AN: It's snowing here in Indiana. At least, my part of it. And by snowing I mean almost a blizzard. I'd absolutely love it if my snow boots weren't leaking.

If you're wondering where I've been all week, I'd like to say doing schoolwork. And it has been schoolwork, for the most part. Thursday, however, was spent watching the horror series Marble Hornets (www. youtube. com/ user/ MarbleHornets?blend=2&ob=1&rclk=cti)on Youtube. I highly recommend it. Just not at night.

Thanks for the reviews!


"Round your head, flowers gay bring you slumber today.

Go to sleep now and rest; may these hours be blessed."

—"Brahms Lullaby"

"He consented to hypnosis?"

The staff break room in Arkham Asylum was nicer than the facility's rec room, but only in the sense that carpet and walls were free of stains and crayon markings. The paint on the walls was still peeling—the hospital's funding wasn't based on the appearance of the employees' areas, so there was never any budget devoted to redecorating—and the carpet still worn from years of use. Joan was fairly sure that the only thing in the room less than five years old was the calendar. If there was a way to avoid replacing that, the administration would have utilized it in a heartbeat.

At least the break room didn't have that faint odor of urine that no amount of bleach could remove from the rec room.

"I asked him while he was still coming off the sedatives." She raised her coffee mug to her lips and drank, watching over the rim as Ruth added creamer to her own cup. "I'm sure that helped."

Ruth's smile didn't reach her dark-circled eyes, but Joan wasn't offended by the realization. She was tired. Exhausted. They all were, to a matter of degree, and Ruth more than any of them. Considering the identity of her most difficult patient, it was to be expected.

Her most difficult patient who had managed to get Jonathan talking, as Ruth had informed her while the Joker was being strapped down for the MRI. Joan's hand clenched around the handle of her mug with such force that she was surprised the ceramic didn't splinter. He's manipulative. She tried to breathe deeply without betraying her frustration. It's what he does. He coaxes people into doing what he wants. Especially the mental ill. Jonathan was brilliant, but he was also entirely unhinged, which had to make things easier for the clown.

It didn't make her failure to get her patient talking sting any less.

"Do you think he'll allow himself to be induced?" Ruth's spoon clinked against the sides of her mug as she stirred. "I mean, you said he hasn't been open to traditional therapy."

True, and Joan still wasn't sure why she'd had the idea to introduce Jonathan to hypnotherapy in the first place. Jonathan could be open to the power of suggestion, but considering how resistant he'd been in their sessions, she doubted it. Truth be told, she was running out of ideas. And if Hugo Strange could work miracles, and this did work, she could only imagine how much more that would sting. "Strange says he's had experience with anxious patients."

"And?" There was a faint glimmer to Ruth's eyes. Something in Joan's tone must have betrayed her.

"And Jonathan might have received a mild sedative with his usual medications this morning."

In all the years they'd worked together, she'd never become fully accustomed to Ruth's giggling. It was such a light, happy sound, so different from her usual demeanor, which ranged from stern to wry with little variation. Not that it was unnerving. If anything, hearing Ruth laugh always brightened her day. "He's going to be furious with you."

Joan shrugged, placing a hand over her mouth to conceal her grin. "If it helps."

"I can't tell you how often I've said that about the Joker."

That name again. It wasn't often she developed a dislike of a patient she'd never treated. Then again, it wasn't often that a murderer with a penchant for garish makeup made more headway with a patient than she could. "How did he handle the MRI?"

Her already-diminishing smile faded entirely. The look that replaced it wasn't unhappy, just thoughtful. "I don't think he likes enclosed spaces."

So the Clown Prince of Crime feared something. She was disgusted with herself for the flicker of amusement that gave her. What is wrong with me? "Did he struggle?"

"No, but he was pale when it was over. Paler than usual, I mean."

"Can't say that I blame him." She'd had an MRI two years ago, for a knee injury, and even with a lit chamber and earplugs to distract from the sound, it had been miserable.

"No, neither can I. Still—" Ruth shrugged, wiping a stray hair from the shoulder of her blouse. "It's strange. This entire time I've been trying to avoid falling into the belief that he's different. I've been reminding myself time and time again that he's only human, that he's not special, and that I can't hold him to a different standard than anyone else. But it's still surprising that he feels fear."

