The Good, The Bad, And The Scared[Heather, Arkham]

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

((Thread is also Open by request , didn't have room in the box for more XD ))

This night had gone perfectly and terribly at the same time, one of the best nights he had had for a while, and one of the worst. This happened every now and then, an accident of course. The event that had transpired was perfect and beautiful, he reacted perfectly. The substance was actually able to sustain itself without the aid of an increased heart rate. Much more testing would have to be done however but he was getting closer.

Dr. Crane was driving the stolen vehicle he had commandeered soon after the incident. There was another stop he had to make tonight but right now things were a little out of hand. What had happened wasn’t exactly in public but it was in an exposed area. Working in a controlled environment was always easier, but sometimes it wasn’t practical for what he was trying to do.

It was silent in the car for most of the ride until VerMillion finally reached her breaking point of acceptance in the situation. Coming to terms with exactly what she saw would have had quite an effect. Continuing to stare forward he ignored her for the most part, staying silent as she began to rant on. He had done this before, it wasn’t his first time something had went wrong and plans had to be changed. Dr. Crane remained incredibly calm for the situation they were in. It wasn’t until he looked into the rear view for a moment to see blood on his face near his glasses did he express minor discomfort. Bringing his left hand up from the wheel he tried to wipe it away, but only smeared more onto his face.

Looking up briefly again from the road to see if he had gotten it off he noticed that even more was now there. His gaze fell to his hands which had coated the steering wheel already. There was a lot more than he had first realized, but they were in a hurry. His eyes traveled to the road again making sure the car was straight before going back down to check his clothing. Most of the front of his was covered, the lower half of his shirt mostly, with only traces on his suit jacket and upper chest. This night couldn’t be going any better.

Lost in his thoughts he was completely drowned out of whatever VerMillion was saying in the car. He wasn’t sure if she had any on her, though he had demanded she helped pick him up after he bled out. Surely she’d understand this kind of thing happens with patients, he didn’t kill him, the patient was out of control and had inevitably led to his own destruction.

Pulling over finally the car rolled to a stop on a side street near and alley way. It wasn’t his favorite way to dispose of a body but they were too far from the river, and he didn’t have that kind of time tonight. People died in Gotham every day, finding a dead man in an alley way was nothing new or special. They would just consider him another victim to crime in Gotham, quite a shame actually; he had been a part of so much more than that.

Luckily the street he had parked on was near the place that they were heading, only a short walk. The whole thing was going to have to be executed quickly, he could cover most of the blood on him but he was going to need to wash his hands at some point. It was possible that some of the blood was his own, the patient could have gotten a few good slashes at him, but it wasn’t anything he was worried about. Right now he had work to do, and he would know if the wound was grave enough.

Dr. Crane buttoned the bottom of his suit covering most of the blood underneath. His jacket and face still had traces and of course his hands were still soaked. It was sloppy work, he wasn’t proud of it, but it was worth it for the result. After doing so he exited the car despite the fact that VerMillion was still talking to him. “Get out of the car.” Was all he said to her as he was stepping out and shut the door quietly. He wasn’t going to fight with her, it wasn’t the time. She could yell at him and express her fear after they disposed of the patient. Walking to the back of the car he popped the trunk and grabbed the top of the tarp they had laid the man in. Sliding it out carefully He slipped his hands under his legs not asking VerMillion in this state to help him. She was barely help the first time, being as small and fragile as she was. “Open it” He demanded straining to carry the heavy man in the tarp to the dumpster in the alley way. VerMillion reluctantly did what he asked, struggling to pull it up all the way due to her height. He dumped the body in with a loud thud and closed the lid.

Turning to VerMillion finally, he just took a moment to breathe and calculate his next moves, they were near where he wanted to be, the corner pharmacy. If he was going to produce more of the effect he had created he was going to need more of the med’s he used. It would be a good spot to check. He hoped there would be a faucet somewhere outside he could turn on and wash his hands. Abandoning the car completely he began to walk down the street motioning VerMillion to follow. They turned onto a main street, had to before reaching their destination. It was late at night though the occasional car and person would still pass.

They came closer to their destination; maybe something tonight would go a bit better. He was ready to respond to VerMillion as they walked finally.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

To say that Heather is in shock would probably be putting it mildly. It had actually been pretty interesting until the point where everything had taken a turn and things got really... messy. She's just not good with messy. In fact, she's somewhat surprised when she realizes that she's in the car with Jon and not still staring at it, let alone that she actually helped get it in the trunk. Of course, her instinct anymore is that doing what Jon says generally results in everything turning out okay. And she really, really, really wants everything to be okay just now.

Of course, eventually whatever mental safety mode she went into wears off and she finds herself talking, probably totally unaware of what she's even saying. "Oh God, I can't believe that just happened! Did that really just happen? Because this seems like a drug hallucination. Except I don't remember being stuck with anything... Are you even listening?" she rambles rapidly for a moment, before noticing that he is, in fact, not listening. This causes her to go silent again - what's the point of communicating if you're going to be ignored? Perhaps the only fortunate thing about it is that she has far too many other feelings bouncing around in her head to be bothered by his silence.

In fact, she's only able to keep quiet for so long before she observes, "I have blood all over my hands." The words come out in a bit of a whine as she looks at them. Fortunately, the rest of her is largely untouched. Only where she had to touch it, and a drip or two besides. No big deal, really... Or at least she tries to tell herself that. She looks over at Jon, pensively noting the amount of blood on his shirt. Yeah, a little blood on her hands - no big deal. Could be worse. She could have been the guy...

She flinches back from that train of thought and looks out the window. "I'm not going to complain about being left at the hideout ever again," she promises. Then again, it doesn't count since she knows that Jon isn't listening. She could probably say whatever the hell she wants right now without consequence. All she needs is to find a way to mentally come to grips with this - that's not a big deal. The fear toxin was worse than this, for pity's sake! Then again, the fear toxin stuff really was a hallucination.

"You don't happen to have any brave toxin do you?" she asks hopefully a moment later, because that would be so good right now. Of course, he'd have to actually be listening to respond to it, and instead he's leaving the car and telling her to do the same.

She's back to being silent again, able to do nothing but worry about what's next. Of course when he opens the trunk and starts to pick up the body, she hangs back and hopes to not be asked to help again. When she's instead asked to open the dumpster, she reluctantly complies, but she's actually quite relieved to be given that task after the last one. She doesn't watch as the body's dumped, but shudders when her ears confirm that it's been done. Though in a way, knowing that it's safely in the dumpster instead of anywhere she'd be able to see it again is somewhat comforting. It's gone, and she never has to think about it again!

