The Fear of Failure [Crane]

[Deleted]

Keeping one hand firmly upon the wheel, Isaac reached down with his other towards the radio’s dial. His fingers held the switch for a moment before flicking it from on to off. Besides the rumbling of the car engine beneath the black hood of the Audi A6, the vehicle was silent. The patter of the rain upon the windows and body, along with the movement of the wipers, joined in with the engine to fill the silence left by the radio. At least the road was silent, little stirred en-route to the Asylum, only the occasional vehicle coming in the opposite direction. The scent of new car filled his nostrils, the leather seats fresh from the factory. He’d be the first to admit that his old car wasn’t half the vehicle this was.

Driving past a sign post, it signalled that he was nearing his destination; Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. It was the one place he never longed to see again, at least his Father wouldn’t be there this time. Someone worse was waiting for him, one who Isaac loathed yet is impressed by at the same time; Jonathan Crane. Very few criminals impressed him, for good reason. Most used violent, brutal methods. They are like a hammer smashing through a window, where as he needed a scalpel through flesh. This meeting wasn’t to be pleasurable through; Isaac had a problem which Crane could help him with. Only a few hundred meters until he reaches the gates.

A homicide report given to Isaac made him very interested in the good Doctor. A Man was found dead in the middle of a street due to mysterious circumstances. Witnesses claim that before his death, the victim was hallucinating getting chased by all manner of creatures. It was believed that he suffered from both musophobia and arachnophobia, making Isaac think of Crane’s poison which brings out similar symptoms. The only problem is that Crane is in Arkham, thus he is required to pay him a visit. Looming over the car, the shadow of the gates welcomed to the facility, it was like everything that he remembered. So gothic, so intimidating, a place of many secrets. The car’s tires rolled along the road towards the main entrance of Intensive Care, a building that had likely never cared for anything in its long life.

Slowly, his car crept to a halt before the great door leading into the building. Peeping out of his window, he inspected the exterior of the looming fortress of stone. “Someone seems to be compensating for something.” He muttered under his breath, speaking to himself about the size of the facility, it was the biggest he’d seen and this was only one of many buildings upon the Island. With a long sigh, Isaac reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed his satchel bag, which contained all of his notes. As he was about to climb out, the facility’s door flew open and a small man ran out with an umbrella held above his bald head. There were two guards at the door, watching him. The small man opened his car door for him with a thin smile upon his lips. “Welcome, Dr. Jones to Arkham Asylum.” He bowed slightly, moving back to allow Isaac to get out, although he still held the cover over both of them. Isaac stood out from his vehicle, closing then locking the door behind him.

They both ran over to the cover of the interior, closing the door behind them. Isaac hadn’t spoken a word to anyone yet, he just looked about the building. It didn’t seem to be busy tonight, all the prisoners locked away until morning. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Jones. I’ve heard many good things about you from your Father, Adam. Can I take your coat?” Doctor Bennet, as Isaac could see from his name tag, began to laugh, easing the conversation. Isaac shook his head, with an inpatient look upon his face. “Liar.” He spoke very lightly under his breath, although most around him heard his insult. The Guards looked at each other with shock, and Doctor Bennet’s smile began to fade. “Pardon?” He responded, not sure what Isaac just said to him. Turning back to him after inspecting the facility, Isaac didn’t bother to respond to him. He knew his Father better than anyone; he’d be the last person to give good praise. Instead he began to walk along, leaving his escort and the psychologist behind, forcing them to catch up. “Wait a tick, now hold on!” He grabbed upon Isaac’s arm, slowing him down. Isaac turned to stand over him. “I don’t want to be here any longer than I need to be. This building is depressing, I came here for one reason and that reason isn’t for chit chat. Where is Doctor Crane?”

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Dr. Crane’s eyes were wide open but all he could see was darkness. This was his punishment for being who he was. They said it was only going to be for a short time, he had gotten a bit too riled for their liking, but he knew the real reason why. All Dr. Crane had to do was look at them and he was thrown into solitary, sometimes with Dr. Arkham’s knowledge at all he was certain. He didn’t know how long he would be in here. The longest he believes he had ever been was a full month. Sometime they would forget to bring food, but he hardly ate to begin with.

The shadow stuck his hand out in front of his face. He couldn’t tell where the darkness ended and his hand began. The figure twisted and turned it, trying to get some motion sensing but his senses were all too deprived in this place. There was almost a sense of vertigo as he sat on the floor with his back to a corner. He could no longer tell which direction was left or right or up and down. If it wasn’t for the constant mental reminder of gravity he might have been able to be convinced he was upside down. In this place, who’s to say that he wasn’t?

Blinding light made its way suddenly through the darkness. He rose his arm just to cover his eyes from losing their sight completely. How long had he been in there? How many days had it been since he had eaten? Said a word? The doctor couldn’t remember. Two orderlies came in and picked him up. Dr. Crane immediately drug his feet, taking the occasional baby step as they went. He had been sitting for so long; he couldn’t remember the last time he actually stood. Slowly the squint from his eyes lessoned and it felt like he was actually able to take a breath for the first time in the hall. The orderlies had him by the arms; it was a strange way to carry him.

But something was immediately wrong and his already deprived sense were confusing and clouding his thoughts. He was already showing far more weakness than he wanted to. But then he saw they were taking him to the basement stairwell down the hall. That was the wrong way to any normal room or cell that they would have put him in and he had heard the whispers of what went on in the bowels of the asylum – He used to be one of the performers. Slowly his strength started to come back in himself but he still wasn’t thinking clearly. He had to do something.

Suddenly the doctor slammed his heels into the tile as he was drug and began to make their job much harder. “Arkham!” He tried to shout but barely a whisper left his cracked lips. He wasn’t sure if he had water in the past two days and had said even less than he had drank. It took him a few coughs before he tried again this time with more power. “ARKHAM” He shouted again. Was he calling for help? Was he scared? …No….No he was never scared, he just wasn’t stupid. Dr. Arkham wouldn’t have done this without himself being present. Dr. Crane began to wrestle with the orderlies and fight harder than before, but the door was slowly approaching to the stairwell. Just as they reached it Dr. Crane turned and attempted to grab the siding as he screamed “JEREMIAH!!!!” Down the hall toward his office. It was probably the first time he had ever said his first name.

