handle hers then he'll have the guts to do so, and if a man so much younger than her thinks himself able to keep pace with her level of maturity he has a little bit of convincing to do.

Not that there isn't a part of her that hopes he'll succeed, if only for the rather superficial reasons, at this point anyway, that he's attractive and would know what she's talking about when she mentions psychology. She's had problems meeting men who don't fail at one of those at least.

But he's not on her mind as she's clearing her desk of the papers that have accumulated since she began work this morning. Some of it she'll just have to pull out again when she comes back from her lunch break, but having her desk clear will at least give her the comforting mental illusion of starting off fresh again and it only takes a moment to ferry a bit of paper in or out of its proper folder. She's just depositing her folders into a drawer when she hears a knock on the door. "Come in," she calls out practically by reflex.

It's not normally her habit to keep her door closed when she's not with a patient or meditating, but there are certain exceptions. In this case there'd been a particularly noisy patient being dragged down the hallway while she was trying to work on one of her reports and she hasn't taken the time to open it up again. It was only partly so that she didn't have to try to concentrate in spite of the noise, as it was mostly to stop herself from correcting the orderlies doing the dragging. They'd probably have ignored her anyway since it wasn't her patient and she still hasn't lost her new psychologist smell.

When the last file slides into place in the drawer, she slides it shut and then looks up to see who her visitor is. "Oh, Mr. Arkham, come in," she says with a smile, repeating herself but this time with feeling.

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Nathaniel stepped inside, but unlike most people, whose attention would first be drawn to the layout of the office—a tactic, he knew was just was a way to save face until they thought of a topic—he instead walked to her, a returning smile on his face and offered the bag with a chuckle. “I could lie to you and tell you that the Chinese place I ordered from misunderstood and gave me an extra order, but I’ll be honest with you, I totally ordered food as an excuse to talk to you.” He didn’t mind to show that he was a little nervous, a different nervous than the job usually requires one to be. And who wouldn’t be? “I always find that food and good conversation facilitate positive interaction.”

He may not have known her past with romance, but he did know she was single. He might have heard that through asking his dad seemingly unimportant questions, but the fact that she was told him something. That she was careful and that already denoted that he’d have to convince her to perhaps give him a chance to be closer. He wanted to understand just why he even wanted such a chance in the first place. Yet he wasn’t not backing off that uncomfortable feeling, though he didn’t quite like being uncertain, but he could press that aside for the moment. It wasn’t completley without its pleasantness: what is life without mystery afterall? He’d had his share of romance too, a few flings done before he’d known it, and even a serious one that had lasted it’s time of two years, but then once someone cheats, but he was still young and after a little time he was convinced he was better off.

Yet, he was not interested in rushing anything. They’d met. They’d had their small chit-chats, but there was still much for them to learn. First they needed to be better acquainted.

He let his attention shift around the office after offering food, “And you remind me that my office is so…bland. I think yours is bigger too,” his mouth quirked. “I still need to go shopping for office decorations, I know my plain office isn’t at all comforting to those who come and see me, but I feel like passing out when I get off. But I like your office. It’s cosy, Ms. Ledford.” He paused for only a moment to let the natural flow of conversation set in. “So how’s the day coming for you?”

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The first words out of his mouth cause Iris's eyebrows to raise in surprise, but her expression turns amused and she laughs lightly as she comments, "Well, as it happens, I'm a fan of honesty, Chinese food, and conversation so I think I'll refrain from throwing you out of my office for the time being. Have a seat." She's not sure what exactly to make of his particular tactic of surprising her with 'extra' food and confessing to his plan, but as there's probably no possible way of trying to get to know someone of the opposite gender that isn't a little awkward in some way so she won't judge him for that.

His comment on her office has her looking around at it. She put quite a bit of effort into making the space into just the right sort of environment for her to work in and to bring patients who are considered to be safe enough to be here. The desk she's sitting at is at the back of the room, turned so that she's facing the door while she's sitting there. Having just cleared it off as much as it ever is, the only thing on it is her laptop - closed and pushed to one side. All the other little bits of clutter people tend to keep on their desk she either doesn't own or she keeps stored away unless she's actually using it. In the other back corner of the room is a pair of large filing cabinets, and next to them but closer to the front is a large bookcase. Only about half of its shelves are full of various books - many of them are in depth texts about specific mental illnesses while others are about mental wellness and personal empowerment, and some on are on meditation, nutrition, and yoga. The rest of the shelves of the bookcase appear to be full of various arts and crafts supplies - paper, paint, glue, scissors, colored sand, string, cut up magazines, balloons, crayons, markers, colored pencils... she seems to have at least one of everything. On the opposite side of her desk is a rather comfortable looking office chair that swivels easily - probably due to the fact that it serves the dual purpose of giving someone talking to her while she's at her desk somewhere to sit, such as now, but also gives her somewhere to sit while someone else is sitting on the couch at the front of the room next to the entry door. In the space between that chair and the couch there's a rather thick rug, which is probably one of the features that gives the room its cozy feeling.

"Well, I don't know how big your office is, so I couldn't say," she comments with a smile. She'd guess that she probably has one of the smaller offices... but then again, he's even lower on the totem pole than she is, so she supposes he could easily have a smaller one than she does. "But thank you - my workspace matters a lot to me," she adds. And it shows in many of the little details. The wall behind her desk has her diplomas, as that's practically a tradition, and they indicate that she obtained most of her education from the University of Phoenix but her actual doctorate from Gotham University. But the rest of the walls have framed posters of rather serene landscapes - a tropical beach, a sunset, and a high mountain. On top of the filing cabinets there's the faint sound of trickling water from a tiny water fountain, and rather than using the fluorescent lights that her office came with, she instead has strategically placed floor and table lamps.

