Chapter 1: A Short Session

It was always amusing that whenever Crane had to be moved anywhere in Arkham, it was always with two very muscular escorts who each were at least twice his size. They would take one of two positions around him, which gave him clues as to where he was going. If they walked one ahead and one behind, that usually meant it was the showers, the recreation room, or the cafeteria. Generally locations that didn't require the same watchfulness as was needed for one-on-one meetings. If they were walking on either side of him, that meant he was off to converse with someone of importance, which usually meant one of the doctors. Though there were a few times when he'd been lucky enough to speak with Jeremiah Arkham himself. His old boss had grown increasingly distant since Crane's initial hospitalization.

Today was his normal 9 A.M. appointment with his primary physician, Dr. David Bartholomew. As the two beefy guards led him in, he saw that David was wearing a pink shirt today underneath his typical white coat. It was a bit odd, seeing as he only normally wore that particular shirt on Fridays. It must have been a special occasion for him to don such a cheerful color on such a dreary Monday.

"Good morning, Jonathan. How are you today?"

David's voice was just as obnoxiously cheery as his shirt. Crane situated himself in the creaky cushioned chair on the opposite side of his desk, rocking back and forth just so the noise would get under David's skin. "I'm great." He smirked, watching the sleet hit the window outside. "Actually I'm wonderful."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"I just had my copy of Scientific Mind delivered last night. Did you know that fear is something that can be quantitatively measured in even a young child? They were discussing the results of abandonment experiments - quite fascinating! Apparently prolonged exposure can lead to a paralytic response to fear later in life."

David cleared his throat, "Are you sure that is why you're so pleased? I would have thought it was due to the fork you jabbed into Mr. White's hand the other day."

Crane couldn't suppress the smile, "Yes, that was quite enjoyable, wasn't it? The scream though, it wasn't the same. Not like it was the other night? It didn't have the same pitch, the same level of anguish, the same… unadulterated terror."

Shuffling his paperwork, David stared at him from over his glasses. "Really Jonathan, are you sure that's why you stabbed him, and not out of a desire to impress Mr. White? He is new to Arkham after all."

Crane chuckled, "Impress him? Really, David, I believe that's you pushing your own beliefs onto your patient. Personally I could care less about impressing anyone, in fact, they should be attempting to impress us."

"Us? Who do you mean by that?"

"My fellow rogues of course. We rather run this place, and anyone who thinks that coming here is somehow a preferred sentence to jail is well… stupid. And anyone who works here would agree with me."

David gave a short smile, but otherwise refused to indicate any other agreement. That was all that Crane needed though, only professionalism would prevent him from truly saying whether or not he agreed. "Well aren't you going to ask me how I am, Jonathan?"

Crane sighed, leaning back in the chair. "You're going to tell me anyway. I don't really see a point in asking."

He forced another smile. "So far I'm having quite a promising day, but I'm afraid our chat this morning will have to be cut a bit shorter than normal."

"Oh, well isn't that a shame," Crane mocked. "Whatever will I do without your droning voice?"

David finally finished fiddling with his papers, having pushed them back neatly into the folder. He wrapped his fingers together as he stared at Crane across the rickety metallic table. "Jonathan, I believe you're already aware that not too long ago the Batman gave us information regarding your original identity."

He frowned. He'd been told that the information had been given out, but that was the last he'd heard of it. David's under-spoken excitement mixed with drudging up that knowledge was a harrying combination. And it would certainly explain the pink shirt. "Yes I was told."

"Well while it has been agreed upon that your official records won't be altered, at least as far as your name is concerned…"

Crane felt his eye twitch ever so slightly.

"… we thought it important that we try to connect you with your past." His smile wasn't forced any longer, and it felt more mockery than anything resembling empathy.

"Some things are best left alone, Bartholomew."

David stopped for a moment, taken back by the threatening tone in Crane's voice. Then he continued, perhaps with a tad more zeal this time. "Be that as it may, Jonathan, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that your mother will be dropping in to visit today."

Crane felt his breathing begin to labor and could feel hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. His mother… he hadn't thought about her since he'd last tried to kill her, and that was quite a long time ago! Well this was what he got for his sloppiness, for failing to tie up a loose end. Now he would be forced to sit and listen to her chatter on about whatever it was that she did during the day to forget about her failures in life.

"Jonathan, are you alright?"

Crane realized he was clutching the arms of the chair, and it took a force of will to make his hands release the grip. He was trembling, and it was taking every fiber of his being to force himself to gain control. If he had an outburst here, now, David would mark it as some sort of change. Possibly even an improvement. He'd been listed as a sociopath since he first stepped into the asylum, and even though he knew deep down that the occasional outburst was certainly expected, he couldn't allow himself to do it. Especially not where his mother was concerned. Bartholomew in particular would see it as a crack in the armor, a way to get through to the underbelly. If Jeremiah himself ever discovered it, he would never hear the end of it.

David was on his feet now, next to him. When had he stood up? "You don't look well. Do I need to contact a nurse?"

Crane stamped his snarl into a smile the Joker would be proud of, then made his arm lose its rigidity as he waved off the concern. "No, not at all. I'm perfectly fine. I suppose I'm simply…" His eyes had glanced over to the photograph of his mother that had been paper-clipped to the outside of the folder. It was only black and white, but the happiness she exuded simply disgusted him. He pursed his lips as he stared at it.

"You're at a loss for words, I see. That's perfectly alright, and to be expected considering your difficult relationship." His pencil was scratching across his notepad so quickly, Crane hoped he was doodling rather than taking notes. "Would you like to see the picture?" he offered, reaching over to pluck the tiny photo to hand to him.

"No!" Crane growled, making David jump. "I mean… no, thank you." He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he could rally in this vicious anger that burned in his chest. It was one thing to release it upon some nameless victim found drunk in the derelict streets of Gotham; it was quite another when it was let loose upon a doctor who could easily fill him with so many drugs he'd be near unconscious for a week.

A few more scribbles, and after a silence that seemed to stretch the very fibers of Crane's patience, Bartholomew finally spoke, "Well… if you're sure you're alright, then I suppose it's best for you to head back to your cell. She should be by in the next hour or two."

The guards entered and Crane stood to join them, his mind foggy with rage. He almost didn't register that Bartholomew addressed him as he stepped through the threshold.

"Oh, and Jonathan?"

He froze, nodding his head in the doctor's direction, but not turning to face him entirely.

"We'll be coming by your cell when we call on you. I think it's best if you have some… supervision when she's here."

Crane gave a short laugh, "You mean you don't trust me to be with her alone."

"No, that's hardly the case, Jonathan. My understanding is that the last time you saw your mother, you tried to kill her and her children. You obviously harbor deep feelings of resentment and pain towards her, so I believe it would be best for us to slowly allow the two of you to interact."

Crane smirked as the guards ushered him out the door, "Like I said: you're afraid of what I'll do to her."