But fate had come; he had been drug into the stairwell. Dr. Crane fought and struggled as the orderlies threatened to subdue him even harder if he didn’t stop. The fact that they weren’t drugging him already left room for suspicion. Suddenly the doctor stopped struggling as he saw why he had really been drug into the stairwell. Another high profile criminal had been being led down the halls….They must have detoured him for his safety….The new ones safety…

Once he left Dr. Crane was brought out again, this time much more silent and compliant. His eyes shot down the hallway where Dr. Arkham’s office was but it was gone as soon as he got a look. They turned him back around and led him into an interrogation room. It was one he had been in many times but who was coming to talk to him? He hadn’t been informed of anything. They sat him down and Dr. Crane complied in silence, staring down one of the orderlies now. Nervously, the man began to look at the other and they both chained him to the chair quickly and left.

Dr. Crane was left in the grey room with the mirror on the side of the wall. The table was just as grey, cold and bare as the seat he waited to be filled in front of him.

[Deleted]

Both arms raised, Isaac wasn’t in a comfortable position as the guard frisked him. Her hands moved down his trouser legs, feeling for any concealed items. With a lengthy sigh from Isaac, she stood back and picked up a clipboard and pen, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re clear, Doctor. Just sign here and we’ll take you along.” Taking the pen, he scribbled down his signature before picking up his brief case, which had been inspected by another guard as he was searched. With one hand, he corrected his glasses before the Guards opened the door that led back out into the corridor, gesturing from him to follow them. In the distance rain continued to fall, it was expected to continue through the night.

“So you met Crane before or is this your first time?” One guard asked as they walked past the many offices of various doctors. He could easily see his own name on one of these doors, working here in this damned facility. If his Father had his way, he would be. Chatting with murderers and psychopaths on a day to day basis. At least in his line of work, he rarely got to speak with them. He could bring himself to do it, he’d just be reminded of his loss. Snapping back from his own thoughts, he decided to respond to her question. “This is my first time meeting, Doctor Crane. Hopefully my last time too.” In an ideal World, he’d never have to speak to men like Scarecrow, if they could be classed as men. Isaac hated using their adopted names; Penguin, Two-Face…Scarecrow. All these names have crossed his desk before linked with homicides of terrible natures. They just made him sick.

Before he knew it, they’d arrived at one of the many rooms used for questioning. They all had a certain metallic and cold feel to them although he disliked small rooms in general. “You can wait out here; I doubt he’ll do anything too…brash.” What was he saying? He was convicted of murder; of course he could be violent. Isaac wasn’t in the mood to fight someone to the floor tonight. Still the Guards around him made him uneasy and he needed a clear head for his meeting with Crane. “You’re the Doc. We’ll be in if he starts anything though, he can be a little fruity at times.” Fruity? Isaac knew that wasn’t a technical term often used to describe crazed murderers. With her key card she unlocked the door, allowing him to enter.

Taking a deep breath, Isaac pushed the door open and quickly shut it behind him. There he was, perched behind the table. There was a look in his eyes, a look which pierced Isaac’s heart. How could he have once been a psychologist? He was insane, truly mad. Most would force a false smile or at least attempt to start a conversation with him however he wanted him to know that he was not pleased to be there. Throwing his case down upon the table, Isaac pulled the chair out and sat down, keeping eye contact with him. A strong scent fell from him and his chin was unshaven. His pupils were smaller than average, they were obviously still adjusting to the light. He appears to have been detained in a dark cell for a prolonged period, no doubt for some form of punishment.

Unclipping the latches on the case, Isaac opened the case and began to take a few items from it. First was a medical report and the other was a photograph. Placing them both down before Crane, he sat back and waited for him to inspect both of them. The photo was of a Caucasian male’s body, lying across the floor of some apartment with two syringes lying next to him. The medical report confirmed suspicions; he’d been killed by none other than Dr. Crane’s fear toxins. “So then, do you often kill junkies or is this a one off for you?”

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Dr. Crane’s eyes never lifted from the spot they were as he came in. One would almost be afraid to touch him, for he was far too still in his position. The doctor sat calmly but inside he was beginning to boil. They had left him in there and neglected him. Not that he wasn’t used to this sort of behavior to begin with. What do you do when you fear something? Try to snuff it out. They were trying to starve him to death or hoping they would be able to accomplish it. What they didn’t and would never understand was that they couldn’t demolish fear…It was everywhere around them.

It wasn’t until something was laid out in front of his did his eyes finally cast down to look at the picture and report. He hadn’t have even acknowledge his presence before that moment. The photographs didn’t seem to phase his emotions what so ever. It was more food for the doctors at the asylum to write down and put into their files that he had no connection with his emotions anymore. They believed he was broken apart from the compassionate portion of his psyche and simply remain the psychopath that they claimed him to be, detached from human empathy.

But they never knew what they were talking about.

His eyes scanned over the medical report and read the parts that he deemed to be important. This just seemed like a random case with no significance to him what so ever rather than his toxin being possibly involved. Dr. Crane wasn’t in the habit of letting others know where he sent his supplies when they were paid for or how often he did it but he never did a follow up afterward. Anyone in the city could have a hold of his toxin, but they would never truly understand it. They may be able to counter it and produce an antidote, but they would never be able to understand why it came to be and the true power that it held.

Finally his eyes rose to meet the man that came in here to interrogate him about something he clearly didn’t care about. This man’s body was no concern of his and how it came to be was even less of a concern. If they were trying to catch someone they were already in the wrong place, for this was the place for the condemned. “I am not a murderer….” He stated dryly, his lips cracking as he spoke. They bled a bit due to the lack of water that was posed to him in the first place. He couldn’t remember the last time it touched his lips. “Though, if you are referring to the use of my toxins it is likely that he killed himself. Is this how you make your pay?” He asked with a tilt of his head. His body leaned toward the desk, more questions that were bound to get him in trouble were floating into his mind. But he couldn’t deny that one burning question.