It's then that the conversations shifts to more standard small talk, which Iris certainly doesn't mind that; it's a good way of learning certain basic details about a person, after all. "It's been good thus far - I had a couple of sessions with some of my trickier patients earlier this morning, but since I don't have any more of them until this afternoon I've been catching up on paperwork," she explains, "And how has it been for you?"

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Nathaniel had felt his heart jumping at the raise of her eyebrows. He was surprised he’d admitted to his plan, but her laugh helps to comfort him and he grins, a bit ashamed, a bit amused at himself for his tactic. He in fact sighs in relief, but gives her a smile. “Thank goodness, I was a little scared there for a moment.” He says before taking a seat in the chair opposite of her desk. If they were eating they’d need a surface. Of course he’d help clean afterward.

Getting to know someone of the opposite gender differed in difficulty depending on your motives. Maybe he should have been ashamed to know that if you’re just looking for a quick fling in the sheets, it only took one compliment to seduce. Business, you just had to have charm, be observant. Friendship was slightly more awkward, but it involved charm and observation too. However, to want to make a lasting connection and when wanting more than simple friends, and not wanting to just throw them into the sheets for a quick release, one had to be on their top game. It was about charm, compliments, observation, and most of all restraint. You couldn’t admit to be too observant, you could scare them off, but you had to know what to say or not be afraid to say the wrong thing, own up to it. In romance you revealed more faults, more quickly he believed. So he’s glad she gives him the benefit of the doubt.

As he sits in the chair he’d taken, he again looks around the office as she speaks and then as he forms a reply to continue the conversation. He’s still holding the steaming food in its bags in his lap, yet at the moment that is the last thing on his mind.

He can tell that she has organized her office in a very purposeful manner. It is both work friendly, offering space for the therapist, but the various contents of her bookshelf are perfect for therapy. He finds himself interested, eyes running over first the books. He’d seen most of the offices of the doctors here as he’d grown up, as he’d visited, and they were always filled with hefty books of mental illness, but not Iris’s. Hers is filled with others: mental wellness, nutrition, yoga, meditation, and personal empowerment. He makes two notes on such. One is that he should invest in them, perhaps even the same. It’s well-rounded, it makes sense, and it makes him like her more. She has thought of more than just seeming to be an expert on mental illness. She is focused on mental wellness, not just knowledge. The other note is that he might need to borrow them from her to peruse for interest, for his own interest, and to test their worth. He’d heard reviews. Any chance to either enhance his knowledge of help or to help her find better texts sounds unlike a waste and more like an opportunity. It’d also give him information to speak to her about, enhancing their social interaction.

The rest of the room just feeds the comfortable environment. Her patients must have felt safe and secure here. Exactly what he wants. He’s more than impressed, he’s inspired and hopeful that Gotham may not be in trouble through its mental health facilities after all.

“I can tell that your workspace is important to you, but more I can tell that you’re very dedicated not to just proving knowledge, but to using it to help.” He chuckles. “Am I alone in thinking that most of the doctors just seem to have point to prove and that’s their focus, not necessarily in aiding people. Reputation is important, but self-knowledge even more so.” He meets her eyes with a nod before they scan her diplomas. “I’m in the process of getting my Doctorate from Gotham, I received my Bachelors and Masters from Stanford.” He clears his throat, “But I’ve heard nothing but positives about the University of Phoenix. Name of college isn’t important in the end, it’s what you get out of it. And I think you’ve learned a lot more about actual psychology than most of the doctor’s here who always boast they’re geniuses.”

He shifts comfortably after that, listening to her recount her day. “I’m glad it’s not been too difficult and I hope the catch-up has been going well. I’ve been doing mostly paperwork and exploring the asylum, trying to get a feel for the people that surround me. I’ll be getting my first patient this afternoon, but I’m confident. Her condition is one I’ve much experience in, so I hope that comes in handy and I’m always happy to improvise as long as the session is beneficial to her.” He runs his fingers over the takeout boxes and that’s when he notices them again. “Would you mind if I put these on your desk? I can get napkins and I’ll help you clean up after we’re finished.”

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The difficulty of getting to know someone of the opposite gender is also highly dependent on the precise person of the opposite gender that you're trying to get to know. In Iris's case it would take a lot more than compliments to convince her to have a quick fling in the sheets, and she has a certain knack for seeing through charm. Then again, charm and compliments come in two different flavors: sincere and insincere. And someone who can generally tell the difference, like Iris, can fall for flattery just as easily as anyone if they know the person they're talking to means it - perhaps even faster. The only real difference is that they're fully aware of the process.

As his eyes glance around at her office, her eyes stay mostly on him as she makes observations of her own. A part of her philosophy is that there's no such thing as a person who is completely mentally sound - there are degrees of mental wellness just as there are degrees of mental illness, and there's always room for improvement. And they're different scales: it's entirely possible for completely sane person to be extremely unwell mentally, and it's possible for someone with a severe mental condition to at the same time be very mentally robust. So there's no such thing as a person who she can't help in some way, including herself.

And there's a certain part of her - the same part that encouraged her to become a therapist in the first place - that can't help but look at Nathaniel, or anyone else for that matter, with the question of exactly how she can help him in the back of her mind. Obviously he has nothing severely wrong with his mind, but surely there's a few things she could help with. Actually, given who his father is, there's probably a lot of things she could help with. And there's no reason why she can't do that at the same time she gives him a shot at getting to know her better.