Well, aside from the issue of the blood on her hands, but as Jon has that same problem she hopes that will be resolved shortly. Still, it's such a little thing, and she even feels herself starting to relax just a little. At least, enough that her attention goes a bit beyond herself and she frowns a little at Jon. "Are you okay?" she wonders out loud, not knowing if he's still ignoring her or not. Of course, if it really was that important to her she could probably break him out of that mode, but she's not about to do that now.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

The bell that hung over the advertised covered, misty door of the corner grocer’s chimed loudly as Jeremiah shuffled out of the store. He blinked through his wiry glasses as his eyes adjusted from the bright fluorescence behind him to the dim street ahead. Against his chest he held a few paper bags with one arm. His other arm, his left, held a cell phone to his ear. He descended the steps, hearing the door hit the bell once again as it closed. He adjusted the bags in his arms and began down the dim sidewalk.

“I’ve not starved yet, I think that’s a plus,” he chuckled into the phone.

“You mean you’ve been living off fast food since I traveled up here.” His laugh only growing louder as his wife teased him on the other end of the phone.

Melina had gone upstate to visit her mother for her birthday, though Jeremiah had stayed home this particular year in order to re-establish the Asylum after the situation and damages done as a result of the PROTECT Act. He saw his car coming into view, but his pace was slow. The bags in his arms weren’t heavy as of yet and he wanted to speak to his wife. “Hey I get proteins and my vegetables.”

“And a healthy dose of MSG.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes playfully and again moved his arms to resettle the bags. “I actually made spaghetti last night. I reheated it and had it for lunch today. I did order pizza for dinner, though.” Melina’s voice sighed on the other end of the phone. “I love your spaghetti.” Jeremiah reached his vehicle and cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled his keys from his pockets. They caught the streetlight and flickered in his fingers as he leaned over to unlock the back door of the small, SUV. He began to place the bags inside. “Well, when you come back, I’ll make it again, hm?” He straightened and began to search his pockets.

“That sounds good. How’s work, causing you to smoke more than usual?” Jeremiah recognized her mock antagonism as coincidentally fished his cigarettes from his pocket and placed one of the butts in his mouth. “Well, no more than usual. It’s work. I’m glad you’re getting a vacation.” He had also extracted his lighter and was trying to light the butt that hung from his lips. The lighter clicked, he watched the sparks, but nothing came of it. He shook the lighter and cursed under his breath.

Out of lighter fluid. He chucked it to the ground and shut the rear door on the car, only to then unlock the driver’s door. “My lighter isn’t working.” He grumbled and Melina laughed. “Your death is delayed by minutes then. Those will kill you, you know.”

“I know.” He mumbled as he pushed the lighter that was built into the dash. He leaned against the frame as he waited for it to pop back out. “You doing alright?” The fact he missed her was evident in his gruff voice. He heard footsteps walking down the street near him, but paid them no heed at the moment as he focused on his wife’s voice which was describing her day and when the lighter clanged its readiness he pulled it out and held the glowing, red of the metal to the cigarette and after a moment, smoke filled the air as he blew it out and replaced the lighter in the console. He held it in his right hand as he backed up to shut the door, still listening to Melina’s tenor. Yet just as he leaned back and pushed the door shut, he bumped into someone. He turned, face now illuminated in the light to stare at the young woman he’d stumbled into.

He had all intentions to apologize, but two things stopped him. Jeremiah considered himself a very perceptive man, and that notion was proven right at the sight of the blood that covered the female’s hand, but it was not actually that gave him actual pause. It was the man who was at her side. His gaunt, pale skin and blue eyes.

Jonathan Crane.

Jeremiah took a long drag on his cigarette and then exhaled, smoke pouring from his lips at the action. As he adjusted his phone, his gold wedding band flickered on the ring finger of his left hand. “Dr. Graves,” he took the butt from his mouth and his thumb ran over graying, tuft of hair beneath his chin. “I’ll have to call you back and you can tell me the rest, alright?” Her voice was frightened as she told him she loved him. Of course it would cause her unease. Jeremiah only called her by her title when he felt she was in danger. It was used most often at Arkham. His lips lifted in a small smile and his voice grew peaceful, a method to soothe her worry. “You too.”

He shut the phone and slipped it back in his pocket, but kept his hand there as well. He took in the duo, his mind already made on how to handle the situation. He’d do it casually.

“I’m sorry about that,” he addressed Heather, his voice the right tone and pitch of regret, but as he caught sight of her hands again, his brow furrowed. “Are you hurt?” Oh he knew she wasn’t and he looked to Jonathan. His hands as well were covered in blood, but so was his face. No, they weren’t hurt, but someone was.

Someone was dead. Well, this was interesting. His eyes went back to the girl and inwardly he knew he could have smiled if he wished to, but he held the expression back and put on the mask of concern. Who was this girl? Why was she with Jonathan? And how interesting that she seemed accomplice rather than hostage, though if he wasn’t better at his job, he’d think she a hostage, but he knew Jonathan. He wouldn’t walk side-by-side with a subject and her fear seemed to be average, normal for a kill. Probably her first time watching such a thing happen. Jeremiah wondered what had happened, but no he didn’t ask. No need in tipping the girl off yet. Where would that pay off be?

“Are you alright?” He continued in a gentle voice.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Dr. Crane hadn’t heard anything VerMillion had said in the car, his mind was focused too much on everything else. When plans change, as they often did, he had to take a moment to rewire his plans and make them go smoothly again. Regardless of VerMillion speaking or not she was expressing her feelings, and that would make her feel better even if he kept his silence.

As they walked together finally he was actually able to hear what she was saying. The question perplexed him for a moment. He stayed silent at first and let it echo in his mind. Was he alright? Dr. Crane looked down at himself starting with his hands. He wasn’t aware of any wound; the man didn’t touch him before he killed himself in a rage. There were no slashes or cuts that he could see that he might have gotten him with. “Never better..” He answered simply. He was fine of course, this was quite normal. Every now and then a patient would get a bit out of control and things would go wrong.

It had actually gone quite well considering the position they were in. It could have been a lot worse. All he was able to focus on particularly was that his additive to his serum had worked. So whatever they had to do afterward was worth it all. VerMillion probably wouldn’t understand this very well however. He also didn’t take into consideration that she may not be talking about his psychical health. Psychologically Dr. Crane was just fine, everything was perfectly normal. They were having a nice walk down the street headed toward their destination. The blood didn’t seem to faze him what so ever..

Dr. Crane was aware of the sounds around him as they walked. He could hear a random stranger having a faded normal sounding conversation with someone on the phone up ahead of them. They were still a bit too far to make out the words, not that he would be listening very hard to what the common terrified street scum of Gotham had to say. As they approached closer Dr. Crane looked up from the sidewalk for a moment to see that whatever person was outside of their vehicle had gone or at least gone inside it but it was too dark to tell.

His eyes fell back to the ground as they walked, he would have walked right passed the car with her if it wasn’t for a catastrophic incident. Whoever it was had backed straight into her, while exiting his car. Dr. Crane’s first instinct was to just keep walking until the man turned around….

There he stood, Dr. Jeremiah Arkham. This night was just getting better and better..