His eyes were fixated on the man’s across from him now, he held him in a locked stare that demanded attention, but not many could hold. The man had never told him his name but immediately he was able to gather what he could just by looking at him. “Long nights?” The dead expression of Dr. Crane’s turned to pure curiosity as he slowly turned this into his session. “The work must be difficult…But no…It isn’t the work is it?” He neck cracked, popping and echoing through the room and he pushed forward to the table. “A child perhaps? Always difficult to juggle work and an offspring especially in your kind of work….A girl perhaps? Young, pretty…Hard to look after? Or is it a boy?” He paused in his words, running his dry tongue over his lips again. “A prodigy. A legacy to take on what you’ve lost..” He laughed darkly, not believe in a single word he said to him. Children were a product of fear and his was no exception. “But no…It’s not your “son” that’s the problem is it….It’s you…Isn’t it?”

[Deleted]

It was a rare thing for Isaac to feel sorry for any criminal, especially one such as ‘The Scarecrow’. But even he couldn’t deny that he looked like hell, although perhaps that was all part of his punishment. The bleeding of the lips, the unclean hair and the unshaven face, Isaac noticed it all. With a cautious face, he watched the former Doctor inspect the evidence before him, sitting back in an attempt to conceal his fear. Meeting with these types of people always unnerved him, there was a sense of control when it came to them, as if they were the masters of the discussion. Moving around on his seat, Isaac took his glasses off and gave them a quick clean, rubbing his jacket sleeve over the lenses before putting them back on.

In the short amount of time he had to reflect upon the silence before Crane replied, Isaac’s eyes bounced around the room, looking at the mirror next to them, sighing as he thought about the others watching him. His breathing began to quicken as he felt eyes upon him, the silence was getting to him. The silence of the room, the mirror, the steel table before him. The menacing silence from the man before him. The cold dead eyes of the man on the picture, staring lifelessly back at him as his face was contorted by fear. Shutting his eyes, Isaac began to collect himself, starting by replaying the scene that brought him here. Earlier that day he had visited the crime scene, the body still fresh from the night before.

This is why he preferred his job over any other; he only dealt with the dead. There was no human emotion involved, only cold logic and evidence. It wasn’t just talking with criminals, it was people in general. Ever since he was young, Isaac has always had trouble making friends. It came to a surprise to everyone when he announced that he was getting married, to which no one expected. One of his hands began to tap lightly on the table, as his eyes looked at the shackles that held Crane to the table. Surely those weren’t needed for a man such as this. “I don’t care. They’re the same words that millions have said before you. Words I have heard too often.” So many have pleaded their guilty even after all the evidence had been stacked against them. It was a curious trait which Isaac never understood. It was evident that some were killers, yet they continued with their defence.

“I agree there are two incisions in the veins upon his right arm, fitting the size of the needle upon the syringes. What I want to know is where he got the drugs from in the first place; I doubt you just hand them out to anyone.” Collecting the files, he took them and put them back into his case. He doubted he’d need them again. “I’m paid when I catch people like you.” Money wasn’t one of the main reasons why he did his job. He had the option to work for higher pay in Metropolis, but Gotham seemed like more of a challenge for him.

Isaac looked up at him, locking his eyes with his. What went on in his mind? To see the World through the eyes of the insane, how strange it must be. With his hand, Isaac rubbed his eyes before continuing, noticing that Jon picked up on his tired state. “You have no idea.” That sounded like quite the casual question. However Isaac quickly realised what was happening, old habits died hard and Jon’s habit was questioning people. “The work is…it’s the job I chose.” Isaac often regretted his line of work at times, it could get to him. His thoughts then turned back to his son, Alex. “I have a son. He can become what he wants; he doesn’t have to follow in my footsteps like a prodigy.” Remembering how his Father pushed him, he never wanted that for his son. It can be too much for a child, especially one of his age. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Isaac felt the tables turning, as if he was under the spot light instead of Crane.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

Bennet. Dr. Bennet. Two guards: Avery and Tolstoy. Two orderlies: Daniel Matthews and Potter. Bennet, Avery, Tolstoy, Matthews, and Potter. Bennet Avery Tolstoy, Matthews, and Potter; it was mantra in his head, a mental record, whispering in his mind. He supposed he could offer Tolstoy some mercy for contacting him. But mercy where this was concerned just meant he’d quick with him. What a waste, but the others would make up for it. He’d sure of that. His eyes cast towards the windows of the mansion as he stormed down the hall and past his office. They flashed on the outline of the abandoned building that Jonathan had once called his wing. They paid no mind to the secretary until she called him and even then it was a dismissive stare.

“I want a reason why you allowed Dr. Bennet to have precedent over Jonathan Crane’s visitor contacts when I get back and it’d better be good Debbie,” he called coldly over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway. He didn’t greet anyone, not that there were many to greet.

Dr. Bennet had no right having any say about Jonathan Crane. He’d been back no less than eighteen hours from his conference and he’d gotten a call that Dr. Bennet had authorized transfer and a meeting with Jonathan. Dr. Bennet had no authorization over the treatment of Jonathan Crane, and even though Jeremiah had been gone, that authorization had fallen onto the shoulders of Dr. Iris Ledford, not Bennet. So was Jeremiah just a bit on edge?

No doubt.

And what put him more on edge? The state Tolstoy had said Jonathan was in. Dehydrated, unkempt. They’d thrown into him solitary! And was Dr. Arkham aware of that? Not before that phone call he wasn’t. So maybe Tolstoy didn’t deserve any mercy at all. But that’s not what had him storming down halls. What had him parting the hallways like a steam engine without a break was what Jonathan had said.

He’d called for him. More than that, he’d call for him by his first name. Jonathan Crane did not do that. Well Jonathan had called for him? Here he was, a sweating bottle of one of his young son’s sports drinks in his pocket. It was still icy cold.