There's a slight amount of surprise again in the lift of her eyebrows at the comment his scan of her office prompts. Ah, he 'gets it' then... Something that's appallingly rare in this facility. "You're not alone at all! Research has it's place, of course - in fact I hope to study several of my own theories. But is it not our mandate to actually help our patients in the meantime? If you ask me, that's why this facility has such a poor record of actually curing any of these major criminals, and that reputations should be based on how much your patients are helped and not what facts you discover," she says, shaking her head. Of course, she's hoping to do both, even if she's more focused on actually helping her patients.

As he comments on her diplomas, there's a slight pause as she considers her words, "I went there because I'm a native of Arizona so it was near family, and that's also where my then husband wanted to go. And I agree that the name isn't really important - I think that what you learn varies more student to student than it really does from university to university. The more prestigious ones simply get more than their fair share of the good students. And I've always said that the moment you think you know everything, you stop learning - another frequent problem among the staff here." The fact that she used to be married can be a bit of a touchy subject, so she glosses over it quickly. It may be more and more common these days, but there's still an element of shame to it - or at least there is to someone like Iris who still sees divorce as something that you ideally do not want and avoid if you can. On the other hand, she doesn't shy away from getting that fact out there quickly as she knows that it's a key component to him getting to know her and his reaction to it would also help her know a lot about him.

She smiles as he explains about his patient, and she immediately nods when he asks if he can put the food on her desk, "Oh, go right ahead." She eats at her desk rather frequently, actually, and it's not like it's expensive enough for her to worry about causing damage to it. She's still at the beginning of her career and, while she's obviously put a lot of attention into her office, she didn't put a lot of money into it. She's still paying off her student loans, after all, and until she gets her license her salary will remain low. "I'm glad that they gave you a patient you can work with - they've been pretty slow to trust me with mine it seems. Until recently it's been nothing but fairly straightforward cases or, alternatively, seemingly hopeless cases."

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Nathaniel doesn’t want a fling in the sheets. Perhaps some of his college “friends” would look at him, twenty-four, obviously still young and wonder why on earth he was looking for meaningful relationships instead of quick trysts that could be thrown out the next day, no matter their age. Because it’s logical, he thinks. He wants one because it promises long-term commitment. No worrying about checking yourself for diseases if the relationship got that far, no worrying about calling them the wrong name. No need to flaunt yourself out every night. He is professional and while he’d had his share of one night stands, charming just for the purpose of quick flings, that period ended about the same time he got his Bachelor’s. A Masters would require study and his Ph.D. even more. If he wanted a woman, Nathaniel figured he wanted one that would understand and support him, one that was relaxed. One who knew the hardships and of course Iris is all that, and much more, he may know what that entailed, but he was determined to find out. See if it would work. He felt natural chemistry was great between them. And all his compliments he intends to be sincere, if not awkward at first.

Ah, those first stumbling steps of courtship, just like a newly born foal. He wouldn’t miss them when they were gone. Yet fumbling feels natural, fine. It means that he is trying. It makes him feel alive and normal and he wants normal.

There were times in Nathaniel’s life he felt so out of touch with what it felt it to be the average human being. Even not experiencing one of those situations, he would have agreed with her. There were differing level of mental health just as there was mental illness. And thinking on that brings him back to ten years previously. That had been a teenager’s foolish pride, the rebellion of a child whose life was being intruded on by another person who wanted to play his mother. He didn’t want another then, he just wanted it to be him and his father. He wanted that attention.

He suffered for his transgressions then. It equated into anti-anxiety medication, but when they did nothing, other methods were sought out. Yet there was always a need for help. Of course, his problems didn’t originate because of his father. They had nothing to do with Jeremiah, actually. He imagined that would be a surprise to anyone who wanted to delve into his mind. He had come a long way since ten years ago, but he would except help. It was always intriguing how even the presence of one person could alter a person’s mental pathways. So if Iris would like to help him become more fit mentally, he’s open to it while getting to know her and he’s open to doing the same.

Yet all that leaves his mind at the expression of awe that strikes her face. That shock that he’d said something she agreed it. It makes him feel smug, but he’s happy to not be alone.

“Research is a pathway, a beginning point, but research was began because someone implemented a theory, not just wrote it down or kept it to themselves. The only way to treat is to be active and so many just seem to twiddle their thumbs. So yes, our mandate is to help, not to theorize or boast. Facts should be secondary to actual patient well-being. Like you I have theories I would wish to study. My area of specialty is phobias and the psychology behind fear for instance. I have plenty of things I would wish to try, but such exploration has its time to be done, and a patient should not suffer neglect in treatment as a result.” To say he agrees with her is an understatement. He preaches the same gospel.

Yet when she pauses, he wonders if he said something wrong, not that it was intentional. Conversation can take a person there, however. Yet then she starts talking and he relaxes. As he listens he takes note of how quickly she mentions her marriage and he decides then that in response, he’ll decline to say anything pertaining to that. He knows she’s divorced and if she wouldn’t like to speak of it, he’s fine with that. Who would want to anyway? It’s not important to him to note, except to note that she was unhappy, got out, and is probably the wiser for it. Yet that is not the way he’d rather find out and he’s not familiar with why she got divorced, but that is not his business. He’s not his father, he recognizes when to keep his mouth shut.

