Their next five meetings were comparable. They would discuss any number of abstract concepts at length, often losing track of both time and location. However, as soon as she mentioned Arkham, or the Scarecrow, or any number of things in immediate reality, he would grow cold and distant, if not outright rude. By some unspoken agreement, she only called him Diedrich. Molly was getting sick of it. That was why she walked into their seventh meeting with a plan.

She straightened in her chair and crossed her legs as she waited for him in front of his cell. Finally, the door opened and the skinny professor tumbled in, pushed, no doubt, by an overzealous guard. His initial glare of annoyance was replaced by an almost paternal smile when he saw her.

"Ah, Molly. If I'd known that that was the reason for my summons, I would have come that much faster." He sat cross-legged on the floor, grinning broadly. "Now, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the possible involvement of African monarchs in the development of-"

"Professor Crane."

He flinched. She did her best to ignore him.

"We need to talk about what happened. With Bromley."

"Molly, I'm actually a little tired." He got up to call the guard. "The nights here are surprisingly long, and-"

"I'm not stupid."

He froze, then slowly turned around and sat across from her. He stared at his fingers as they nervously steepled and pulled at one another.

"I'm s-sorry, Molly. I didn't mean to suggest as much."

"Don't apologize for that." She pinched her forehead, trying to remember what she had meant to say. "Just… don't apologize. I'm not mad. We just need to talk. You know…" She trailed off.

He sighed, getting to his feet. "I don't see what there is to talk about, to be quite frank. Much as I hate to admit it, the flying rodent was right. It was only a matter of time before I "reverted to type." Bluntly put, I'm a violent sadist." He shrugged. "That probably won't change."

"That's an excuse."

"What?" He was genuinely confused. After all, it was perfectly straightforward to him.

"You're a psychologist. You of all people should know the dangers of using a diagnosis as a crutch!" She rose to her feet, barely noticing for her anger. "You're so stupid! So blind! Do you understand the massive degree of cognitive dissonance you're demonstrating? You seem to believe that a) you alone, of all of those here, are incurable, b) your illness is a reason for everything you do, and c) while you have to maintain a ridiculous standard of academic ability, you have no compulsion to maintain social ability! It's flat-out irresponsible!"

"Molly, please listen. I-"

"Don't you dare! You are not exempt from culpability, and you will give me a better, or at least more specific, reason for your actions than sadism!" She took a deep breath. "Is that clear?"

He nodded meekly. Realizing that she was on her feet, she sat down. She even gave him a quick smile, gone before he could return it. "Now," she said, calmly adjusting her glasses. "Why did you attack Matthew Bromley?"

There was a pause. "Because he hurt you."

"Why did that bother you?"

"You mean it wouldn't have bothered you? That monster hit you, grabbed at you, he… He hurt you. Wouldn't you have cared if it had been someone else?"

"The question isn't my capacity to care. It's yours. You regularly terrorize innocents. Why was this scenario different?"

"Because I know you, and you're… You don't deserve it."

"And other people do?"

"No, but they're not as important."

"I see. So, I'm important to you?"

"I didn't say that!" The next pause was almost a minute long. "…But yes."

She nodded. "Have you ever considered that there are others who have similar emotions about your victims?"

"Yes, but that's immaterial. My victims are ordinary, mindless dullards. If anything, I make their shallow lives more interesting."

"Your file says that you've been prevented from poisoning Gotham's water supply."

"So?"

"That's an indiscriminate attack. You had no way of knowing the temperament, IQ, or value of each person involved in that "experiment." That's what you called it, right? An experiment?"

"Yes. Well, I, um… I didn't think about that."

"I didn't think so. Furthermore, there are myriad qualities that can be used to differentiate individuals, any one of which can be used as a criterion for superiority. Therefore, how can you know that your criteria for acceptable victims are sufficient? You might as well be judging your victims on their eye color or religion. In fact, those might've been better. At least they're concretely applicable."

She waited for his scathing retort. It didn't come. Instead, there was a silence of several minutes.

"Molly?"

"Yes, Professor Crane?"

"Do you think it was right for me to hurt Bromley?"

She paused. "I don't know. It was certainly much less wrong than other things you've done. That'll have to be enough."

She stood. "I'll be back tomorrow. We can talk about the burial mounds then. That is what you wanted to talk about, right?"

"Yes, it is. I'll try to hurry here."

He got up to call the guard, then turned back to face her.

"Molly?"

"Yes, Professor Crane?"

"I'll be sure to… think about it. In the future. And, um… Thank you."

"Thank you, professor."

He nodded and turned around to call the guard.