He wasn’t aware what Dr. Jones and Jonathan had been speaking about when he swiped his card and the door to the session opened with a click. He didn’t care. He swept into the room without hesitant he was pulling Jonathan’s chair out and wedging himself between him and the table, effectively blocking Isaac’s view. He grabbed Jonathan’s jaw and began to run his fingers over his cheeks, through his hair, taking in every single detail of his face. His skin was dry, flushed, and his lips broken and bleeding. They were also crusted with the blood.

“I’m here,” he said to Jonathan fingers still caressing his face as if he was a child, “I’m here, Jonathan. They won’t do that again.” And no, they wouldn’t. Darkness filled his eyes, a darkness of rage and revenge, but the moment they found Jonathan’s they filled with concern. He grabbed the bottle from his pocket and removed his hands only long enough to wrench it open before he snatched his jaw again and held the bottle to his lips, tipping it slightly to the let the cool liquid wet them. “I brought this from home.” He told him and Jonathan would understand why he made the distinction.

It was only then that he turned his head to Isaac. For all purposes it had appeared as if he hadn’t known he was in the room or simply hadn’t cared.

“Dr. Jones, is it,” he spoke and his voice was unnervingly calm, “I’m Dr. Jeremiah Arkham. I know your father.” He placed the bottle on the table and moved from Jonathan, hand the last to fall away. “Do you not see the condition of the man you requested a meeting with? Did you even ask if he was fit for an interview?” He gestured to Jonathan.

“He’s dehydrated, suffering sensory deprivation and the affects of extreme isolation. He’s been in solitary and I’ve just returned from a conference. Not only has my staff neglected him in my absence, I hate to inform you that man who offered you this meeting had no authorization to. He was not Crane’s temporary doctor in my stead.”

After this he took a few deep breaths and though he’d made sure his tone had been sharp it wasn’t in disrespect towards the man sitting across from the table, but his idiotic staff and Isaac’s failure to see that Jonathan was not well. Yet still he didn’t order him away. He placed his hands flat on the table instead and leaned towards Isaac.

“Please, tell me what is your business is here.”

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

The man that had come to interview him was going to be easy to break. The doctor already had the barest of smirks on his face as he began to ramble and stumble around about his family. It was never wise to open up about your family to someone society deemed as a psychopathic serial killer. Though Dr. Crane wouldn’t agree with their ridiculous diagnosis he did agree that as an investigator it was a rather ignorant step to take. Did the man do fear for his safety? Or did he simply not know how to handle the anxiety that rose in him while he was talking to him. The latter seemed more likely and all the more reason why this interview was going to be quickly over with just like the rest. He would turn it into his session and the other would be so brain picked and confused they would run out of there before they gave up any more of their personal life to a “Serial Killer”.

As for his question that he came for Dr. Crane was likely to drop that all together and move on to the real reason of what brought the man here. What was so deeply rooted in him, what fear drove him to be in the seat he was in now. That had just barely begun and his session was only going to get deeper as time went on in this room. The drugs he was talking about could have come from anywhere as he is the only distributor of the drug and he had distributed in the past. If they thought that the murders had anything to do with him they were going to have a hard time proving it considering he’d been behind glass. Though, he had been known to have pull from beyond these walls at times, it was well known that no one enjoyed working with Dr. Crane and his “Friends” if at all, were few and far.

The incident that happened in the hall earlier could have swept his mind if it wasn’t for the pulsing in his head and the cracking pain of his lips. It was clear that every time he got a moment that he thought he could speak again his body tried to restrain some part of him. But then – His session was rudely interrupted. Dr. Arkham had barged his way in and took over, the worst part being that Dr. Crane felt himself too tired to do anything about it. The pressure in his head was killing him and the lights from the room were beginning to be far too much. But he was with a client and this was the wrong time for Dr. Arkham to come in and try to take his work again. That’s all he wanted, was to steal and take credit for his session.

Dr. Crane felt his chair move out and forward and suddenly he was staring up at the man that was the bane of his existence. He had no choice but to look up at him as the one sensitive part of his body was grabbed. His head was loose in his hands, and gave in to every movement he tried to make in its turn. It was just another indicator to him that he wasn’t well, he was accepting touch. His word’s echoed through his head. Yes that’s right, he did call for him didn’t he? He was a bit late. The doctor’s eyes widened at the sight of a bottle with sweat dripping down the sides. When it was put to his lips he took the smallest sip and spit the rest out. It was never good to drink too quickly when you were that dehydrated but wetting the pallet was a good idea.

Just as he thought he may be able to speak again Dr. Arkham had begun to speak on his own. Dr. Crane sat emotionless, a stale tired look on his face – expressing none of his current offense. He simply listened to his diagnosis and hears him try and get an explanation out of the man. “I am perfectly fit to conduct an interview Dr. Arkham” A cracked voice came from behind Dr. Arkham whom was doing his best to defend him. A folly, Dr. Crane didn’t need anyone to help him with his own session. “And right now…” A sharp breath that cracked as he inhaled interrupted his sentence and his hand went over the middle of his sternum as he tried to speak again. “You’re interrupting my session.” Slowly, the doctor lifted his hand, shaken and peeling, to gesture for the man to continue. “You were talking about your family…”

The smallest dark and sinister smile crept over his tired face from behind Dr. Arkham, knowing that those words about the man’s family coming out of his lips would send all sorts of red flags up for Dr. Arkham.

[Deleted]

From behind him, Isaac heard the same beep from the machine outside, clearing someone to enter the room. Before he knew it, Dr. Arkham had entered and was approaching the patient before him. His eyes followed the man, inspecting every inch of his uniform. Something about him unnerved him, put him on edge. The controlling way in which he grabbed Crane, like a mother would when cleaning their child. Already Isaac suspected that Crane was special to him in some way, as he doubted he’d treat every patient like this. Secretly he was happy that Jeremiah had broke their conversation, their talk was slightly bothering him. He shouldn’t have told him about his family although to Isaac this was a gamble. By telling him something about himself, perhaps Crane would begin to trust him a little more although he doubted ‘Scarecrow’ was in the mood to answer any of his questions.