“Arizona is beautiful, at least I think so. I drove through it when I went to Stanford. I like the desert, not sure why, perhaps I’ll think on it and then be able to define why I find such an environment something admirable,” is how he starts in response. “And the more prestigious get good students sure, or students who just want to flaunt what money got them. I went to Stanford, not because it was prestigious really. I went because it was the furthest from Gotham. I was lucky in that my dad and I agreed, but I was tired of this city, I wanted to strike out on my own, face my hardships without him being physically there. And the fact it was a little more than scary, appealed to me. I thrive in those situations, not that it’s healthy, I’ll tell you.” He shifted in his seat. “Though you’re right, the moment you believe yourself fully knowledgeable, you stop learning because you stop accepting lessons. I don’t think I’ll ever be finished. Even sitting here, I’m learning.” He flashes her grin and then at her agreement, places the bags on her desk.

He enjoys the movement this now affords him. He scoots closer and begins to remove the boxes from the plastic bag, followed by the napkins and utensils that came with the order. All the while he listens to her and then continues the conversation. “One of the perks I guess of being the administrator’s son, maybe? Maybe it’s because I’m Gotham-raised, certainly not Gotham born. But from speaking to you, I think you’re quite qualified for many cases. I don’t know what I can do, but I think you deserve more trust than the majority of the doctor’s here.” He told her honestly, then back politely sitting in his seat. “Were you born in Arizona? I was born in Henderson, Kentucky. My mom wasn’t married to my father. She didn’t even tell him, he found out when I was six.” He decided to leave off the more somber details for the moment about how his mother died. Those could be explained later. “That was a bit awkward, I’ll tell you.” He chuckled.

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Iris isn't particularly interested in a fling either. She wouldn't write off the idea entirely - the right man, the right situation, you never know - but the goal in her mind is a very long term relationship. The one that she thought that she had with her first husband, though it didn't work out that way. Naturally during the divorce she began to question the point of even trying to find such a thing in this day and age, but after the dust settled she realized that it was still something she very much wants in her life if she can find it. She just doesn't feel like she's meant to be alone.

Not that finding the right person to have that sort of relationship with is at all easy. Especially for someone as perceptive as Iris - at times she has a hard time seeing the core person among all the mentally unhealthy bits of them she wants to help them fix. It makes her a good psychologist, but can easily poison a personal relationship. Not that one can't help a person just because the relationship is personal rather than professional, but there comes a point when a person needs to be allowed to be.

But, like everyone, she has her own flaws that she's working on, and oddly enough this one is solved by doing a thing she's supposedly good at - relaxing and allowing herself to not worry about what are honestly little things. When he comments on his own specialty, her eyebrows lift again in interest - phobias are a fascinating subject - and she supplies, "Mine is anxiety and stress management." Which shouldn't be a shocker given just how many elements in her office hint at relaxation.

She nods to the rest of what he's saying, not knowing what else to add that wouldn't turn this conversation into something too long for their lunch break so she simply says, "I couldn't agree more." She smiles, glad to finally meet someone in this place of such a like mind and making a mental note to discuss that further with him when they're in possession of a longer block of time. Given that they're both interested enough in mental health to make a career out of it, obviously they could have several long conversations about it, but right now as they're just getting to know each other she's also interested in knowing about the rest of him too - she's more than just a psychologist, after all, and doubtless he's the same.

Which is why she's very attentive as the conversation shifts somewhat from their philosophies to their lives. She notes how he seems to take his cue from her and doesn't comment on her divorce - smart, as while it's a doubtlessly important fact that needs to be talked about if the chemistry between them grows and develops since it's an important part of her past, but it allows her to decide when the best time will be. And, more importantly, it's a possible worry for her that someone a bit younger would be less understanding. Many men Nathaniel's age are still young enough to see a divorced woman as someone who has been rejected by someone else and is therefore less desirable, while more men Iris's own age usually have their own relationship baggage and know better than to judge. That Nathaniel is mature enough to not be bothered is a very good sign indeed.

So along with him her thoughts turn elsewhere. "I miss the heat..." she comments with a grin as he mentions the desert. So many people around here would wilt at the temperatures there, but she'd learned to love it and hates how cold it gets around here even though she's been here for a few years and is therefore supposedly acclimatized. "I never saw much need to venture too far away from home myself, at least until I got a good opportunity to study at the University here. And honestly, a large part of the decision was me telling myself 'Come on, it'll be good for you'," she says with a small laugh, "I was right, too - I've learned a lot from this city."

As he empties the contents of the bag onto the table, she helps him by claiming her fair share of the utensils and opening up the boxes to discover what kind of Chinese food he brought. Naturally, she's hoping for her favorites, but then again she's not picky when it comes to Chinese either so she'd be happy with anything. Though she pauses to smile when he comments on how qualified she seems, and comments, "Well, I knew I wanted to get my doctorate and to get through school as quickly as possible so I didn't work much. And now I'm in the awkward position of having my doctorate but not my license just yet - all the knowledge, but only a little actual experience. So the powers that be seemed to have a hard time knowing what I can handle at first, but that's changing... They gave me Fries..." Which she says not at all to brag or anything silly like that, but to offer an example of where the trust level is now.

Her smile fades to a more thoughtful expression as he explains a few of the details of his early life. She certainly won't judge him for any of that - not his fault, after all, though obviously those are the sorts of things that set up a person for the rest of their lives. "I can imagine!" she replies, with a smile and a small shake of her head, though she decides not to comment further unless he does. "I was born in Mesa," she answers his question with a nod, adding, "I was lucky enough to be born into a very functional family: two older brothers. Naturally, they trained me to be brother number three when we were growing up." And the quick return of her smile as she speaks of her family indicates a very fond and close relationship.