Joan had done that with the Joker as well, without realizing it. Only I placed him below everyone else, not above them. She'd marginalized his humanity, neglecting to factor in things such as a need for companionship, and she'd been amused at the thought of his discomfort. All because he'd gotten her friend to speak when she couldn't.

Joan could have slapped herself. "Ruth?"

"Yes?"

"How did the Joker seem after he spoke with Jonathan? Before you put him in the MRI, I mean."

"I don't know." She sat her mug on the table. "Like his usual self, I suppose; flirting with the nurses securing him, and all that. He wasn't as loud as usual, but he was a lot livelier than when we were through. Why?"

"Because after they talked, Jonathan spoke to me when he woke up. Not very much," she added, on seeing Ruth's look of surprise. "Just a few words. But he did speak. I don't know if it was the sedatives or—"

"Or having a conversation." Ruth's fingers tapped over the pack of cigarettes in her pocket, biting gently on her lip as she thought. "Are you suggesting—"

"I wouldn't let them speak to each other without supervision. Or orderlies. Or restraints, on his part." It was an insane suggestion and she knew it, driven by desperation and the need to repent for her thoughts on the clown, even if no one knew them but her. Still, if it worked…

"Arkham's never going to approve this. Not with the two highest security risk patients in the—"

"He can't keep the Joker away from other people forever." Even if it was the safest course of action. The patient advocacy groups would realize that he'd had no major infractions in his time there and protest about inhumane treatment. Never mind the fact that the man had opened fire into oncoming traffic, solely to amuse himself. Or tried to blow people up. "Would you be willing to try it?"

Ruth was halfway through sliding the cigarettes out of her pocket before she remembered smoking indoors would set off the fire alarms and shoved them back in. She made a move that began as an attempt to brush her hair back, and ended with her running a hand through her hair. "What the hell. It might get him to give up his obsession with that damn dog."


Dr. Strange's office, being located at a corner of the building, had two windows; one on each outward facing side. One might think the sunlight—on the days when the sun actually shined in Gotham—would be a distraction to the process of hypnosis, and that the blinds would remain shut year round. They didn't. Strange had explained to Joan once that the patterns of sunlight on the wall could be useful for patients to focus on. Eye fixation, it was called. She'd heard of it before, when she'd studied hypnotherapy in grad school. But it had never been a focus of her studies, and she had no idea how to utilize it.

It was beside the point, anyway, because eye fixation only worked on the suggestible. Whatever he used on Jonathan, Joan doubted that would be it.

Strange stood as they opened the door, sliding on his glasses. "Hello, Dr. Crane."

Jonathan didn't say anything. Joan stepped into the office behind him, moving to his side to observe his reactions. There was no change in expression at being referred to by his former title, disinterested as ever.

"I know Joan's already told you what we'll be trying today."

She wondered if Strange's voice was naturally that low and relaxed, or if it was something hypnotherapists worked at.

"But I wanted you to know, once again, that I only want to see if you're able to go into a trance, today. If you are unable, that's all right, and if you are able, you'll come back up as soon as you are under. All right?"

Jonathan was silent. Joan had just resolved not to try coaxing an answer out of him when he nodded, slowly.

"Good. You may sit, if you like."

Hugo Strange's office had the most comfortable chairs in the asylum. Once, they'd been stiff and hard-backed as the furnishings in all the other offices when he took his position at Arkham, and when months of arguing for better accommodations had proven fruitless, Strange had taken to letting the patients sit in his own chair, behind his desk. The administration had quickly realized the way this looked to their funders, and within the week Strange's office was furnished with the slightly-reclining, soft leather chairs.

If Jonathan appreciated the upgrade of furniture, he didn't show it. Joan took the seat to his right—better than her office chair, even—and Strange sat on his desk, hands resting on his knees. "Make yourself comfortable, Dr. Crane. I'm going to speak to you, and you can choose whether or not to listen to what I'm saying, much as you can choose whether or not to keep your eyes open. Just sit back."