Their eyes met instantly, both flooding with familiarity. He was on the phone with a doctor, possibly from the Asylum. Dr. Crane just held his silence for a moment taking him in, he remained emotionless and outwardly dead to his presence. It was like he didn’t matter at all, VerMillion seemed to fade at this moment, until his gaze turned to her…and he spoke.

His breathing slowed and his muscles tensed rather quickly. Something about him speaking to her…that way….His eyes filled with contempt. The sweet soothing voice that rolled from his lips, expressing his concern, his plight to help her. Dr. Crane could see right through his ruse…He knew exactly how the man worked, the methods that he used to get what he wanted. When their eyes met again it was certainly to provoke him. Dr. Arkham knew exactly what he was doing, and trying to do now. He wasn’t concerned for her health…this much he was sure of. He was trying to get under his skin..His anger was blinding him to what glistened on Arkham's finger.

The fact that they were covered in blood almost faded from his mind completely as it flooded into a much darker place. There was very little that could invoke this kind of emotion in Dr. Crane, and even fewer that could make it outwardly present itself. It would be so simple…It was dark, there was an ally right back there what was one more body? The thought was tempting and certainly crossed his mind more than once, but oblivion wasn’t good enough. It wouldn’t satisfy Dr. Crane unless he brought him to the edge himself and watched him break to it. It wouldn’t be enough until he was screaming on this knees before him, battered and broken, mind and will.

Any and all life seemed to leave Dr. Crane’s eyes has his mind wrapped around the thought of ending it now. As the darkness in his mind at Dr. Arkham often tried to reach whispered sweet resolves in his ear of how he was going to do it, how he was going to suffer. Everything else just seemed to fade as his obsession surrounded and enveloped him. He hadn’t said a word; he just kept his lifeless expression holding a terrible amount of fury at bay.

Only when he spoke for a final time did the darkness that surrounded him fled and the world came back under his feet. The life jumped back into his eyes and his breathing quickened as if he had been somewhere else and had just rushed back. Dr. Crane tilted his head once again taking in the gentle tone of Arkhams voice toward VerMillion. His right hand shook and curled together into a fist at his side for a moment as he still pushed the anger away. He needed to drop the emotion…His plan slowly came into mind and it became easier as his fist began to uncurl about as quickly as it had come together.

His muscles loosened and he relaxed, breathing slowly he looked to VerMillion thinking she would probably react oddly to a stranger asking if she was alright from the street. “VerMillion” He stated to get her attention. The amount of blood that covered both of them would have been obvious to figure out what had happened by him. He wasn’t concerned however, it wouldn’t have mattered if they were perfectly fine, Dr. Crane was still a wanted man, and an escaped patient of Dr. Arkham’s.

His position remained relaxed as he studied him now, finally feeling the need to speak to him. “Dr. Arkham” He began in just a simple greeting. “You’ll have to forgive me for leaving so abruptly from your wonderful company last time…I do hope I didn’t waste too much of your time with the redecorating in your office..” A smile came onto his lips with his last words. He was reffering to the way he had escaped with Edward of course, and the condition he left Arkham’s office. He had turned the place upside down looking for something. Then ripped the file cabinets out and dumped files all over the floor to make it harder to figure out what was missing.

This was one of the most interesting nights he had in a while, now all that was left to determine was what Dr. Arkham was going to do with this…golden opportunity.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

When Jon confirms that he's alright, Heather silently nods and says nothing more. She really had been simply asking about his physical health, as either he's as mentally well as he claims to be or he's well beyond her help. Between the two, she'd lean toward the latter at the moment, but then again that may simply be due to what happened earlier this evening.

It's good that he's paying attention to their surroundings, because she certainly isn't. She's still too busy suppressing the urge to really freak out. The walking actually helps with that, underlining the sensation that what just happened is literally behind them and forcing her to at least pay enough attention to where they're going to stay next to Jon. After all the time she's spent with him she's gotten rather used to him taking care of her, and she expects him to take care of at least the lingering physical problems about all of this - in fact she'd probably be a bit helpless at doing it herself at this point. As for the mental ones... well, that's what she's working on now.

Which is probably a contributing factor to both the fact that she bumped into someone and the way she reacts to it. She immediately sidesteps away from him to put Jon between them, not even bothering to give whoever it is so much as a glance first. It doesn't matter who it is, she does not want to have to deal with anything right now. If she'd stepped on a kitten instead, she would have done the same. Let Jon deal with it!

She's still too shaken to give the man any better answer to his questions than a quietly muttered, "I'm fine", but when Jon starts talking to him she finds her nerves resettling enough to actually listen. Dr. Arkham? The Dr. Arkham? Her eyes shift to the man to confirm - yes, that's him. She recognizes him from the publicity surrounding the rebuilding of the asylum after the FBI left, primarily, though she's stumbled upon the man a few times while researching stories on people escaping it. Of course, most of what she knows about him is limited to his name, face, occupation, and ability to appease the media when he has to.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

When Heather jerked back, Jeremiah was expectant of such a reaction, but the moment her retreat equated to placing Jonathan between her and the Head of Arkham Asylum, Jeremiah had to work to keep the full intrigue from bleeding into his face, to pull it back to merely an expression of confusion, where his brows furrowed. Yet the fact that her initial reaction was not to only flinch away, but also place Jonathan between them was a sign of trust from the girl. This woman trusted Jonathan Crane. He watched her, but then when Jonathan spoke saying her name, his gaze was back on the man. And he was letting her? He was not perturbed by the behavior, nor reveling in it? The mystery and interest grew in equal amounts, but he didn’t verbalize this intrigue, not yet.

He nodded genially to the younger woman, but said nothing because just at that moment, his brain centered on Jonathan’s words. His face which had once been kind and casual, darkened ever so slightly, he brought his right hand up and ran it along his beard. “Begrudge you leaving so early,” his tone was calm, “now why would I do that, I don’t lose my temper over expectations, though your mutual escape with Nigma was a bit more intriguing, but certainly not out of the ordinary according to either of your modus operandi. The desperate will attempt anything, will they not?” He casually raised an eyebrow before letting his hand, which still held the lit cigarette back to this side. The other was still in the pocket in which he had stored away his phone.

“As for your turning my tidied office into something more akin to our ‘dead files’ room, I was slightly upset, but how clever of you to do that so that it took me a while to figure out that you’d stolen both yours and Mr. Nigma’s files. He must have been surprised at your courtesy. However, I hope you won’t be too upset, but if you were looking forward to reading my own ideas, theories, opinions on your mental health, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.” He smiled. “I keep my own notes in another file, which will you never find unless you’d like to ask nicely for it. Though after your treatment of my office, I may not feel so inclined to offer it. Yet I’m certain you will enjoy the crockery that are the theories of my predecessors.” At that he brought the cigarette to his lips and removed his eyes which trailed then to Heather. His body had remained for the most part relaxed through this exchange, and now was no different. He had heard of the moniker Jonathan had called her, “VerMillion,” but had never seen her face.