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Nathaniel had bought teriyaki beef and sweet and sour chicken, both are over an order rice, and though he wasn't aware what kind of food she preferred, he hopes that going for the classics won't lose him any points. He'd tried. "Mesa is beautiful. The city was nice to drive through and the countryside," he smiles fondly, "obviously you can tell I'm a stickler for a trip with me, my car, and the open road." He set his own share of utensils down and gestures at the boxes. "You can have your pick between those. I wasn't sure what you liked and I wanted it to be a surprise." He rubs the back of his neck, enjoying the slight buzz that anxiety brings him. Maybe that was why it was easier to admit his possible folly to her (he could examine that later and makes note to), but he has no problem relying the story. "I asked a few doctors and staff who I thought would probably speak to you on a daily basis," he points to the walls on that run up and down parallel to her desk, "they just gave me a knowing smile and jabbed me in the ribs with their elbows." He winces as he recalls that. "Is that actually really necessary, because I really didn't enjoy the pseudo-paternal bonding, but anyway...they didn't know so I guessed. But next time I'll order whatever you like." He makes sure his tone doesn't sound arrogant or presumptuous that she'll give him a second chance. She could tell him no, but he doesn't feel that sort of discomfort rising from her, so he keeps hopeful, including the humble grin he offers her.

"My mom and my maternal grandmother raised me until I was six. It was happy childhood, I guess I missed my dad, but I the memories I have of my mom...She never belittled him. They were young, my dad was my age when I was born and my mom wasn't much younger...It was one of those young flings that broke up after he had to return to Gotham." He takes the container she hadn't chosen and the soda he'd bought. "Just stop me if I talk too much." He didn't often get the chance to talk about his first few years of life and so he enjoys getting to share the memories. He didn't have many of his mother: age and new experiences had replaced some of them, but he remembers a good store and he has home videos he watches on his mother's birthday. "He had relatives in Henderson too, my dad and so he was there for a summer enjoying the country before returning to Gotham to continue his schooling. My mom was a really gentle soul and I can't think of any reason why she didn't tell him other than she didn't want to burden him," his expression is beyond fond, though it lessens just a bit when he speaks next. "She died when I was six. My grandmother couldn't raise me on her own. and so my father was notified. He wasn't even angry. I actually think he was happy, beyond the surprise and the rest is simple enough: I was brought here. I still visit my grandmother, though. She's in her eighties now, but still feisty." Nathaniel chuckles. "But I can imagine how much fun it was to grow up with two older brothers, I have younger one. In fact Isaiah's turning nine in a few weeks and he won't let me forget it."

The conversation just seems easy now. He feels more comfortable, more able to be himself, though of course he's attendant to manners and propriety; he's not planning to do anything untoward, nor does he hope he's overstepping bounds as he both listens to her and opens his drink. "Well, I can't say that my upbringing was completely peaceful. I was a teenager when my dad married. There were the ups and downs at first with that with Isaiah coming not long after their marriage began and I'd gone through an...experience prior, but we survived." He chooses not to go into detail about his accident at fourteen. It's way too much information at the outset and he wants to keep the attention between the two of them, not to claim it all for himself. So he quickly moves on.

"You said your especially is anxiety and stress management," he smiles and nods, "I was told that, and your office seems very geared towards it, but it's still quite interesting. I study the problem and you the solution. This is the field I was hoping to enter. I mean I enjoy research and it,s not off the table, but Medical School is my goal and I'd like to help people deal with fear and phobias, enrich life. Laboratory testing is just too...sterile to me. Impersonal," he politely chews some of his food and finishes speaking only once he'd swallowed. "I like people, I want to help and I think you're on the right track. These doctors can be prats some...no a lot of time." He rolled his eyes and scoffed. "So that you're allowed accessed to Mr. Fries, it tells me you've got an attitude that apparently comes across as not only consistent, but determined. You showed them you weren't easily pushed aside. Giving you a Gotham Rogue, that's trust and trust I don't think wasted. The more we talk, the more I'm sure of that. You're not like a lot of the doctor's here."

He leans back, "Thank goodness you're here. Arkham Asylum needs a breath of fresh air. I'm glad the city didn't scare you away." And for once, though, his demeanor is still easy, it's not hard to tell that his words are true. He means them in all seriousness.

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When invited to pick first, Iris laughs at his story about his attempts to find out what she likes. She actually doesn't bring up her personal life very much with the other staff members, so that was probably doomed to failure no matter who he asked - there aren't very many people among the asylum's staff that she would want to be friends with outside of work, and unless she's trying to get to know them for that sort of purpose she's more inclined to learn about others than to tell them about herself. However, his guesses about what to bring are pretty good. "Well, for next time: there's not a lot of Chinese I don't like. Not a fan of shrimp or sesame anything, huge fan of beef with broccoli and lo mein, but almost everything you give me I'm happy to eat." In fact she seems a little undecided when she has to pick between teriyaki beef and sweet and sour chicken - they're at about the same level of deliciousness in her book. Though when she forces herself to just pick one, she snags the chicken and lets Nate have the beef.

Once the meal is properly divided, she unwraps a fork - she's somewhat lacking in chopstick skills and doesn't want to have to try to concentrate that hard on eating while keeping up with the conversation as well - and she begins to eat quietly but is obviously listening very carefully while he explains his history. Her expression is rather passive until he expresses some concern about talking too much, which prompts a quick smile and she simply says, "Okay, I will." But he'll have to talk for a very, very, very long time before that will happen. It's not that Iris is simply tolerant of someone wanting to talk a long time, she actually enjoys it so long as it's at least mildly interesting.