Then Arkham turned to him, introducing himself, giving Isaac little time to reply to his question upon his own identity. There was no need for him to introduce himself, not many psychologists don’t know of Dr. Jeremiah Arkham. To some he was a pioneer, although Isaac had no fondness of him or many other Doctors, strange in that he shared a similar profession to him. Then he had to mention his Father, the one thing which would anger Isaac. Although he intended to respond in a casual, passive manner. With a deep breath, he began to answer. “Yes I’m Dr. Jones.” He made no comment about his Father, a topic he’d rather skip; he didn’t want Crane knowing about that little detail. Before continuing, Isaac took another look at the man opposite him, looking at his blood shot eyes and his cracked lips, his growing stubble and pale face. “Frankly I didn’t care about what condition he was in. I needed to see him so I came to see him, what condition he was in had nothing to do with me, he’s not my responsibility.” Isaac took quite a hostile tone, with one part of him being quite angry that he’d just burst into their talk with little consideration.

Flattening out his tie upon his chest, Isaac leaned forward and placed both hands together on the table, looking up at Dr. Arkham. “I was asking Dr. Crane here a few questions concerning a police investigation, although that was before he burst in. We could have been doing anything.” A teasing smile crept onto Isaac’s mouth, giving Jon a quick look before looking back up at Arkham. Standing up from his chair, he took a step over to Jeremiah. The chair behind him creaked along the floor behind him as he stood up. Placing one hand on Arkham’s chest, he pushed him lightly back into the corner, keeping his hand flat down on his chest. “If you want to help in this investigation, then you’ll stay right here. I see the way you both look at each other, I don’t want my interview to be interrupted by the feelings you both share. Thank you, Jeremiah; I can call you Jeremiah, can’t I? Thanks.” He gave him no time to respond much like he had little time to respond to his questions.

Turning back to Jon, he approached his chair and sat back down, pulling himself closer to the table. Clearing his throat before he continued, Isaac gave a slight smirk and laugh. “You’re not the first nut I’ve interviewed; I’ll be asking the question if that’s okay with you?” Like Arkham, he gave him no time to respond. “Old habits die hard I guess.” He was obviously referring to Jon’s questioning, as he was once a Doctor in this very building. How times change, perhaps he’ll leave the Asylum feeling a little crazy. “Now then, before we were interrupted, I was talking about this case. Do you know of anyone who has access to your to your toxin?” Surely someone might have had access to the drug; he can’t be acting alone in this. Where did he get the ingredients, who moved them around? This was too big of an operation for him to be alone. The Joker has a gang, does Crane? He’d rather talk about this than his own family any day.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

The only sign Jeremiah gave Jonathan that he’d even heard him was a sliding glance. The message was clear from the doctor, 'Later.' He’d deal with Jonathan and everything he’d said later. Right now his attention was on the intruder for intruder Jeremiah found him, indeed. If he responded in any capacity to what Jonathan said immediately it was the final statement, but he didn’t rise to the unnerving expression Jonathan gave him. He wasn’t intimidated.

“Not a very good tactic in interrogation, giving your subject of scrutiny leverage against you.” And he didn’t stop there. He walked from where he stood with Jonathan and around the table. He didn’t hide his examination of the other doctor. He wanted to unnerve him, he wanted him to be uncomfortable because no matter how Isaac felt, this was his asylum and his rules were to be followed. And a simple doctor working for the police was not an exception to that rule and plainly he was disgusted. This went beyond Jonathan, this went beyond the man; it went beyond everything. He could have laughed, already guessing just what Dr. Jones thought he was doing giving out such personal information. Thought he’d persuade Scarecrow into answering his questions more civilly. How ignorant. Obviously this man knew nothing about the patient he’d chosen to question.

Yet the difference between them was that Dr. Jones had no effect on Jeremiah. He saw right through him. He saw how much distaste he had in him, he saw how he gave the subtlest shift in posture at the mention of his father. Touchy subject was it? Even the slow cadence of his voice revealed so much. How he was trying to keep control. He didn’t need confirmation of the man’s identity, but he nodded all the same. Though his face filled with a mock of confusion at his words. “You didn’t care what condition he was in? You didn’t care?” He leaned over the table and his eyes bore into his. “Dr. Jones, you will understand one thing and one thing only, that you’re wrong. You requested his audience and as a doctor is in indeed your responsibility to be sure he is in good health to have that audience. Perhaps if you were some measley little cop, or reporter, I could forgive it, but you are a doctor. And furthermore….you don’t call the shots here. You should not have been allowed in here in the first place.” Jeremiah called the shots. Jeremiah had taken great consideration before entering, but it was clear what a good decision it was. This doctor was wet around the ears still. He had no idea just who and what he was dealing with. “You could have at least shown human decency or are you one of those people? That don’t believe a criminal deserves the same rights as you and me?”

He gave an amused laugh, “Thinking like that is what leads a man astray, I’d be careful if you don’t watch it, you could be in here with all your human dignity gone too, and when you were…would you still think it right to deny?”

He straightened when Isaac chose to lean forward over the table, though the move was not one of fright. It was casual, amused even. “If you were mistreating one of the asylum residents, I’d have your clearance, your police trust, your title, and your job taken away.” He returned the quip before Isaac pushed him. He didn’t give him a look of annoyance, just stared from the man’s palm back to his face and chuckled, “Oh yes, I’m in love with Jonathan Crane and so wounded he doesn’t return my feelings,” he said sardonically still laughing. “No, I believe the only person in the way is you, Isaac, I can call you Isaac since you’ve decided to call me Jeremiah, right? Appreciate it.” He said and then Isaac was back interrogating Jonathan. Arkham moved to the panel on the wall.

“Dr. Arkham speaking, I have an unauthorized patient interview in Room 201. Can you send security, I’d like the man escorted out. And please tell Dr. Bennet I’d like to see him in my office in about two hours.” He looked Dr. Jones as he said these things politely. Too politely and gave him a look that asked, ‘Whose in charge here? Certainly not you.’

