On my way out the door my eyes fall on the framed picture on the mantelpiece, bringing me to a stop. Julie smiles beside me, face frozen in gentle laughter. I realize that it happened exactly one year ago, on this day.
The gold ring feels heavy. I cannot leave it alone, cannot rip my mind away from contemplating every nick and rough spot as I twist it over and over again on my finger. I push my sleeve back to snap the rubber band against my skin, but surely this would be a futile struggle against the distraction hovering over my mind. I pull the ring off and set it down in front of the photograph. Tomorrow I can wear it again.
After seeing a few patients I take a break to clean my office. The cleaning crew Arkham employs is a joke. Half the times they neglect to empty the wastebasket, and you can forget more complicated tasks like dusting. As I begin attacking the film settled on the top of my bookcase I hear several pairs of feet running down the hallway. Intrigued, I poke my head through the door and catch the last of them, a nurse.
"What are you making such a racket for?"
She skids to a halt on the smooth floor and turns to face me with wide eyes.
"Batman got Dent! He's bringing him into the infirmary."
She runs out of sight without giving me any more details. I sigh and lean back against the wall. Despite the suggestions I have made security remains woefully relaxed and vital structures in the old building crumble, giving anyone with half a brain multiple escape options.
And then there is him. What is he doing in the infirmary? Every time he comes in here he is a distraction to people like that air-headed young woman who will drop what they are doing to waste time gawking at him. You'd think they'd be sick of the sight of costumes by now.
Despite the dust I have yet to tackle in my office something draws me out into the hallway. I do not wish to join so many others and become a useless bystander, but I cannot put the thought out of my mind. He is here. I cannot ignore it forever. Perhaps it is a sign, that he should be here today of all days.
The rickety elevator comes to a stop and the doors open to reveal a commotion outside the infirmary. He is not there yet, but soon I see several guards break away from the crowd while others wave their hands to encourage it to part. A tall black figure walks down the hallway, half dragging and half supporting Harvey Dent. He glares at the guards when they move in to take the patient from him, and they back off.
A doctor meets them in the doorway of the infirmary, takes one look at Dent, and pulls out a penlight to examine his pupils. Blood oozes from a gash in his head, and from his depressed attitude it seems likely that he suffered a concussion. A pair of nurses approach and the masked man willingly hands the patient to them. His exit will be quick, so if I want to act I must do it now.
I don't even know what I hope to accomplish. Tell him what he should have done? Look into his eyes to see if they are as dead as Crane claims they are? I don't have a chance to catch his attention before one of the guards speaks up.
"Thanks a million, Batman. Always a treat when you can bring the loonies back to us pre-sedated like that."
He turns his head slowly toward the man. The sloppy grin slides off his face as he is treated to the most intense expression of loathing I have ever seen one human being give another, an impressive feat for someone with half his face covered. The guard steps back, but the masked man does not take this as his cue to leave. He turns and stares in my direction- no, directly at me. Glancing around I realize that everyone else has melted away with the offensive man, leaving me almost alone in the hallway.
His expression softens. Finding myself a bit closer than I had intended, I can see that his eyes are blue, pale and icy but with a quality of warmth behind them that I did not expect. Confusion creeps into his features as he waits for me to say something. I cannot think of anything to do but glare and keep my mouth shut for fear of what might happen if I opened it. He studies me for a few more moments through narrowed eyes before turning away.
My hand reaches out as if acting of its own free will. I stop myself and let him go, biting my lip as I realize what I had almost done, but the idea will not leave me. He is a coward, hiding behind that mask. I and the rest of the staff here are the true heroes, seeing those rogues every day and antagonizing them with our treatments. We leave ourselves wide open, giving them our names and faces as targets should they wish to lash out against someone.
I was close enough to touch him. I could have brought him down from whatever moral heights he has placed himself on. I could have that mask in my hands right now.
He turns a corner and disappears with a silent swish of his black cape.
"How are you on this fine day, doctor?"
His smooth voice reflects the smile on his face. I do not want to be here, not today at least. My mind keeps wandering back to the masked man, the way he made the guard cower before him. Nonetheless I seem to have caught Crane in a good mood and must not let that opportunity go to waste. I do my best to return the smile, though I fear it must look as hollow as the ones he always has to offer.
"I am well. Have you given more thought to the things we discussed during our last session?"
"Yes. Of course."
He leans forward in his seat, eyes directed at me instead of wandering the room. I know now that I made the right decision in letting him have a piece of the costume back. It gives him something to look forward to, which in turn makes him easier to work with.
"Good. Can you give me an example?"
"I have changed my mind about the Batman. He injures people for the sheer fun of it. I did not see Harvey for myself, but word travels fast. He really is a terrible person and should be hated for his misdeeds."
I cannot help but scowl at him. He knows he is not tricking me, that I can tell he is lying from the playful tone in his voice, and yet he insists on doing it anyway. It is sad, seeing someone with such a developed intellect resorting to such childish behavior. I must reward it though, for it is far more desirable than the violent outbursts he is capable of. His eyes follow my hands as I withdraw the disgusting hat from the drawer in my desk. He takes it eagerly without hesitation, another sign of progress.
"Do you feel differently now that you have decided that you hate Batman?"
He closes his eyes as he sets the hat on his head, breaths coming slow and deep as he enters that state of mind which leaves him cold and monotone. When he opens them again he examines me more closely, gaze lingering on my hands for a few moments before returning to my face.