He looked between the two of them, covered in blood, Jonathan more than the girl, which meant she had probably a lesser role. “Quite a messy night for you two I see. I shudder to think what the fellow whose blood covers you so thoroughly went through in his final moments.” He spoke around the butt of his cigarette, smile small, his eyes alight in the smirk he withheld.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

VerMillion had shown her immediate mistrust and dislike for Dr. Arkham by placing him in between her and him. Out of everyone for her to dislike this was high on his priority list. There was no reason to trust Dr. Arkham, the kind and caring doctor ruse had obviously been seen right through by both of them. Letting VerMillion rest behind him he spread out his posture, not taking his eyes off of him.

Since he had met VerMillion and planned to take her long with him he had never wanted this encounter to happen. Though the possibility that it would happen eventually was great considering his record with the Asylum. If he was caught again and she was with him, they would most likely place her in the Asylum as well. Dr. Arkham would have her in his hands just running over that in his mind was enough to make his thoughts turn even darker toward him. VerMillion didn’t know a lot about him possibly as much as the general public did. The only secrets she knew were, where he lived, and how he lived each day. She would be able to comment on his sleeping habits, but the Asylum itself had already formed a general opinion on that. Not that anything they ever did was accurate.

When Dr. Arkham responded to his greeting he hadn’t expected him to bring up the manner in which he had escaped. He often used Edward to get on his nerves it seemed. Yes, he had broken out with Edward, and they had worked together, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t perfectly capable on his own. It wasn’t done out of the kindness of his own heart. Neither was pulling Edward’s file from the cabinet. Something rather significant had caught his eye that resided in the file, if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have bothered and it would have been just another cluttered mess on the floor. Instead it led to something so much more important, but Dr. Crane wasn’t going to lead him on to this.

Dr. Arkham smile only made his eyes flood with dark intent. The clear sadism of the doctor always shined through in every word he spoke, whether it was hostile or not. He did talk entirely too much, Dr Crane was always more withdrawn and too himself. Even when they had worked together his reports were brief and to the point. His conversations with Arkham were never long unless the needed to be. It was only after he was arrested that he had suddenly found more words for the man. There was this undeniable anger that was able to flood forward and drag everything out of him.

Dr. Crane wasn’t surprised that he kept his own secret files. He had done it as well back at the Asylum, he couldn’t write down everything he had done with his patients and report it back to Dr. Arkham and the Asylum itself. Everything that he had done was far beyond society’s moral line. Though Dr. Arkham was considerably more intelligent than the common rats that riddled the halls of the Asylum, he still cared little for his opinion. His reasons for getting those files was far more sinister than just finding out what he thoughts about him….He knew how he felt about him already. The thought made his posture tighten and his fingers almost curl into a fist.

The feeling was short lived however as Dr. Arkham observed the blood on their bodies and brought a cigarette to his lips. A disgusting habit, not a good sign of intelligence. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he could overpower him if need be now. If he really liked the feeling of smoke in his lungs, Dr. Crane would keep the thought in mind….

He didn’t lift his hands to observe how bloody they were. It was clear that Dr. Arkham had noticed it was blood and wasn’t their own. Dr. Crane merely stepped forward leaning toward the burning stick that puffed smoke out with each word slithered out. His stare was intense and fully locked upon Dr. Arkham’s bright look, as if he held something precious in his thoughts. “He’s surrounded by empty filthy walls as we speak, but don’t worry…” Dr. Crane paused and offered an unstable smile himself; he pulled his voice down to a whisper. “He’s about to have company…”.

Dr. Arkham could take that statement however he liked.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

Does Heather trust Jon? Well, she trusts that he's exquisitely capable of protecting her. And that he's quite likely to do so now since he's been quite protective of her ever since he pulled her into his world and hasn't shown any signs that he's about to do anything different. What she doesn't trust is that he won't suddenly change his mind and turn on her somehow, or his motives for being protective in the first place. She only has a very vague idea of how Jon's mind works and would hardly presume to predict him, so no she doesn't really trust him much.

On the other hand, the fact that she's retreating from a friendly-seeming stranger, and in a way siding with him against Arkham almost instinctively, instead of making any attempt to escape from the man who kidnapped her even after this evening's activities shows all the hallmarks of Stockholm syndrome at the very least. Of course, Heather hardly cares about any of the psychological mumbo jumbo - she just knows that she'd rather be on the far side of Jon right now, and that he'd rather have her be there too. Is it really necessary to read anything into that?

She only half-listens to them talking, still trying to settle her nerves, and it doesn't sound like they're talking about much that has anything to do with her at the moment anyway. Though she visibly shudders when they mention the guy they left in the dumpster - can we please just pretend that didn't happen instead of talking about it? Though the automatic frown that creases her face when Jon talks about the man having company is rather slight. Does he really mean that? Though at this point, she'd be half-inclined to think that since they've already done that once this evening, what's a few more? Why not kill half of Gotham while they're at it?

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

Jeremiah’s first note was Jonathan’s behavior. He watched with a neutral expression as the man’s posture changed, spreading out to cover the woman from his gaze. Jonathan himself should have realized the gesture was protective, but the question lingered in Arkham’s mind was not about whether Jonathan was conscious of what he was doing, but instead of what exactly Jonathan was protecting. Was the girl a mere experiment, one that he was using a different approach towards, or was she something of more importance? If the latter, did Jonathan realize she was? To be quite honest, the reason her relation to Jonathan was interesting to Dr. Arkham was because it was a common tactic to learn about people by observing their interactions with another and often consciously or unconsciously listening or seeing a person’s opinion and thoughts on the subject in question could add a new insight. So he wasn’t interested in where Jonathan made home, nor his sleeping habits, and though, yes his daily life could be interesting, Jeremiah had watched him work whilst the man was under his employ, and at the moment wasn’t interested in prying into the man’s private life. Jeremiah was also a psychiatrist; he couldn’t turn off a faucet of his personality. Thus he couldn’t help but to analyze how Jonathan moved to shield the woman, nor why Heather is attached him.

Yet he realized he was a stranger to her. A new subject cast into her environment without warning. In this situation Jonathan was the lesser of two evils to her. It was quite an amusing thought, but Jeremiah didn’t let this realization nor the extent of his calculation seep into his eyes. He appeared for all purposes to merely be observing them as one does a simple conversation. He took a drag on the cigarette between his lips and breathes out the smoke through his nose.

He could note that Jonathan became more agitated with his every word and in his mind picked at what he had said. He had not meant he thought Jonathan incapable when he brought up Edward. The observation had not been one shared to irritate, for Jeremiah knew Jonathan more than capable of solo escape. He had brought attention to it for the fact that neither Scarecrow nor the Riddler were criminals prided with their ability to work well with others. For the mere fact that they were not usual team players, Jeremiah found their partnership intriguing. He was not foolish enough to believe the team up the result of kindness on either party’s part. It was probably ease, a case of mutual benefit. Jonathan’s snatching of the other’s file was actually the more interesting of two events. Jeremiah didn’t expect the answer would be given to him as to why he’d taken Edward’s file and he was more than satisfied at that. There was no sport in merely being given the answer. Arkham enjoyed such challenges as discovering the motivations of those around him, especially when they were his patients.