Soon enough, Dr. Jones was being taken out, his questions unanswered. “The police will come themselves if the matter is so important,” he said to him as the doctor was lead out. When the door was closed he turned to Jonathan.

Jeremiah crossed his arms and leaned back against the door of the session room. “What was that again about this being your session,” he asked. “I was perfectly fine for you to continue to dissect him to your heart’s content, but I don’t take lightly when the underlings go over my head and schedule a session with anyone under my care without notice.” It wasn’t a want to take or steal anything from Jonathan, but Jeremiah was already clearly aware of what Jonathan thought and he wouldn’t waste time trying to disprove it by arguing the point. Instead he picked his way over the chair across from Jonathan and took a seat.

“Have you been having fun with Dr. Ledford,” he asked immediately. “Or would you like to claim you’re too out of shape for an interview now?” His face twitched in annoyance. “Which let’s just say I’m very displeased about the shape you’re in. But I suppose you make enemies of every guard here and when I’m not around to watch you, all hell breaks loose.”

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

It was never very difficult to find others being intimidated by Dr. Crane. Sometimes he didn’t have to do anything but sit there to see the first roll of sweat come off their brow. It became so bad over the years that people would ignore his presence in the room, professional or society alike. But when he demanded attention things became quite chaotic. It had worked for and against him in many ways, but he would always find it to his advantage in the end. There were only problems with certain people in his life, Dr. Jeremiah Arkham for example. Just the name was enough to make him curl his fingers, but the lack of strength from solitary prevented him from doing so. These certain people didn’t have to demand his attention to get it….Until he was done with them…And his days were numbered.

He listened to his prattle on and lecture his new patient. It was just like Dr. Arkham to barge in and take over his session. It wouldn’t be the first time he tried to assert himself over his notes or findings. No, it always had to be Dr. Arkham’s ways and the way that he did things or it wasn’t good enough. He could have told him a few choice words while he was working there, and probably has since between splitting gritted teeth once or twice.

The spectacle unfolded before him and he wanted to do something about it, but the corpse found him in a chair for the first time in a long while. It was the slightest admittance of comfort in the small world that he lived in….for however long he was there in the dark. When he was escorted out Dr. Crane could only look on at Dr. Arkham in a daze. It was a swimming haze of his own that rocked the world two and froe in front of his eyes, it was a massive dehydration hallucination. But at least he was aware enough to understand what it was.

He caught his look and his sarcastically boasted words. This was his session, and like so many times before it, it had been interrupted and taken apart by this man. “I am not your underling…I am your better.” He corrected him even though he knew he was talking about the other man leaving the room. The cold dead eyes of Dr. Crane followed Dr. Arkham as he moved about the room and finally took a seat himself. He didn’t have to ask any questions at all before he was completely aware of what was about to happen. He had just started a new session with him.

The subject made his shoulders roll and one pop loud and echo off the wall to his ears. He hadn’t been enjoying their sessions very much at all. But he wouldn’t disclose anything about it. “Doctor patient confidentiality Doctor….The city doesn’t really need to waste more of its money sending you back to school does it?” However, he was very much out of shape for an interview, it was nothing that he would readily admit to. He was here now and beginning to conduct one himself. ”It’s nothing new doctor….You never were very good at your job to begin with.” . His hands came back from the table and curled around his slender form in the chair. His bright orange jumpsuit reflected off of almost every surface in the room, it was almost blinding with the fluorescent light to pair with. But he should have already known that he didn’t enjoy speaking in this kind of environment.

But despite how out of shape Dr. Crane might have been for an interview he was paying attention. “I’m in room 201…” He said audibly to make it stick into his mind. A visual map appeared behind his eyes, deep into his mind as he was trying to figure out where he was. He had been too delusional to remember where he was brought and the spectacle before where he had called out Dr. Arkham by his first name made it no better.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

Jeremiah Arkham was indeed intimidated by Jonathan. It came from the years under which the man had been his employee. He’d seen him work, he knew his method for getting into a person’s head was often successful. Then there was the way he conducted himself. It called for suspicion, but there was more to it. For Jeremiah it was about respect. He’d actually respected the once doctor, considered him a colleague rather than a mere employee, and there had been a time he had thought that Jonathan had felt at least some respect for him, but then The Incident happened and he’d earned his resentment and wrongful accusations. In turn Jeremiah came to resent him and because he knew his methods, now Jeremiah intimidated could match him and brush it away. So no, Jeremiah didn’t feel the slightest bit of intimidation for the man. It was outweighed by the sheer exasperation the man’s actions now brought him.

He was all too used to this dance.

Jeremiah had never tried to assert himself over Jonathan’s notes. What he had done was attempt to protect him, guide him, and all with good heart and pride, but he’d come to terms with just how Jonathan did not see that way. It was not Jeremiah’s fault that he couldn’t see encouragement and protection for what it was. He was tired of defending himself. And no, it had be the state’s way, the way the state did things, or everyone was under suspicious and nothing could be done because they’d be closed down. He was just doing his job and if Jonathan couldn’t handle that, then no wonder he’d gotten himself caught. Arrogance and idleness bred mistakes. And any of Jonathan’s venomous words were ash and dust, spread by the wind and not even palpable anymore.

Jeremiah only regarded Jonathan at first with a look of exasperation he knew he was being taunted, but two could play that game. “You have a college degree, I would assume you could recognize context, but obviously I misjudged that. I was calling Dr. Bennett, the man who set up your appointment with Dr. Jones, and the guards that cooperated with him the underlings, not you.” He continued, “You can’t even rightly place blame and you’re a criminal. Being wanted by the police and having your freedom constantly in danger sound absolutely wonderful.” His comments were dry and he scoffed. “Better. I’m not the one who was pronounced clinically insane, and don’t even attempt to blame me for that, that was the defense’s psychiatrist’s words and not mine. So you'll have to do more to convince me that you're my better. Before now, I may have agreed, but with an attitude like that,” he shook his head.