And she finds people's pasts to be particularly interesting - she can't help but dissect it as if everyone was a prospective patient - childhood trauma, absent father during the earlier years, absent mother for the later years, a stepparent and sibling entering the picture in his teens. Whether a person's mental health actually suffers as a result of such things or not, they all leave their mark for better or worse on the person's personality and the way that they see the world. Just as her own childhood marked her. But though she's quick to go into analysis mode, she refrains from asking about the 'experience' he seems reluctant to discuss. Just like her divorce, it's probably something to simply note for now and not bring up until such time that actually knowing him on that level becomes important.

Besides, there are plenty of other things to talk about. "Well, there are good parts and bad parts to having older brothers. Skye and Logan used to fight a lot when we were young, but they both loved me. They made peace around the time they hit their teens, but they're very different. Skye lives in Chicago with his wife and two daughters now - he's an accountant. I drive over there to visit whenever I get a niece craving - it takes an entire day to get there, but it's worth it. Logan hasn't settled down at all - lots of different jobs, long succession of girlfriends, always in a different city. Though the last time he checked in with mom he was still a truck driver; he's been doing that for about two years now and that's the longest he's ever stuck with anything," she laughs and shakes her head, adding a warning, "If you ever meet him, don't lend him money."

"And my parents still live in Mesa, though they keep grumbling about how we all moved so far away. They say that they can't move closer because it's too cold. I keep suggesting that they could move to Florida, but then they complain about that being where 'old' people go and the humidity. But I try to fly over there for important things," she explains, the smile not leaving her face for a moment. Sure she's had her share of trouble with her parents, but when you don't see them very often it's easier to forget the negatives and remember the positives.

She has to smile at how similar their specialties are - two sides of the same coin. And she finds herself nodding easily to what he says. "I can't say that I'm a huge fan of laboratory testing myself. It has it's place but there's a real limit to what you can study with those methods, and after all the human mind is extraordinarily complex. I prefer more of a case study approach, especially with patients who have conditions that are currently difficult for us to treat - that's the front lines of psychology. Fries is a classic example - his main problem, lack of empathy, is very simple to explain but when it comes to really understanding and treating that problem we're no better than the proverbial medieval doctor with a bottle of leeches," she says, but then stops when she finds that she's suddenly on her soapbox without meaning to be. And here she'd wanted to keep the conversation more casual!

She smiles at herself as she restarts on a different vein, "But I'm flattered that you think I'm different - this city and this... environment in the asylum is... not good for anyone. I just hope that I'm different in the right direction and that I'm actually able to have some effect on the status quo." Now she's looking slightly embarrassed and/or self-conscious, but she's clearly passionate about what she does - more than you'd think if you go by how reserved she can be when she's among what she'd consider to be a less than receptive audience.

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She has his rapt and focused attention the moment she starts to explain her likes and dislikes of Chinese food, smiling as much at himself as her. Well, he’d tried, and that she at least appreciates that warms him. He can’t blame her that no one had known her preferences, he himself likes that way. He doesn’t like many here that he would deem worth knowing his private life. His may be up for less discretion, however, just because of who he is. And it’s at that point, he wonders if any of the staff have spoken about him in her hearing range, but he doesn’t ask. He can save that for later—later as in times when food is not being exchanged. His face is full of relief, though and before he goes into the beginning of his history he rubs his hands together in his easing demeanor. He’s simply glad he’d screwed up. He’d chosen the beef and chicken because he thought them the safest.

He goes into his long—at least he’s worried it’s too long—delegation of personal facts while he unwraps his own fork. He’s not that great at chopsticks either and embarrassingly, he’d never taken the time to correct it, but it works, he supposes. It frees that part of his concentration so he can focus equally on conversation as Iris does listening. Any lasting nerves seem to fade away as he speaks, not because he’s vain, but because he can watch the shift of her body and the way her eyes focus on him from behind her spectacles and understand something vital: she’s actually interested. It works on the knot in his stomach, though that unease hadn’t been unpleasant. He’s happy it’s gone anyway. It makes him pleased that Iris is interested in hearing, and it’s not in cold analysis either. It’s warm, it’s open, and it’s honest. He’d meet so few of those in time in Gotham before and after his college experience. He also appreciates her discretion. Whether it’s in return for his earlier or not, he finds himself grateful.

The flow of the conversation, the give-and-take is natural and when Iris takes the reins of the conversation, he finds himself quiet and eating as he listens. He’s just a beholden on tid-bits of her past. A stable, two parent home, two older and opposite-sexed siblings. All of them, from her account are different. It sounds like an enriching home and from the ease of her posture and how she speaks confidently without a hint of hesitation, his hypothesis seems correct. She is assured and he can tell, despite the comment made of Logan, that she loves him just as dearly. He grins around his spoonful of beef teriyaki. “I’ll be certain to remember that. Skye: married with daughter. Logan: Trucker, don’t lend money.” He repeats with an easy smile that like Iris’s doesn’t disappear as she moves to her parents.

“My grandmother wishes I lived closer, I’m her only natural grandchild, though she adores Isaiah just as much,” he smiles. “She threatens to move out here, but I convince her to stay right where she is. It’s not that I consider Gotham wholly dangerous, but she’s country girl and I doubt the city air would be great for her lungs. Love her to death, but like my dad, she’s a smoker. That’s one vice I don’t think she’ll ever give up. I try and visit her over the holidays and stay a few days.” Nathaniel is in her same boat. He’d been away from his father for years, and so despite the faults he knows of him, he remembers the good times. For Nathaniel, he never wanted with his father. He was attentive and nurturing. He encouraged him to follow his own path, even if that path didn’t lead him to want Arkham Asylum.
There’d be no worrying of that now, however.