As for Jonathan’s opinion on his social nature, Jeremiah valued those thoughts as much as Jonathan seemed to value the older doctor’s opinion: little to none. Crane had often worked on his own, being a solitary individual whereas Jeremiah often had to socialize. He was required to meet other people be they possible donors or doctors looking for employment. It was the life of both a head psychiatrist and a business owner. He had to gain funding and staff, thus he had to be talkative, charismatic, and in general sociable. His talkative nature was what kept Arkham not only running, but also kept Jeremiah himself from being in trouble. It allowed him to dodge the discovery of his own dark secrets within the Asylum. While Jeremiah Arkham could be a caring and loving doctor, concerned with the well-being of his patients, he had a darker side with a darker secret. Jonathan had not been the first and he wasn’t last the doctor to use the asylum for other, more grisly benefits. Yet if Jeremiah’s words failed to cover his tracks, he had other methods that worked just as well.

Through all his thoughts, he had been observing Jonathan and his companion, watching the darkness flee and return to Dr. Crane’s eyes. He watched the intent the other held as he advanced on him, but Jeremiah did not move. He did not retreat as Crane came forward and leaned towards him. What he did do was meet Crane’s intense gaze in weary look. He took the still burning butt from his lips and with a flick of his wrist discarded it.

Not for the last time, did Arkham wonder at the hatred his once employee held towards him. He also pondered what the younger doctor would think if he knew Arkham’s true opinion of him, but he gave into the game once again. He played along with the grudge. Crane never failed to issue him a challenge he was happy to match in his loathing.

“About of have company, you say? If I hadn’t seen your behavior earlier, I might have assumed you speaking of the girl. But then I witnessed you rise to the occasion of protecting her. Body tensing up, posture spreading out as if that would have disguised her from me.” He chuckled lightly. “She has nothing to fear from me, but back to the situation at hand hm?” He glanced around them. “There’s certainly scarce anyone else on these streets at this hour. No, it’s just you, me, and the young woman behind you. So you’d like to do away with me.” He stated casually, his other hand now sliding into a pocket as well.

Jeremiah’s lips twisted into a smile for a moment, “Why don’t you ask your companion about that?” He looked over Jonathan’s shoulder at Heather before returning his gaze to Crane’s. “She doesn’t look good. She’s trying to cope and make sense of her situation. If you’re not careful to what you expose her to, she’ll have a mental break.” And his expression changed. His brows furrowed and his lips tightened. His entire face lit with genuine concern as he eyed the woman again. “I’d ask for you not to play havoc on her like that, but I doubt you’d listen to my plea for her, but I do think she’s been pushed far enough tonight by whatever you’ve done. Piling one stressor atop another is asking for serious trouble in a mind that appears fragile. She may be stronger of constitution, but I would ask you not put through it.”

The woman had done nothing to him and Jeremiah was not in a gaming mood, happy to further the deterioration of another’s mind before his eyes. Perhaps it was because he’d just gotten off the phone with his wife; perhaps he was just in a mood to be helpful for once. Whatever it was, he didn’t want the girl drug further down.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

It was a small gesture; Dr. Crane had barely noticed he had done it himself, let alone that Dr. Arkham had noticed. He should have known better, despite the fact that he believed the man to be beneath him; he was one of the more competent doctors he had met. He would never admit that the man had a certain talent about him that only he could rival.

Dr. Crane was aware that it was difficult for most of Gotham that knew about VerMillion to understand, but they rarely understood the truth behind anything. His exact thoughts and feelings for VerMillion had never been spoken about or outwardly shown aside from the fact that he kidnapped her and held her in his home. He had never made an attempt to hurt her since she had been traveling with him. The doctor had never told her what her purpose was or why he had kept her there, no one knew except for him, and right now he wanted to keep it that way. It would all become clear eventually…

Though he hadn’t noticed his own action, he had noticed VerMillions. Hiding behind him in an unfamiliar situation wasn’t uncommon. She simply understood that Dr. Crane was the most intimidating frightening person on the street. Since he wasn’t planning on harming her, of course she would place herself behind him. Under observation on several accounts she had noticed that people seemed to avoid Dr. Crane, most of them. There was the occasional professional criminal that would cause them trouble. Even then VerMillion would cling to his side.

It was easy for him to let the action go unnoticed when he was in front of this man. His eyes burningly focused upon the darkness in his adversaries, one that only the victims of Arkham Asylum and those who knew him well enough would know. There was no kind doctor here, only the veil that he had created for himself and others. There was never any solid proof but he had heard the whispers throughout the Asylum when he was there. The mad ramblings of one hushed patient to another. Normally it would have gone ignored by Dr. Crane but in several cases Dr. Arkham was mentioned. It wasn’t hard to believe that he was doing something similar, possibly at the same time he was or even before. On the occasion he had even noticed that numbers seemed to be lighter around the rec room, when he was allowed inside, which wasn’t often. He was smart enough to know what was going on, he had practiced it himself, but didn’t have the proof to bring it against him. Even if he had who would listen? Who would believe him?

Some could say that his anger for Dr. Arkham was a lot of what blinded him in several situations. He was even guilty of slip ups at the Asylum because of it, landing himself in solitary more than once. It was a pleasurable experience each time all except for one factor. The claustrophobic feel of the rooms and the pitch black darkness that surrounded them felt like home. He was in his element when placed in solitary, letting the world fade away and just embraced by his obsessive thoughts and welcoming arms of the dark. The problem with the beautiful solitude was that the doors were heavily reinforced and the walls were thick and concrete. Since no one ever came to see you or let you out of your cell for a session, for a meal, or for any reason, the chances of escaping became very low. It was almost impossible to escape solitary unless your time was up for it.

The smoke from Dr. Arkhams cigarette flowed around their features with the small amount of space between their faces. Dr. Crane had little regard for anyone’s person space except his own. As long as he was always in control of the situation he didn’t have a problem with touching people or being close to them, as long as they weren’t touching him. Between him and Dr. Arkham, he just wanted to make things as uncomfortable as possible. He showed little intimidation due to the proximity, casting the cigarette from his mouth and meeting his gaze with ease. It didn’t bother Dr. Crane, if he couldn’t stand up to his intimidation then he would have cast him aside a long time ago.

Perhaps he had meant to kill him in that instant, a brief flash of fury flowing into his eyes. It wouldn’t be the first threatening thing he had said to him in haste. The wonderful part about it was that he meant every word, but had no intention of doing it that way. A part of him always wanted to end it quickly, just to take his life and be done with him. Another side, much stronger, told him that Dr. Arkham deserved nothing but the slowest most agonizing drag to oblivion itself.