Jeremiah undaunted stared into the eyes of Crane. He wasn’t thrown off by him or his comments. Instead he smiled. “I think it’s you who needs to be placed back in school, asking if you enjoyed them is no breach of such confidentiality. I didn’t ask for specifics I asked for a general opinion on if you were enjoying them. I could assign her to you full-time if she seems a better fit for you. Your opinion of my skills seems to tell me you wish for another doctor. It’s easily done, I’ll make certain to make a note of it once I leave here.” He told in a voice that promised the actions, but knew that Jonathan didn’t want a change of doctors. He was already prepared for some jab by the other about him being afraid to handle him, claiming he never could.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

“Yes, and you’ll be moved back to a cell in Intensive Treatment. No solitary for you, you shouldn’t have been there anyway. I’m appalled that no one did anything. However, it is obvious that you are in shape for a session, so I’ll just go. I’ll go and set your transfer to Dr. Ledford in order. Best not put that off after all.”

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Respect was always a fine line with Dr. Jonathan Crane. Even before all of this happened ten years ago he believed he had an amount of respect for his peers. If they left him alone he would leave them alone. Why couldn’t they just do their own work? Dr. Arkham on the other hand was never one to make him work in groups and it wasn’t that he couldn’t. He had worked in plenty during his schooling, but each person always knew better than to cross him. He was civil, but everyone always had an element of fear toward him.

He was different.

But when it came to respecting Dr. Arkham, he had taken him in when society shunned him. He would never admit that he was “grateful” for the job. If he hadn’t had been given the opportunity no one would have hired him. But Dr. Arkham feared something different in himself that drew him to Dr. Crane. He still didn’t understand this, the only conclusion he could come up with was obviously he knew he was the best and he found the best. Of course that’s what he wanted. What else would he want? He was afraid to not have him underneath his sight because he knew that Dr. Crane was better than him.

He could see that Dr. Arkham seemed like he was tired of hearing it, like he was tired of being in the room with him. Dr. Crane was just tired, exhausted from the state that he had been left in. It had seemed like he was there for so long without food. He could still taste the Gatorade on his lips. His stomach turned and told him he didn’t want it, But the dry skin on his lips wanted to soak in it. He almost had no more poison to spit, just dry and cracking dust from his lips.

Of course it wasn’t Dr. Arkham’s fault. For a man that owns his the Asylum and takes so much pride over his little facility nothing that ever happens in it is ever his fault. He had taken so little responsibility for things over the years but Dr. Crane knew he was responsible. He claimed that it would never happen again…..We will see…

“I’m not to blame.” He snapped and interrupted a part but then let him finish. Dr. Arkham had heard it before, he wasn’t guilty for the crimes that he supposedly committed. But once he mentioned his knew doctor his fingers tightened around the chair. How dare he suggest such a thing. As he continued his peeled eyes widened and he rose his hand. ”No!” He protested. He would sit and have a session with him if it meant avoiding having to have one with her.

Slowly he tried to get up from his chair. He was shackled to it and the chair was bolted to the floor, even if he wanted to he couldn’t move far. Regardless he tried to make his legs move but they felt like jelly. The wobble in his movements was clear but he managed to stand and use the table as support to lean toward him. ”Do sit….Stay…” He nodded and motioned lazily to the seat for him to sit and stay put. [color=Maroon”And we’ll begin our session right away….Tell me why are you afraid to constantly survey you’re team?....Or is it that your afraid what you might see yourself doing? Or someone else?”[/color] He managed to ask in a few lazy huffs. He wanted water….

But would never ask.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

Jeremiah had tried to leave Jonathan to his own devices ten years ago. Yes, he would collect and discuss his work with him. He would read over his theories and had learned to stop marking them with red pen. Yet back then and even now, despite that it may have been buried, he had a respect for Jonathan that had made him wish to speak to him. He had admired him and had wanted nothing more than to encourage his mind. Because it was true.

Jonathan Crane was different. That is why he recognized that despite his ability to work with others, Jeremiah refrained from doing it. Jonathan worked better on his own and that was plain and simple fact. You don’t fix what isn’t broken and despite the suspicions as to what was wrong with Dr. Crane, the assumptions that he thought he was better than anyone else, Jeremiah squelched them.

Jonathan Crane had been better than everyone else. With ideas out of the box and theories not tested or suggested yet.

Jeremiah hadn’t taken him in to get respect. He’d simply seen a man with a lot of mind and it would have been waste to let it rot. He hadn’t cared that Jonathan had never said he was grateful. There were some things that he knew without saying. Yet had fear drawn him to Jonathan? Jeremiah didn’t think so. Not fear per se, but an interest, seeing a mind that he could converse with. Yes, Jeremiah had considered Jonathan the best and he wanted the best so he’d hired him without a single regret, but no. Jeremiah hadn’t wanted Jonathan under his sight because he knew Jonathan was better than him and thus needed to be watched. Jeremiah back then probably would have admitted that Jonathan was better than him, but he’d watched him to keep him safe from the jealous doctors. And even without all that he’d failed and what Jeremiah feared was that the truth of that would never be known.

Dr. Arkham was tired. He was tired of the same arguments over and over again. He was tired of days like broken and repeating records. He was tired of hurting and striving and trying to take the blindfold off of someone who wanted to be blind. He knew Jonathan was exhausted, but he had no idea the extent of which Jeremiah was. He could feel the weariness to his very bones and it wasn’t age, it was stress, duress, and a madness that tore and seared his very flesh. He was exhausted.

Jeremiah knew what his faults were. Yes, everything wrong with the facility could be his fault. He hired the wrong staff. That staff mistreated the patients. His cooks decided not to prepare the food right, he’d hired them. No, Jeremiah was not disillusioned. He could take responsibility. But he wasn’t taking responsibility for the attitude Crane always had which had landed him a target of those guards, nor was it his fault he’d been declared insane.

When Jonathan snapped, no it wasn’t anything new, but Jeremiah bit his tongue to refrain from responding to continue. Jeremiah watched him with an expression that said he’d had enough. He didn’t care about Jonathan’s guilt, he didn’t care. He didn’t care. His response was cold silence when Jonathan gave protest. Oh yes, he’d known that was coming that Jonathan would immediately attempt to pacify him.

