Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing but this story.
*the music playing on the phonograph is 'Claudine' by Maksim Mrvica, which can easily be found on Youtube if any of you are curious, if not, you may simply imagine it as any song you wish.
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Claudine
'Death is not the biggest fear we have; our biggest fear is taking the risk to be alive -- the risk to be alive and express what we really are.'
-Don Miguel Ruiz
"Next time you won't be so lucky." Dent grasped at Schiff's collar, throwing him roughly to the ground. Thomas whimpered as he connected with the firm concrete under him, but was thankful no longer being bound to the chair and having a gun pressed against his head.
His wrist stung from his mindless attempt of struggling, but he paid little mind as he quickly got up, almost tripping on his own feet. The blond man made no move at him, but he could tell his restlessness as his fingers twitched with his gun at hand. Thomas ran off as fast as his frail legs would allow along with his injury.
When he believed he was finally safe from the attorney, he slumped down onto side of the street. His mouth felt dry and he finally acknowledged how raw his wrist felt. He leaned against the small pile of garbage, bearing with the foul smell to enjoy the only source of comfort he had at the moment.
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Crane walked down the alley quietly, his hands in his pockets. The air felt damp, but it did not bother him, he was used to places like this by now. It had been a while since the Batman had ruined his plans and now the talk around town was the infamous Joker. Scarecrow was old news by now and the name to shake fear into people's heart was the Clown Prince himself.
Jonathan had decided to focus more on black market business instead, selling his toxins to mobs and such. It was not as enjoyable as his previous schemes, but he would rather remain silent then have the police hot on his trail again. Yet with his plain lifestyle now, he was relieved that he could walk in the streets of Gotham without being hunted down instantly, but he still carried a can of his toxin in case.
He smirked as he continued his way down the street. There was no stopping the Scarecrow. The Batman had been a fool to simply leave him with those impersonators after his meeting with the Chechen. Jonathan would not stand to being seen with those idiots and be degraded to their level. He was better than that. Escape had been a simple task and soon enough he returned to the streets to bring fear to the people around him.
He continued his small stroll for a little while longer, deciding to return when he reached the end of the road. There was a small sound from his side, and he instinctively reached for the toxin in his pocket. He mumbled angrily as he forgot to bring his mask with him but wandered off to the source of the sound. Probably a rat, or some racoon, Crane thought, tilting his head and leaning forward, being careful should anything try to assault him.
He heard a groan now and furrowed his brow in interest. Jonathan mumbled, pushing aside the bags by him with his foot. His hand still set atop the small canister in his pocket as he managed to push away the sacks of waste to find the source of the sound. His eyes suddenly widened as he stared at the familiar man in front of him.
"Christ…Schiff." Crane murmured, shuffling through the garbage and pulling the younger man out roughly. He was not sure if he would ever say the name again or see the face that carried it but he did and the man was quick to react to his name being said. Jonathan had almost forgotten Thomas Schiff completely, but was pleased the paranoid schizophrenic could still shudder from his words.
Jonathan took a moment to take in the man in front of him. He recognized that clothing somehow, but was not sure where he had seen it. Eventually he remembered it from the news earlier in the day. The Joker had failed in killing the mayor and Lt. Gordon instead and somehow Crane believed Thomas was involved in this from the look of his current beaten condition.
He instantly felt saddened at the thought, his Thomas working for the Joker. The doctor had no true claim over the worn man, but could not resist the feel of being betrayed in some way. He was angry, and suddenly wanted to see Schiff squirming under his toxin for making him feel such a way. No one could control his emotions but himself.
His cold eyes quickly rose to Thomas' face as he heard a nervous hiccup from the schizophrenic, and he felt his anger subside. Jonathan groaned, looking at Schiff in irritation now. The schizophrenic stood plainly beside the past doctor and rubbed at his wrist, which caused Crane to raise a brow in curiosity.