It was only when he turned his attention back to VerMillion who still clung to his side that his attitude toward him began to change. He was so focused on her, the fake good doctor façade shining through. “You talk as if I would seem ‘concerned’ by a mental break….” Dr. Crane dryly replied. There was no reason for him to be worried for her mental safety, nor any desire for him to be concerned with it on any level. She had already been through and seen enough, if she broke down now nothing would change, it was bound to happen eventually. VerMillion seemed to take things in a better stride than most humans however, the main reason why he didn’t mind letting her tag along on the occasion. Dr. Arkham simply didn’t understand VerMillion like he did, but that was to be expected at a first glance…he just wasn’t as talented as Dr. Crane in his mind.

Any anger in his eyes had subsided as he caught a glance of the groceries in the back seat of his car. “A bit late for shopping isn’t it? On second thought…” He paused as the glimmer in his eyes turned to pure curiosity as if he was backing an animal into a corner. “It’s a bit late to be speaking with one of your staff…” Dr. Crane searched him even as his glance remained on VerMillion for a reaction. “It’s difficult to imagine that it was work this late after lights out in the Asylum..Or perhaps the conversation was more recreational?” The doctor asked with a sinister smile beginning to creep upon his features. To see a spark of fear in the man’s eyes would just give him everything he needed.
Oh to know what made the man scream at night and he knew he did. It was something from one dark mind to another. It was something that he could see behind his patient’s eyes, something he had a born talent for, prying their minds apart. The temptation just to find out here and now was strong; he deserved it, every moment of agony this man deserved. Paitence…

He would drown in his fears eventually….

Slowly Dr. Crane brought his left hand backward and touched VerMillion’s stomach, applying pressure on his fingers as if he was signaling her to step back or giving her a small nudge to stay away. There was no need to drag her into the river with him…A swift motion with his right hand flew to the rim of the car near Dr. Arkhams face to get his attention back. VerMillion wasn’t the threat to him right now. He had no reason to be focusing on her at all. His nails pulled against the paint of the car with the tips of his fingers dragging the freshly plastered blood on his fingers along it. The world seemed to stand still in the moment his eyes locking with his foes.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

Though her nerves are rather frayed at the moment, Heather finds herself gathering them back up by degrees as Dr. Arkham rambles. Though when he starts to talk about her, at first she finds herself listening and then she finds herself frowning. And given just how raw her emotions are right now, she can hardly stop herself from shifting to the side a little so that she can see the man properly while still keeping Jon solidly between them.

And her expression is full of offense at his words - perhaps more than they really merited, but she couldn't care less at how well she's regulating her emotions just now. "Don't tell me how I look," she says quietly, though she injects what is probably the maximum amount of tension she can into each and every word as she continues, "Don't tell me how I feel. Don't tell me what I can take. Don't tell me when I've been pushed too far. Don't tell me how fragile my mind is. Don't tell me what I shouldn't be put through." The glare that she casts in his direction would be strong enough to make paint peel if such a thing was actually possible. "And don't talk about me like I'm not here!" she says, adding, "Jon can do whatever the hell he wants. I told you I'm fine!" Well, he suggested getting her opinion and now he's gotten it.

That said, she goes quiet again. It really is true that one of her few strengths is her ability to figure out how to, well, 'deal' when it comes to this sort of thing. True, she gets rather shaken very easily, and even now she's still trying to get a grip on herself. But though she's in danger of freaking out, that's only so bad. Whether that means bursting into tears, being rendered unable to talk, suddenly turning violent, or something else even she has no idea. But even that would pass and then she'd get over it and find a way to move on. Actually going crazy (or at least, crazier than she may already be) is not all that likely to happen because of a single incident.

Fortunately, her anger isn't to the point that she refuses Jon's unspoken request to give him some room and she takes a couple steps away. And then another at his sudden movements - just because it isn't directed at her doesn't mean that Jon isn't a bit scary. It's just significantly less than it would be if it was. But then again, that's a part of the reason why she feels so secure when she's next to him.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

If Jeremiah could boast of possessing any trait to his credit, it was how focused he could remain despite the circumstances around him. He had followed every word spoken by each of them as he stood in their presence, storing away what garnered a response, what didn’t: comments and possible retorts swimming in his to be either accepted or discarded. And if he was thankful for any unconscious decision, it was for the one that made him the subject of Jonathan’s ire. He was uncertain as to what would have happened if he had been staring into the dark recesses of Jonathan’s eyes when he had brought up his shopping habits, his phone conversation. Without staring that scrutiny in the face his mind was clear to process an answer.

He knew Jonathan would feed on whatever discomfort he showed him and there was no denying his questions and assumptions were hitting far too close to a truth Jeremiah worked on hiding from everyone he worked with for the reason of this very situation. He knew how many of his patients despised him, and what ammo they would have if they knew he was not only husband, but father as well?

And one of his children was waiting for him at home. Yet the twitch that lone thought could have caused was lost in the startle reflex elicited by Jonathan’s actions.

Jeremiah’s attention snapped to Jonathan at the slam of his hand against the top of the car, his lips twitched and he cringed in a stiff convulsion of muscles at the grating noise of Crane’s fingers digging into the paint of the vehicle and as his nails dragged so close to the side of Jeremiah’s head. Jeremiah met Jonathan’s intense blue eyes with his brown ones, the other’s face now even closer to the elder doctor’s. His visage was displeased at the younger and returned the glare afforded him with equal power as he peered at the face of his enemy, but when he spoke his words were not directed at Jonathan despite the man being his visible attention. Instead he addressed Heather.

“Excuse me, I did not mean to incense you, my dear. My concern was not to belittle.” And what a strong spirit she had. She certainly had spunk and possessed better control than her initial impression had pointed at, but her anger was clearly higher than necessary given the moment. He said nothing else to her, however, for the moment. He leaned his head back to take a more level look at Jonathan. “And what was it you asked of me, ah yes, your curiosity of me shopping so late,” he nodded. “Well, Jonathan, you were a dedicated doctor, you know how it goes. Time just flies by sometimes. I am so lucky the corner grocery here is open twenty-four seven or I’d not have milk for my coffee or other necessities like that.” He flashed Jonathan a quick grin before settling back into his aloof, casual demeanor. “And as for my phone habits…even had it been recreational, as you termed it, you should know there are staff attending to the Medical Bay at all hours just in case. I run a ‘hospital’, after all. That means twenty-four hour staff and especially in the Medical Facility.” He chuckled and then his eyes rolled to the side. It was funny how just one phrase can capture a person’s attention and Heather’s had been not only the commentary about Jonathan’s actions, but also her loathing to be spoken about and not to.

He caught another glimpse of her just pass Crane’s head and this time he actually looked at her. He attention until that moment had been mainly focused on Jonathan, but at her request he decided to five her what she wished—he would longer pretend she didn’t hear them. So since he was finished speaking to Crane at the present and she had proven herself deserving of her his regard in his mind he once again switched his attention to her. But imagine his surprise when he finally noticed[/i] her. His mouthed pulled into a lilting smirk. He glanced to Jonathan, satisfaction filling his eyes as it stretched his lips.