He leans forward and gives her another smile—encouraging and understanding—when she ends her speech about medicine. He hadn’t minded it at all. Not only is in agreement with her, but he finds finally getting to talk someone about it refreshing. He wants to get on her soapbox with her. “In my opinion, every person counts, but their changes are like ripples on the water. At their center: they’re immediate lives they are titanic, but as you move into society the waves are more subtle, harder to note. The more that join, however, the more the ripples spread until you don’t have those surface disturbances anymore. Then you have an undercurrent, a riptide. The effect is colossal.” His grin lessens. “I know, here, it seems your voice is overlooked. These doctors are set in their ways, but I’d listen your opinions. I know they say: let yourself be known, but it’s an ideal meant for an ideal world. One voice does so little, but I agree with you.”

He takes the soapbox with her and shows her that he’s not embarrassed. “The human mind is not equipped to understand the human mind. I believe there will always be mystery. It is an amazing thing to investigate and theorize about, but what happens if we learn everything. Understanding is important, but too many psychologists get caught up in that. Our field is becoming one that lumps people together into statistics. People like Mr. Fries, they are the front-line of psychology, if others would realize that it’s time to return to the approach that sees faces, not diagnoses. If we fail to see the individuals we might as well be back in the middle ages with our leeches. That’s how much good we do by seeing notes on a page, not our patients’ words.” Afterwards his smile is bright, though now even he’s a bit abashed at his behavior. “I feel as strongly as you…as you can tell.” He chuckles softly.

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While the staff may or may not have spoken about Nathaniel doesn't actually matter that much. Iris considers herself fully capable of forming her own opinion of people, so she takes what is said about a person to be more reflective on the person saying it rather than the person being spoken of. She's the same with her patients, actually - while she does go to the trouble of reading the notes of whomever treated her patients before they were passed along to her, anything they write is always viewed with some degree of skepticism until she sees actual evidence in the patient herself that there's truth to it. And in many cases this results in her questioning a patient's entire treatment program if not their complete diagnosis. Which eventually tends to ruffle the feathers whenever a patient's former therapist hears of it - apparently she's too inexperienced to be questioning their conclusions.

She chuckles at the way he summarizes her brother's, adding the reason why you don't lend Logan money, "You'll never see it again, and he'll want more." Might as well drop your money down a bottomless pit, though again the way she smiles hints that she finds that flaw in her brother more endearing than anything by this point. It's just isn't that endearing the first few times he does that to you...

And she nods as he explains about his grandmother's health, commenting, "Well, it was perfectly normal when she was younger," she says with an understanding nod, "And long established habits are hard to change." She'll refrain from noting that his father has less of an excuse, being that much younger, especially given what is now known about just how hazardous smoking is to one's health.

Her nervousness about having gone off on one of her pet subjects eases when she sees just how interested and in agreement Nathaniel is with her. "I think that it's only human nature to want to categorize and classify, but when you start making categories of people who are 'impossible to treat' or 'incurable' or even 'have a poor prognosis'. I think cases like those only exist because people believe they do. I personally only believe that there are, at worst, cases we don't yet know the best treatment for. But that only means that you keep trying new things until you find one that works - in a sane, methodical way, not by inventing extreme treatments based on some pet offshoot theory," she says quite firmly, smiling when she's finished as she's pleased to be able to say so to someone she believes will take it seriously. Especially here of all places. Who'd have thought?

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It's the degree of skepticism, the knowledge that there are other ways to do things, and the want to attempt them that had garnered her interest in Nathaniel’s eyes. He’s not focused on the superficial, though yes, looking at her as they continue their meal, he believes her to be very beautiful to him. There’s a charm to her that’s uncomplicated in the way she smiles so easily and the ease with which she speaks to him. He knows she’s usually quiet to the other staff, but who wouldn’t be? They talk about making your voice be known, but there was so little point in doing so if no one would listen to you. Yet for all her simplicity he sees such complexities in her eyes that draws him in. He lives by reading people, but he cannot exactly read her. It’s thrilling and oddly, on the same note comforting. It’s nice to find a someone both simple and complex and the perfect of measure of both. At least so far to the eye of this beholder, she seems to possess equal parts mystery and revelations.

Nathaniel is drawn by her smile at the end. That’s openness at its best—the expression meant for him because she believes him someone who will finally listen to her with an open and discerning ear. She’s right. “Methodical,” he nods and wipes his hand with a napkin he places in the open lid of his food container. “Oh, I’m certain the doctors here are methodical, but not in the way you or I seem to recognize the word. They’re methodical in these extreme treatments, these ways of dissecting the brain. They understand, I believe, but they do not apply their knowledge. That fact is evident in exactly what you said: those labels. I have not met a person yet that I could not at the most restore to function and those are the progressive cases, the cases whose treatments came too late to save their brains from the some of the damage that is a consequence to some of these mental disorders.” Nathaniel frowned and shook his head. “They no longer treat, they just horde knowledge in their badger holes and defend it against its knowledge with others.”

He sighed, “I think I’m more talking about Arkham Asylum than I am any other institute,” he admitted softly and he laughed a bit acerbically, “until I spoke to you, I thought this place cursed. Since its beginnings in the 1920s by my great uncle Amadeus it’s been nothing but a breeding ground for unchecked madness. If you knew just how much blood stains the history of this asylum, maybe you’d think it cursed too.” He snorted after that and then shook his head. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have driven the topic into so dark waters.”