"Yes. I feel a great emptiness, a crushing loneliness. I had thought him a friend, in a strange sort of way. He was the only person left who ever paid me any attention. You talk to me because it is your job, but if this were not the case you would run screaming from my presence like all the rest. I thought he found me interesting, but now that I know he simply enjoys beating the shit out of people wearing costumes, what do I have left?"
The confession catches me off guard. His face is as blank as his voice; I cannot decipher mischief or true sadness in his features.
"Do you have any sort of support system you can turn to? Is there anyone here you could talk to on a daily basis, someone who might be willing to think of you as a friend?"
He gives a single stiff, humorless ha.
"Who the hell would want to be friends with the Scarecrow? Most of the patients piss their pants if I so much as look at them, and the other rogues mock me for my failures. I am surrounded by people, but I might as well be the loneliest man on Earth."
"Can you remember when you first started feeling this way?"
"Has there ever been a time when I did not? Well, perhaps once. A girl's affections feel like the best thing in the world, when you have them, but you know how women are. They lead you on only to betray you, or like delicate flowers they pass on to leave you utterly alone."
He is not tilting his head forward to let the shadows hide his eyes like last time, so they bore into me as if he is trying every second to see into my soul.
"What happened to her?"
"She died. It was a car wreck. The only thing that ever returned my love died."
I feel a lump building in my throat and reach for the cup of water on my desk. He continues as I start drinking.
"Is it really better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? Do you take salt after your sugar? It only makes the pain greater, knowing that you will never be with her again. Do you know what makes it even worse?"
I shake my head.
"Knowing that it is someone else's fault that she is gone. A friend was responsible for keeping himself clear-headed enough to drive her and several others home from the party that night, but he got behind the wheel intoxicated. Even worse, he survived the accident that killed his passengers. I was still young and naïve. I could not understand why someone who had that much responsibility, who held another's life in their hands, could be so careless with it."
He pauses, but I am fascinated by his story and motion for him to continue.
"He ran and hid, started a new life for himself, but I never forgot what he did. Years later, after crafting my new identity and the tools that came with it, I tracked him down. I made a special kind of my fear toxin just for him. As well as fear it drags up the greatest source of guilt in a person's life and forces them to experience the memory through the eyes of their victims. I watched him writhe for several minutes as his mind turned to jelly. When I prodded him with my foot it was too much for his over-stimulated brain to handle, and he ran headfirst through a window. We were several stories up."
He might as well be wearing a mask, for the lack of pleasure or anger or any other reasonable emotion that should be found on his face. I try to think of him as a robot that will give me the answers if I ask my questions in the right ways.
"If it were not for your acts of revenge, you would be a free man. Do you ever regret doing things like that?"
"Freedom is an illusion. We all want to see justice done, but only those with power get their way. I deliver justice with my toxins. Batman delivers justice with his fists. You and people like you attempt to deliver justice by keeping us locked up here, as the law orders you to. I made that man pay for killing those people. You keep us here and treat us, but we do not get any better and the community is not any safer with all the breakouts. I have done more than you to make the world a better place, and for that I am not sorry."
A tired sigh escapes my lips. He is slipping into another of his delusions of grandeur, and I do not feel like fighting him to turn the focus of the conversation around. I press the button under my desk and lean back in my chair as the guard opens the door.
This time he is prepared for the disturbing gaze that greets him. He meets Crane's eyes with an impassive, almost bored expression. They engage in this awkward staring contest for several moments before the guard steps into the room and points at the hat.
"Come on buddy, toss it to the doc and let's go."
He remains motionless, like a child pretending not to hear a parent.
"Don't make me get physical on your bony ass. You like being still? I can give you a vacation in the infirmary, get a nice bed set up for you next to Dent."
I bury my face in my hand. Crane stands up slowly, and I think I can see the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corners of his lips. He throws the hat weakly and it drops in front of my desk, forcing me to get up and fetch it. As soon as I stand straight again he leans in toward me and I jump back involuntarily.
"Good heavens doctor, I believe that guard just threatened me. I am now in grave fear for my wellbeing. What kind of establishment are you running here?"
The guard crosses the room with all the grace of a charging rhino. I quickly step in front of Crane, not so much worried for his safety as tired of being forced to put up with these hot-headed idiots every day. He stops in front of me, eyes fixed over my shoulder on the taller man. I press my hand into the beginnings of a headache in my temple.
"I really, really don't want to have to report you. You have no idea how much paperwork that is. Can I trust you to play nice, or do I have to waste someone else's time by calling him in to escort you?"
The guard mumbles and rolls his eyes. Something touches my shoulder and I jump, cursing myself silently for losing my composure yet again. Crane smiles down at me.
"Thank you, doctor. I look forward to our next session. I'm sorry if it got a bit gloomy for a while there, but you did decide to make a job out of listening to other people's problems. How lucky you are, able to go to bed each night without such tragedy in your own life weighing you down."
The guard takes a hold of his shoulder, and I am surprised when he does not resist. He is still smiling as he is led out of my office. Disturbingly, I think it is the most honest smile I have ever seen him wear.
Author's Notes: Emotion used- edgy
My first time writing for Batman, and he doesn't have much to say. Hopefully it comes across that he did not mean to hurt Two-Face in whatever epic battle they just had. I like the idea that he is not completely desensitized by all that he has seen and done, that he is doing this because he still cares and not to vent his frustrations.
Dr. Durante wishes he was fast enough to get that mask.
Crane seems to get creepily cheerful when he picks up on the doctor's bad mood. He is also a master of lies, which confuses things further.