“You wished to be spoken, dear,” he mused, “then I will grant your want. You say Dr. Crane can do as he pleases, eh? You are quite the protective little chit aren’t you, VerMillion? Or should I call you Heather Glass?” He raised his brow at the name. “I remember you from the papers, though you were more present in a later article ran about you and your abduction by the Scarecrow.” He his left hand to his mouth and shook his head. “I feel quite foolish for not recognizing you earlier. You have a distinct look.” He seemed to mourn his lack of attention, but then shrugged. “Oh well, I don’t blame you for sticking up for Crane, he must make you feel safe as a person of specialty should. He terrifies a great many, but not all.” And his eyes bored into Jonathan’s, face serious. He was still speaking to Heather, however, and as he opened his mouth that grin returned, taunting and full. “I’d hate for any of the enemies not afraid to strike at him, to pursue him and he lose someone who is so willing to defend him, not matter your reasons behind it. I believe he should be quite concerned.” He lowered his head and his smirk grew wider. “I would be.” And Jonathan could interpret that as he wished to. Yet just as he finished, a raucous and typical ringtone chirped from Jeremiah’s pocket.

His brows furrowed and the satisfaction bled from his face to be replaced by what he hoped seemed irritation because he was trying to hide in the wrinkle of his forehead and the downturn of his mouth the fact that his heartbeat faster at every successive ring of his phone. The ringtone, irritating as it was, was one that his youngest son, Isaiah had picked out to let “Daddy” know that his home phone was calling.

And that night as Jeremiah stood in the buzzing of the streetlamps between the hard planes of his car and the dark intentions of Jonathan Crane, Isaiah was the one at the house.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Dr. Arkham wasn’t the only one that was known for his ability to keep his focus. Dr. Crane had actually been branded for it in his profession, even at his previous professions. The unstable demeanor of Dr. Crane that they so often whispered about. He could easily sit in a room with any doctor and chase away their gaze. There was only a short few that could stay immersed in the world that was his eyes, Dr. Arkham was one of these individuals. If left to their own devices they could stay locked in a stare for hours if they had to. It was a constant question of intelligence and dominance, who was going to crack under pressure?

His fingers were met with resistance and it didn’t go unnoticed as his fingers slammed into the car. VerMillion had gone on her own rant about what he could and couldn’t tell her to feel. This sort of personality had always been there with her. She had fought him nearly every step on the way on her captures…though the story he outwardly told her was very different. Unfortunately for her, her version of fighting wasn’t very much. She could kick and scream, but in reality she was quite frail and small. It was only after her encounter with the brave toxin did he see a change in her actions toward him. She began to….trust him….in a way.

His eyes never broke from Dr. Arkham’s even had she spoke. He let her finish and get out what she needed to say. Despite that it was completely against his will. The motion with his hand for her to step back was not done for any reason. He wanted her to step back because this was likely to turn into more than just banter between the two. If she wasn’t going to step back she was just taking the risk of getting hurt. Of late he couldn’t deny that she could be slightly useful at times. There had been many incidents where she had taken adequate care of herself before he had arrived on scene. She was also beginning to sit in on his experiments and become further interested in his work. Finally she stepped back after her burst of anger and followed his request…Good…now his mind could focus on what was at hand.

Just as VerMillion’s defiance didn’t go unnoticed; neither did Dr. Arkham’s reaction to his cheap scare. There was no amount of fear that went passed Dr. Crane without recondition. Especially taking in the fact that Dr. Arkham knew he was soaking in every moment of it. Any type of scare was a good scare to Dr. Crane; if it was coming from him even the cheap ones had their place, because they worked. When all else failed in the situation, which Dr. Arkham often liked to hold himself in a position of fearlessness, Loud noises or quick movement always worked. He was the Master of Fear….why wasn’t it allowed for him to use any method to scare his paitents?

And Arkham was indeed a patient.

The distaste for each other was clear between them. The air hung heavy around each other as their eyes outwardly projected their rage. It was more twisted and deeply entwined than either of them probably realized. Dr. Crane was a man that always remained calm, collected, and poised. He was always in control of his emotions, but around this man things changed. This man that was responsible for his downfall, just the very mention was enough to send fire through the doctor’s eyes. His attention to the gravity of his situation was fleeting as Dr. Arkham once more spoke passed him and not toward him.

Once again he was attempting to use that incredibly frustrating tactic to get to him. It was working. Something in him couldn’t stop the need to visibly gain his attention, like he had something to show him or something to prove. Normally he’d keep anything and everyone as far away as possible, but this situation was different. Dr. Crane stared intently into his eyes taking in each movement he made through his words. It was a convenient excuse he had come up with, hours were often long for himself when he worked at the Asylum. Something caught his ear however within his words, ‘Even if it had been recreational—You should know there are staff attending to the Medical bay.’ The way he worded his sentence was very…interesting. By saying it this way it was almost if there was something recreational about the medical bay.

Dr. Crane remembered what he had said so long ago, about family and longing for something that truly didn’t exist. His mindless rabble about something that he wanted to put in front of himself, to cherish and call his own. To make believe that it was something it wasn’t like the rest of the world. Of course he didn’t have a family. How could the famous Dr. Jeremiah Arkham? With so many that filled his cells with their hate for him, how could he even fathom giving himself such a weakness….but he had proved that it was…indeed a weakness.

Why did Dr. Arkham avoid it so? Because it was a weakness…Because it was a mortal danger, a suicide to whomever he placed into the category. He feared the outcome of what may happen if anything were to ever escape into the knowledge of those who loathed him most. Dr. Arkham held this fear, this is why he told it to him that day and this is why he was holding it now….Or at least…hiding it.

Dr. Crane’s eyes turned from the haze of ice cold darkness to sudden fascination in his realization. His eyes lit up like he could see it right in front of him, like he was going to pull it straight from his gaze. He was staring at the truth. Dr. Arkham’s demeanor changed as he began to speak again this time taking a darker tone as he insulted her repeatedly. Instead of meeting his statement of lack of fear with a glare or displeased emotion he just couldn’t seem to stop the grin that appeared over his features. A rare moment to see Dr. Crane with an actual grin. Even the threat that came against VerMillion to him couldn’t wipe the grin away, because he was very close to a secret….and he knew it.

Dr. Crane parted his lips to speak, there was barely enough distance between them to breath. Just as he began the chirp from the phone rang into his ears and surrounded them. The emotion that poured into his face, beginning to count every muscle that twitched. Some called Dr. Crane unstable for this reason alone, that he analyzed you by every muscle in your face…no feature was left unaccounted for because it was a beautiful testament to the truth. “Call on line one for Doctor Arkham….” The words came out in a terribly knowing, and sinister tone.