Yet for him it had been a throbbing reality. That he just like the whole of the Arkham family thus far would succumb to madness like the ground succumbs to the winter, but unlike nature there had never been a spring for the Arkham family. None of them that had ever set foot inside the halls of this Asylum.

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In a way, Iris is a chameleon, changing to adapt herself to her environment. Which doesn't always mean blending in, even though she often does - when she's with other members of the staff, especially those who are older and set in their ways, she plays the part of a low level conformist who humbly bows to their great wisdom. There are a few exceptions, of course, especially when it comes to her patients - if she feels that they need something that would require her to ruffle a few feathers she's quick to do so, even though she still tries to do so in as meek of a manner as possible.

But blending in is only the proper tactic for situations where being noticed may be hazardous, such as at the asylum where the powers that be may object to her opinions. When she's in an environment where she's safe to voice her opinions, on the other hand, that's a place where she's free to stand out - and perhaps even show off a little. But there's also times when attempting to blend in is actually more dangerous than letting yourself be seen for what you are. And in her opinion, what she is isn't someone with a bunch of wild, radical ideas, but someone with a bunch of common sense ideas that nevertheless go against the status quo. And clearly it's the status quo that's wrong and not her ideas.

She has to smile when Nathaniel points out that some of their more 'out there' colleagues are methodical as well. She smirks at that and comments, "A huge part of the problem is that their favorite 'method' is to ignore contradictory data." Absorbed as she is in the conversation, consuming the food in front of her is done practically on auto-pilot as she listens, pausing only when she has something to say herself.

Which is only happening, she must admit, because she's too excited about the topic to keep her mouth shut - otherwise she'd happily just listen to Nathaniel keep talking for as long as he cares to. Her smile becomes somewhat deeper as she notes to herself that she believes she genuinely does like this guy. Not enough for her to classify it as a real infatuation, oh but she can easily see herself headed in that direction. Unless, of course, it's more that she's not yet willing to admit to herself that she's already there - that's also a strong possibility when she knows that she tends to be overly careful with men since her divorce.

She finds her attention drawn even more to him as he starts talking about this asylum in particular - it's a subject that's obviously much more personal to him than it would be to her. Her smile becomes stronger and reassuring when he apologizes for bringing up this place's history. She knows some of it herself, of course, but mainly the basics and she suspects that being in the Arkham family himself Nathaniel would know a lot more. Though she already knows that what she knows is just the tip of what is probably a rather massive iceberg. "It's okay," she says, adding the words that go with her smile, "Though if this place is cursed I blame the city it's in. You can find the insanest of the insane here, and not because the world is sending us their worst but because the worst were born and bred right outside our front door. If this city was a person, she'd be a rather fascinating case study of extreme self-destructive behavior. And it's hard to say if her well-meaning but rather violent boyfriend's brand of tough love is actually helping or making her worse."

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Nathaniel places down his fork, far more interested in the conversation than his food anymore. He believes himself to have eaten a fair amount of it. They always offered too much and reheated Chinese is a guilty midnight snack for him with research and data collection that can keep him awake in the toilsome Gotham nights. He may eat more of it, but for the moment he wanted to speak without the pauses needed to swallow food or drink. He balances his elbows on the edges of the desk and links his fingers together against his lips. He smiles first in a mixture of amusement and comfort.

“This city is cursed,” he comments, “you’re right. We don’t get the world’s worst, we bred them and they stay here. And yet I’ve lived here since I was six. This is my home and in this city I see good as much as bad, but the bad…” He trailed off. What were the right words? She was right that the city was a fascinating case study in self-destructive behavior, and so he left his point unspoken. He simply stared into his beef a moment longer before lifting his gaze. He’d been lost in thought over just what “the bad” was…which was suffocating, attention seeking. The bad was numerous, but for every shadow there was a light to offset it. Gotham possessed just as much good at its core, but evil seeped into the daylight. It wasn’t that the bad was a legion, but they were bold, they were infecting. And the people who were supposed to help? Few.

Nathaniel shakes his head, “Her boyfriend? What about her family? Sure there are a few uncles and cousins that reach out to her, but their behavior is rash and inspires the destruction all the more. Yet the people that should be helping are far too few to those that harm. The doctors here see but they don’t view. They hear, but they don’t listen. They ignore the data, you’re right. Gotham creates them and a legacy of apathy cares for them.” He swallows and then his contradictory grin is back again. “I remember when my father started working here. How positive he was, how much of a difference he made. But I think…the weight got to him. Somewhere along the rope bridge, it began to swing and he lost his footing and path.”

He works on saying no more on his father. Yet whenever he looked at him now, two images always conflicted. On the one hand there was the man that had raised him. He’d wanted for nothing and his father had been wonderful. Everything a child could want and he knew that Isaiah knew that same man, but now that Nathaniel himself was an adult he also more. How his father had skeletons buried in his mind and he wondered just how long it would be before Arkham once again possessed a family member as patient. He didn’t know what would bow his father, but he knew something would.

He’d known it for ten years.

Everything could be traced to ten years ago, though signs could be found sooner.

“I blame this place too,” he repeats, “I don’t know what went wrong in Gotham, why the conditions are so fertile for such madness, but something is wrong here. Maybe we’re just young and we haven’t seen what the others have or maybe we’re lucky. We weren’t born here or we spent extended time away. It seems unfair to blame an entire city, but,” he picks up his fork. “It takes a village, right?” He gives a short sigh and takes up another forkful of his beef to bring to his mouth.