Disclaimer: I do not own the rights "Batman" or any of its characters, including Scarecrow, nor do I own any rights to the comics or the films. I own nothing save for any original characters I have created.
A/N: I just wanted to thank you all for the overwhelmingly positive reaction and reviews I received for the first chapter! It really means a lot to me. I haven't written much in a while and I'm still trying to get back in the swing of things, so to speak, and to receive such great feedback after posting the first thing I've written in months is just...awesome. Thank you thank you thank you!
Sessions with Madness, Chapter Two
"Patient interview one with Patient Number 7942, Jonathan Crane. Dr. Crane, could you please state your name for the record?"
"Dr. Jonathan Crane."
"And Dr. Crane, are you in any way, shape, or form being coerced into answering my questions against your free will?"
"No, I am not."
"Excellent. Are you ready to start?"
"By all means."
Crane watches as Perkins reaches for the thick file before him with greedy hands. He can tell the man is eager to pry; Crane wonders if he'll try to maintain an air of professionalism and start off with the "easy" questions and work his way up or if he'll blurt out the real good ones right off the bat.
"Dr. Crane, do you know why you are here?" Perkins asks, pen in hand, hovering over a notepad.
There's that spider again.
"I believe we both know why I am here, Dr. Perkins," Crane replies icily. "There is no need to pretend otherwise."
"Of course, Dr. Crane," Perkins says quickly, clearly worried that he has angered Crane—not out of politeness, of course, but out of fear that he will refuse to answer any of his questions. "If you're comfortable with it, I'd like to hear the reason in your own words."
Crane wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. "I was deemed a danger to society and sent here to receive treatment with hopes of rehabilitation." He slides his tongue back into his mouth, letting out a low cluck. "Is that a satisfactory answer?"
Perkins scribbles on his notepad before returning his eyes to Crane. "And do you agree with that assessment, Dr. Crane?"
"Does it really matter if I agree with it or not?"
Perkins pauses. "Well-"
"Why did you become a psychiatrist, Dr. Perkins? If you're comfortable answering that, of course."
"With all due respect, Dr. Crane, this interview is about you, not me." Perkins' tone takes an ever-so-slightly hard edge, as if he is trying to sound authoritative.
"Perhaps if I were to learn a bit about you, I would be more willing to talk. No one wants to tell their secrets to a stranger."
Perkins shifts in his chair. "Alright. I became a psychiatrist because I wanted to help people."
The corners of Crane's mouth turn up in a small, mocking smile. "And did you?"
Perkins blinks and Crane's smile widens, knowing he has made the man uncomfortable.
"I'd like to think so," Perkins replies, and Crane detects a slight shake in his voice. He has unnerved him. Good.
"How nice for you."
"Why did you become a psychiatrist, Dr. Crane?" Perkins asks, in an attempt to steer the interview back towards Crane.
"To learn how the mind works," Crane replies, his tone now flat and bored. The question is rather dull when asked without malice.
"Is that a subject that has always intrigued you?"
"I suppose."
"Ever since you were a child?"
So predictable. Crane smirks. "Why don't you ask me what you really want to ask me, Dr. Perkins?"
"I'm sorry?"
He lets out a low sigh of annoyance. "Every doctor that walks through that door wants to talk to me about my childhood. Don't dance around the question. Just ask me what you really want to ask me."
Perkins look uncomfortable again. "Why don't you just answer my question, Dr. Crane? Please."
A moment passes before Crane replies. "Yes," he says. "I've wanted to study the human mind ever since I was a child."
"Why is it that fear in particular is of interest to you?"
As soon as the question has left Perkins' lips he sees a flash of anger in Crane's eyes. His breath catches in his throat and he stiffens in his seat.
The anger is gone as quickly as it arrived and Crane's eyes are cold again, his face free of emotion.
"I don't know, Dr. Perkins. Isn't that what I'm here to learn?" Crane's voice is calm, but Perkins feels rather than hears something hidden beneath his cool facade.
Perkins nods slowly. "Yes, you are correct, Dr. Crane. I just thought that perhaps you-"
"What are you scared of, Norman? May I call you Norman?"
"I'd prefer that you didn't-"
"As you wish, Dr. Perkins. Answer my question, please."
Perkins sighs. "Dr. Crane, I'm here to help you. Now, I can't help you if you keep avoiding my questions and turning them around on me. This would be much easier with your cooperation."
Crane raises his eyebrows. "So you're not going to answer my question, then?" he asks.
"No," Perkins replies firmly. "I'm here to talk about you, not me."
Crane leans back in his chair, handcuffs clinking together as he moves. "Such a shame," he says airily. He looks directly into Perkins' eyes, and Perkins feels a distinct chill down his spine. He suppresses the urge to shudder and holds Crane's gaze.
After a moment Crane smiles. "Perhaps next time, then." The words are spoken with a sense of finality and Perkins knows he will not get another answer out of Crane tonight. The interview is over.
Perkins presses the "stop" button on his tape recorder and begins to pack his things away. When he is finished he rises from his chair and turns to the guard; the man gives him a knowing look, as if to say "he does this to everyone", and Perkins feels a rush of embarrassment. While he hadn't expected for his first session with Crane to be fruitful, he hadn't expected...this.
"We're done for the night, thank you," Perkins tells the guard before turning back to Crane. "Thank you for your time tonight, Dr. Crane."
Crane says nothing in return, only stares at him with his icy blue eyes.
Perkin's hand is the doorknob when Crane finally speaks.
"I look forward to our next session, Dr. Perkins."
The words are innocent enough, but the way Crane says them sends another chill through Perkins. He sounds...excited. Genuinely excited.
Before Perkins leaves the asylum he locks his briefcase in his office. He does not take his notes home with him for review, nor does he bring his tape recorder.
The chill stays with him for the rest of the night.