He watched Jonathan struggle to stand and it was almost enough to let go of his exhaustion and anger for the moment to revel in that he was asking him back. Almost.

“No.” His voice was final. “I will not sit. I will not stay. You’re going back to your cell, you’re going to be transferred.” He stood his ground. “Because I know what I’m responsible for, I know how I have failed and yet every single day I come to attempt to right them. And I do survey my team, I survey every single doctor here when I get the chance. I know what happens in Arkham. You only wish I was too afraid.”

He turned away to go to the door. “I’ll have someone bring you water, but you’re being transferred. I’m tired, Jonathan. Tired of coming in here everyday seeing the same asylum, knowing its failing, and I’m tired of our broken record sessions. You will never see, I’ll finally admit that. You’ve won, Jonathan.”

He pulled his hand through his hair. “You made me realize. It’s time I retired out of fear that this place will only harm others and me more if I stay. What’s the point of staying if the patient I have done everything for, still blames me for his arrest? Little point, that’s the answer.” Little point, was there little point. Were all these words a bluff? Maybe, maybe not...

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Dr. Crane never needed anyone to tell him that he was the best, he knew he was. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t enjoy hearing it from Dr. Arkham, even if he wouldn’t admit that aloud. The way he would rather change it around is have him say how horrible he was in comparison to him and how much more he deserved this than him. What he should have done is turn himself in, take responsibility for what they did to him and let him free. Yes, that was the way it should have happened. It should have been him.

Dr. Arkham’s attitude was slowly changing. He could see the fear rising in his eyes, that beautiful spark hidden just behind his iris. It was as if he could catch a beautiful falling star within it. He seemed like his anxiety was rising more and more and truth be told so was his, but he wouldn’t show it. He could feel that Dr. Arkham was about to do something rash. Low and behold he stood and the words came out of his mouth.

No, He was bluffing. It wasn’t the first time he had laid this upon him and he had to be bluffing. Perhaps he would punish him by giving him to another doctor but to transfer asylums and to leave? He was a madman! He couldn’t do this! On the outside Dr. Crane seemed calm and collected but on the inside he was full of rage. He couldn’t do this to him! He wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t dare…..

The doctor was still very battered and bruised, but it hardly mattered in this situation. He wasn’t going to let him do this; there was panic that he couldn’t hide in his eyes. As Dr. Arkham moved toward the door he suddenly stood, sliding the metal out from his legs. He wanted to grab his shoulder, tell him to stop but as his leg moved forward his body came down.

THUD

The doctor found himself in a daze with a sharp pain chattering on his teeth. They were still bouncing as if he had literally turned into one of those toys that clatter about the ground. His teeth were in pain, his jaw must have taken a great hit to the cell pavement. The chair he had stood up from was bolted to the floor and his feet were chained around it. He forgot that they started doing that now. He couldn’t move forward without coming down. His feet lay in an awkward position, diagonal and strained against the cuffs, there was no way he was going to be getting up.

He laid there for a long moment feeling awkward. This is not how he wanted it to go. Dr. Crane looked up from the floor at Dr. Arkham, a position that he never wanted to be in. It was obvious he needed help getting up or he wasn’t going to get up, but he wouldn’t ask for it. ”You can’t leave, You can’t leave here and you wont!” He spat from the floor and tried to roll. All it did was clang the chains around him and twist him up more. ”You wont! You can’t! You can’t leave me…here…without it..” He trailed off his words. He had become suddenly exhausted in his position of the floor. His chest beat against the ground hard to obtain his breath.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

No, the truth was that Crane was not the best. He was not the best doctor to have walked into Arkham. He was brilliant, though. That Jonathan was one the most intelligent to have come to Arkham was unarguable. Yet Jeremiah wasn’t the best either. Jeremiah knew he wasn’t best, but to him Jonathan was. Jonathan was the best, but no they both had their flaws and Jeremiah knew his opinion was only personal. Both were intelligent, bright, and unequivocally flawed. They were not comparable in horridness and even if they were, even if Jeremiah wanted to think of that he’d have said they were equal. He had nothing to do with Jonathan’s capture and so no, it shouldn’t have been him. It never should have been.

Was Jeremiah fearful? Yes, fear was the mother of his anger, his frustration. His fear of failure fed it all. Yet he could careless that Jonathan enjoyed it, had he been in control he’d have wished for nothing more than to stuff his enjoyment of his pain down his throat. Had he been in control of himself he’d have relished the fact that Jonathan’s own fear was rising. The God of Fear could fear and Jeremiah Arkham was bringing it to him. And even more so, his words sealed the deal.

In his desperation was he bluffing? His mind was screaming like the pistons of an overworked machine. His heart was in his throat, choking him. He wasn’t even certain he was breathing more than hyperventilating. He felt mad. The world was spinning. Did he even look calm? He felt like he was shaking.

He was shaking, he realized. Jeremiah could feel the tremors in his legs, his hands. His heart was racing and a cold sweat spread over his forehead. He felt feverous as he tried to keep himself together and make it to the door. If he could make it to the door. He shuddered at the sound of metal as Jonathan stood and though he thought he was prepared for what came next. He wasn’t.

Jonathan hit the floor and Jeremiah jolted, turning and falling against the frame.

His eyes were blown. The whites stood out in contrast against the brown of his iris as he stared down at Jonathan. Jonathan was still breathing, Jeremiah was still breathing. Neither of them was moving. While Jonathan felt the pain of impacting the floor shooting up his jaw. Another pain was taking the other. It was pain that blossomed in his chest. It shot up into one arm and his jaw was aching. He shut his eyes and his head was swimming; his stomach was rolling. He felt like he couldn’t get enough oxygen.

His gaze was bleary. He could hear his heart in his ears and muffled he heard Jonathan’s angry yelling. Doom. He felt doomed and like he was dying. Slowly he began to fall down the frame and his hand lifted to this chest.

Jeremiah found Jonathan’s gaze and for the first time he was mortally afraid. He looked at Jonathan beseechingly.

“I’m having a heart attack..."