AN: We'll presume that they moved him from the basement to the sewer system when the experiments began. Written while listening to Filter's 'Hey Man, Nice Shot'-those of you who watch Supernatural, it's the song that plays in the season one episode with the shifter, during the…erm…shedding. You know, teeth popping out. Yay.

Johanna Crane-Not that-! It must be so nice to be you. Apart from the scare tactics he attempted to employ-hurling himself at the cell door every time someone walked by, for instance-moving him was a nightmare. Doing anything with him was a nightmare, actually. Several people quit, leaving us short-staffed, and he eventually did maul somebody. God, the paperwork...

"Are you sure about this, Doc?"

"Doctor." came the automatic correction. "Of course I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

The question was rhetorical, but only idiots applied for the position of Arkham Security Guard.

"No offense, Doc, but you're no linebacker."

If he had been willing to loosen his professional standards, he might have facepalmed. As it was, he reached up to adjust his glasses and snuck in a quick nose-bridge-rub.

"As long as the shock collar works, there is nothing to worry about. Just keep one hand on the button."

Which, really, should be standard procedure regardless of the doctor involved. They'd already had a near-biting not two weeks ago, at feeding time. The nurse refused to go near the man again and Kitty had backed her up. He'd have to talk to her sometime, see how scarred she was from the whole experience…

"Go and fetch him."

Nobody had ever tried a therapy session with Croc before, and he knew for a fact that there was a betting pool on whether he'd be eaten. Morbid. Very morbid. And ridiculous. He had no intention of being eaten, and that was final.

Croc barely fit into the room and he didn't even try for the couch. Jonathan made a mental note to get a better one-then, perhaps, progress could be made.

"Hello, Mr. Jones."

The creature sniffed the air and looked down. Perhaps a muzzle could be ordered…they had normal-sized bite guards, but they wouldn't even reach all the way around in this case.

"Hiya, Doc."

He kept the correction to himself this time. Shock collar or not, there was no reason to antagonize the monster. Besides, he hoped to work up to removing the collar.

Someday.

Maybe.

"How are you today, Mr. Jones?" His only response was a deep chuckle. Fine. "Apologies for the lack of a couch. Next time we'll have worked something out."

This time he was answered with a full-blown laugh.

"There won't be a next time, Doc. Unless you can do therapy in here." He patted his stomach. Jonathan forced a tight smile.

"We will see." He settled into his chair and motioned the guard to the door. "Are you comfortable so far?"

Croc snorted and shook his head a bit, probably trying to get comfortable around the collar.

"Bit cramped down there, Doc. And dry."

"We'll see what we can do about that." Ah, the lies always did come easily.

"Food's bad to, if you know what I mean."

"You'll have to get used to that, I'm afraid."

Croc growled and snapped his jaws, earning a nasty shock from the guard.

"Settle down!"

"You little bitch…"

"That's enough. Leave that with me and step outside, you're not helping."

"But…"

"Out."

He obviously didn't like it, but he did as he was told. Jonathan fiddled with the dial a little before placing the remote in his lap.

"There. Now, where were we?"

"Tryin' to earn my trust, Doc?" Croc snorted. "You'll taste good, even if you aren't much more'n a mouthful."

He hit the button and held it until Croc was down, wheezing.

"I suggest you mind your manners with me, Mr. Jones." he said quietly. "You will behave like a civilized individual while in this office, is that clear?"

Croc growled and he hit the button again, cutting off any further complaints.

"Is. That. Clear?" He didn't get an answer. It was clear, then. "You're going to go back to your cell now, Mr. Jones. Next time I see you, I expect you to be in a better mood."

He opened the door and summoned the guard in.

"We're done for today. Take him back to his cell. We'll try again on Thursday."

"Sure thing, Doctor Crane."

Much better.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jones."

Croc growled at him but made no move to attack him.

He would call that progress.

THE END