The situation became even more intense as the phone continued to ring. “What’s wrong Doctor?....Can’t answer another….Recreational call.” His free hand went from his side into his own jacket. In the same motion he attempted to press forward with his weight and hold him in place against the vehicle. “Tell me Doctor…” His hand got into the strap of his coat and pulled out a syringe filled with a bright yellow liquid. It should have been very familiar to Dr. Arkham.

“What is it you cherish most again?”

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

When Dr. Arkham excuses himself, Heather's lips purse slightly. She's not fully satisfied by that, but she's also not in any state of mind to really push too hard for satisfaction and she knows it. When he starts to ramble on again to Jon about random details of being the guy running the asylum, she finds her attention drifting away from all of it again. She just wants this situation to be over with so that she can get back to the hideout with Jon and pass out in her room. To the point that she doesn't really even care what happens right now, so long as it's quick.

Even when the man turns his attention back to her she's staring off into space until he actually talks to her again, when she brings her focus back to him again with a little effort. Though a scowl comes to her face easily enough. But she only says, "Call me whatever the hell you want. And Jon doesn't need my protection." Actually, it's totally the opposite 99.99% of the time, unfortunately. Everything else she doesn't bother to respond to; she couldn't care less about his opinion on anything right now, and she's confident enough in Jon's ability to handle whatever will happen here and now. If there's any longer time element to the threatening words, she'll leave caring about that for tomorrow.

She's hardly paying close enough attention to the subtle interactions between the two or she might have noticed much more of the shifting tensions. As it is, the only thing she really pays attention to is when Jon pulls out the syringe. Her eyes become weary as she looks at it. If he uses that stuff, that's practically guaranteed to only prolong this evening even further regardless of what else happens. She just wants to get back, get some sleep, and forget this evening ever happened. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, very yes. She sighs quietly to herself, yet doesn't protest.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

Had he told his son he loved him before he left for the corner store? His mind wracked itself for an answer to that as he saw the smile splitting Jonathan’s lips. He knew that grin meant bad news, but he was not concerned about his life, he was not counting the beats in his heart for his sake, but for Isaiah’s. Had he hugged his child before he disappeared out the door, had he given him a smile to reassure him? Jeremiah Arkham knew he was alive with his brain abuzz, his heart racing, everything thrown into the stark detail that terror causes. He knew he was beyond frightened for a life that he had only aided in the creation of, he also frightened of the wife who was out of town, and his other son—his eldest and heir—who could very well be just at the moment within the Gotham City limits Master’s Degree in hand, and he would never get to congratulate him person and tell him how proud he was. He was afraid because the interest that sparked life in the icy eyes of Jonathan Crane, that ignited death like a fire that was now focused on his own consumption meant his destruction and he knew it. Jeremiah knew that Crane was on the cusp of a discovery he could not have. He would let his phone fall silent, pressing away the guilt that he felt because his son would now be frightened as well because he had picked up the phone. His left hand was already slipping his wedding band from his fingers trying not to move too much to bring any attention to his actions, counting on Jonathan to continue his wordless gloating as he plucked at the strings that would give him the most power over his conceived foe.

Everything was falling away from Jeremiah’s fingers. He would perhaps never see his family again, he would be robbed of them and he mourned that fact in his mind, but he kept a reign on his expression. He could not encourage Jonathan’s analysis anymore than he already had. Fright may have followed the curve of Jonathan’s lips, but along with it came rage: white hot and pulsing against his temples with his pulse.

What a feeling fear and fury made together, each rocketing his pulse, but he focused on the fury and ire to pull down his lips in response to Jonathan’s laughing mouth, his eyes so filled with searching delight. His right hand, still immersed in his pocket as well, began its own movements, probing for the feel of biting metal against his fingers. His brown eyes, however, hardened. His nose scrunched up and he glowered at Jonathan in disamusement of his joy. He wanted his expression to ask the doctor what he found so funny? What epiphany he could feel brushing the tips of his fingers, though Jeremiah knew. This man was the closest of his enemies to ever discover the secret he had: his family. What did Arkham treasure the most? His wife, his eldest son, his youngest boy. They were his life, they were his. Crane could spout whatever he wanted about why he’d gotten married, but it wasn’t out of fear of being alone. It was the fear of being alone without her, without Melina. He could claim his sons were nothing more than his assurance that he would leave something behind, but in truth, no. Jeremiah could care less what his sons decided to do with their lives: if they took up the mantle of psychology or not. They did not have to continue his legacy. They were not things he created to leave behind, they were things created because he wanted them, he wanted to share his life. He feared growing old without seeing someone that could carry on his life, pass on his love. It was not selfish it was wistful.

His phalanges meet the pattern of the pistol he carried in his pocket. He had a permit. His expression closed off at the words that poured from Jonathan’s lips until he cited that the call was recreational, but still Jeremiah did not smile. His voice was low, gruff. “You are so concerned with whether I’m flirting with a doctor, or I’ll take a step further: dating perhaps.” His words were quiet and measured. He felt the tension boiling between them, hatred and fear, becoming pungent and each trying to outwit the other. He was trying to stay ahead of Crane to keep his secrets; Crane was trying to pass him in order to rip those secrets from his fingers. He watched Jonathan’s hand creep into his own jacket, never rising to his tone, never giving anything away. It was not a game of riling Crane anymore, Jeremiah Arkham was now shielding his expression because he had to.

He did not the arch on Crane’s body as his fingers ran along the side of his jacket, at the ready to slip inside. Jeremiah knew what for and it was for that reason that his own hand tightened about his pistol and he turned his body and pressed up against Jonathan to stop his advance, shoulder poised to wedge against his sternum. If he could help it, he was not getting trapped any further against his car. Then the syringe was revealed, its contents catching the streetlight and as if the serum did not already have its own illumination, it seemed to glow all the more in the reflection of light. It was very familiar to Arkham: oh the times he had seen that serum. He knew its effect intimately, or as intimately as a person who had never experienced them could. He had interest in experiencing them either, he’d seen enough of what it caused to its victim to be adamant that he never wanted to know the prickle of fear beyond the tick of his heart’s marathon. He experienced normal fright enough; he did not need it chemically induced.

He fisted his hand around his gun and pulled it out. He pushed himself even closer to Jonathan as he whipped the gun right, beneath the other’s jaw. “You waste time asking a question you already know the answer to,” he whispered in voice cold as the steel that he forced against Jonathan’s mandible. “Myself, my mind, my very breath and if you think I’ll let you take any of those from me, you yourself are playing a dangerous game, but I expected nothing less from you.” And then he smirked. “But know this, Scarecrow, you may inject me, but I know for a fact that I have a little time before it kicks in.” He snarled and dug the barrel into the muscle just near the beginning of his trachea, against his Adam’s apple. “You can run, you can stay still, but I will shoot you and I will kill you. This game of ours is intriguing, and I will certainly be sore to have to resort to this, but I will never utter a word to you against my will.” He hissed. “Your move. Your choice.”