"What did you do to your arms?" He asked, taking a step near the worn younger man who took one back in turn. Jonathan grumbled at Thomas' failure to answer and decided to turn and head home. He had better things to do besides questioning past paranoid schizophrenic patients. He managed get a few paces away before he heard Schiff following quietly behind him, limping slightly.
Sapphire eyes turned to rest at Thomas', questions forming in his mind. He could not leave him now as his curiosity peaked. Jonathan eventually let Schiff follow him back to his hideout, an old apartment in one of the quieter neighbourhoods in the Narrows. His alter ego had forced him to stay in much less comfortable places, but it was necessary to stay hidden from the police.
Crane did not wait for Thomas as he climbed up the stairs, hearing the small limping sounds from the man behind him. He lost his patience eventually and simply pulled Schiff inside, careful to lock the door after. Thomas quickly sat himself on the floor, his new surroundings frightening him. Jonathan wandered off to his first aid supplies; he grabbed what few rolls of bandages he had left, alcohol, some gauze and a pair of scissors. Crane also reached for a worn cloth, soaking it in water and returning to the quiet man sitting in the middle of his current home. The doctor sat across from him, and finally took his time to examine Thomas.
His face was drenched from sweat and dirt, but that was hardly any evidence of any onset on the troubled schizophrenic. As Schiff' past psychiatrist it was nothing to see him perspire a bit in fear or attempt to physically harm himself every now and then. What truly got Crane's attention was the angry mark at his wrist, which he concluded came from constant struggling, having had his own share of marks and burns.
Jonathan reached for the dampened cloth and began wiping at the younger man's face. His hand ventured to his neck and he sighed in remembrance of their encounter in Thomas' cell. He was no longer eating at the man's fear now, instead giving him a short moment of solace from the world outside. The younger man's face eventually returned to the state Jonathan remembered him by.
Thomas stared at the medical tools in front of him, and moved farther back from Jonathan, which caused the man to frown.
"I have no tolerance for your failure to comply, Schiff. If you wish to leave, you may do so." Thomas stared at the doctor again, and shifted back to his original position.
Crane removed the man's honour guard uniform quietly, shaking off the coat from his shoulders and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He reached for the rubbing alcohol, dabbing it onto the cloth and cleaning at the cuts on Thomas' wrist. The schizophrenic flinched and tried to draw his hand back but Crane held it firmly in his.
"Stop it." Jonathan said roughly, and the younger man quickly froze at the commanding voice. There was a constant fear in Thomas' mind that he was going to be beaten, or perhaps have a gun pointed at him again, so he tried to please the doctor as best as he could. His mind shifted elsewhere, trying to occupy himself from looking at the sharp objects that Crane was using as he treated at his arms.
Thomas started examining the room. It was dark and was lit with candles placed across the room, probably to gain as little attention as possible. There were books scattered through out the room, sometimes piled or set randomly across the few pieces of furniture. A worn armchair was at his right and he suddenly twitched, turning his head quickly the other direction as he saw the Scarecrow mask and suitcase.
Thomas' continued to examine his new surroundings and stopped when his ears feel upon a soft tune coming from a phonograph at the corner of the room. It was calming, and took the younger man's attention off of his injuries being treated. His eyes felt tired, it had been a long day for him, physically and mentally and he feared for tomorrow.
He instinctively grasped at his pant legs, a habit of his when he got nervous along with his attempt to withhold the laugh daring to escape his lips. He looked down at hands and quickly acknowledged the bandages firmly around his wrist. When was this? How did they get there? He began to panic.
"Your paranoia never ceases to amuse me." Crane murmured and Thomas looked at the doctor to see him cleaning up the supplies laid out in front of him. There was something in the older man's pale blue eyes he could not put his finger on, and it only caused Schiff's anxiety to intensify. He tried to keep his mouth firmly shut as he felt Crane closing the distance between them.
"I wonder," Jonathan breathed, leaning closer towards Thomas. "just what is the extent of your sanity."