Jonathan's eyes weren't on him, though they were focused in his general direction. She wasn't sure if he was listening.

"While I'm speaking, I'd like for you to focus on the words I'm saying. Not just their meaning together, but the words themselves. What they mean, how they sound, and the sound of my voice. At the same time, I want you to focus on the other sounds. Inside the office, and from the hall, and outside. You can listen to the sounds from within yourself, if you like, your heart, and your breathing, or Joan's."

Jonathan glanced at her, if only for a second.

"And as you listen to the sounds around you, you may find them relaxing…and interesting…and you can hear all of them at once, but I want you to focus only on the sound of my voice, and listen to it rise and fall. Rise…and fall, and you find yourself relaxing with the words and leaning back in your chair."

And Jonathan did lean back, to her surprise, if only just.

"And as you relax, become aware of your body and notice the feel of the chair below you, and the weight of your legs without the chair's support. Feel your arms on the armrests, and the weight there, the heaviness, and without moving, feel the texture of your clothing and the chair beneath you."

Blinking, Jonathan leaned back a bit more. Joan realized that she was holding her breath and exhaled slowly. Quietly.

"I want you to keep listening to my voice, and imagine the texture of sounds, and the shape that the word would have, or the color. Imagine that the words have a weight, and that their weight is pressing down on you gently, making your body feel heavier and making you relax deeper and deeper. Just relax…"

Was it wishful thinking on her part, or was he blinking more frequently than usual?

"Now focus on your breathing, and become aware of how you're breathing deeper and deeper and allowing yourself to relax more and more, and as you breathe listen to the sounds around you and their weight and the way your body is relaxing into the chair, the way you can feel yourself going numb from the weight, and letting go of your body as you relax."

He was blinking more. Rapidly.

"Focus on your breathing, now. Be aware of each breath in and out, steady and gentle. In and out. In…and out. And realize that, as you breathe, you can focus on your breathing and ignore everything else. Ignore everything, let it drift out of your mind as you lie back to sleep and let go of your thoughts. Let your mind wander, as if you are dreaming, and enjoy letting go. Let yourself become comfortable, and go deeper and deeper into sleep."

Jonathan closed his eyes, opened them. Closed them again. This time, they stayed closed.

"And while you sleep, there is nothing to trouble to you, nothing to worry about. Just let your mind drift, and breathe, and see how easy it is to let go. Feel your body, become aware of its weight and size and as you breathe, let it go. Let yourself drift away, and relax. Relax, and release the tension inside. Be calm, and go deeper, and realize all the things that you could do, but can't be bothered. Relax, and let go. Let go of everything, and go deeper until there is nothing else. And realize how nice it is to let go of everything, to just relax…and sleep. Jonathan?"

Jonathan didn't say anything.

Strange smiled, his glasses reflecting the sunlight from the window. "I think this is going to work very well."

Joan could have kissed the man. She wasn't sure how she managed not to, considering that she was already struggling not to shout with joy. "I think it will."


AN: "Brahms Lullaby" (www. youtube. com/ watch?v=t894eGoymio&translated=1 ) popped up in my very first fic as an example of something you would not want to sing to a tense person. However, the lyrics I went for with the opening quote are not in the version with the extraordinarily creepy "If God will, thou shalt wake, when the morning doth break" line.

This would be the Dr. Hugo Strange from the comics, of course. Pre-villainy.

There are different induction methods of hypnosis, with eye fixation (stare at this and feel your eyes get heavier) being the most common. The one Jonathan undergoes in this chapter is known as an overload induction. It's generally used on anxious or overly analytical clients, or used when other inductions fail. The idea of it is overload the senses (focusing on breathing, words, sounds, textures, etc., all at once) so that the client doesn't have time to worry about the procedure itself.

On a side note, I've been hypnotized before, at after prom in my junior year of high school. And it is awesome. Also, somewhere there exist, for sale, DVDs of myself dancing and imitating a hand puppet and imagining that I'm being attacked by a bird. No, I didn't make that last one up. I believe the induction technique that hypnotist used was relaxation, though it could have been eye fixation, as we were staring at a strobe light-esque thing.