Hey, guys, I'm back. Sorry about leaving you guys hanging. Between tests and art projects, I've barely had time to don't worry, things will be back to normal soon. I was a bit hesitant on whether to continue this as Chapter 1 or to make it it's own chapter. I have decided it would be its own chapter. Also, to all those who left me a review, thank you so much. I really appreciate what you think about my stories, as well as any constructive criticism that you might have. I'm always striving to get better and to make the characters as real as possible.
Anyway, enough about me. Back to the story.
Disclaimer: I in no way own Jonathan, Becky or any of the other characters in this story. Those belong to DC. If I did, JonathanxBecky would be an official couple and the New 52 wouldn't have happened.
As Becky was walked along the halls of the insane asylum, guard at either end of her, she couldn't help but wonder who she would be seeing. Doubtless she would get some stiff-backed medical poser who just wanted to become famous for getting one of the Rogues' cases. At least, that was what Crane had told her. She had no idea what to expect. This psychiatrist could be anyone. And with how the guards were treating her, she knew to be on her guard.
Hopefully, she wouldn't bite anyone's head off, although she was certainly feeling like it. Between her upset stomach over the undercooked food and the stress of Arkham itself, she didn't know if she would survive here. It was little wonder why Crane or any of the other rogues hated this place.
Well, duh. It's an insane asylum full of mentally disabled and psychotic people. Of course it was not made to be comfortable, she scolded herself, her hands reaching to brush a stray, curly hair from her face, only to find that her arms couldn't reach that far. She growled softly in annoyance, before sufficing to blow it away from her face and leave it at that.
Soon, they stopped at a wooden door. On it, in bold letter read DR. JOAN LELAND, Ph. D. Slowly, she opened the door, bracing herself for who might be inside.
To her surprise, inside, sitting comfortably at her desk reading her report, was a young, slender African-American lady, looking barely like she was out of medical school herself, much less her doctorate.
The woman, whom Becky assumed to be Dr. Leland, looked up from the file and smiled at her. "Ah, Ms. Albright, come right in."
Becky hesitantly walked towards her, her legs slightly shuffling across the floor. She still wasn't used to taking big steps yet with both feet, so she settled for slightly shuffling them across the floor, her arms slightly out in habit to keep her balanced.
"Have a seat," Dr. Leland requested, her eyes warm and searching her carefully. She could never be too sure with her patients, as many of the rogues were unpredictable and prone to fits. But this girl looked like she was stable, so she averted her eyes soon enough. "So, Rebecca-"
"It's Becky," the redhead interrupted, slightly irritated. She hated her full first name. She felt that it didn't fit her at all. And yet every single member of the staff insisted on calling her that. It was irritating, to say the least.
"-Becky, I am assigned to be your psychiatrist for your stay at Arkham Asylum. My name is Dr. Leland. I will be in charge of your rehabilitation as well as your medication that you will be receiving."
" I see," she said, her eyes scanning the room, noting anything that could keep her attention away from the fact that she was being interrogated by a psychiatrist. "My guess we're going to be doing my diagnosis first, aren't we?"
"That is correct. For the most part, you seem to not have anything mentally worrisome to worry about. You have a mild case of ADD and ADHD, as well as OCD. These symptoms are common in many young adults that are diagnosed." She looked at the young rogue. "Which is why I'm confused. Why exactly did you take the insanity plea when you are not the least bit insane? Didn't you realize what you'd be getting into?"
"Ah, right to the questions, I take it," Becky replied with a small laugh, reminding Leland eerily of one of her previous sessions with Crane. And, was it just her imagination, or did she spy a brief flash of green in one of her eyes? "Very well, ask away. But I'm sure you are aware that there are some questions that I won't be answering."
"Yes, of course, Miss Albright," Leland replied, make sure her tape recorder was turned on and her clipboard filled with enough blank pieces of paper to write down notes. "Now then, about my previous questions?"
"Alright. I took the insanity plea because that was the only way I could make sure that I didn't get killed. Scarecrow has quite a few enemies, and since I am associated with him, so do I. Besides, not all the patients here are insane. As for your second question, Doctor, yes, I did know what I was getting into, but I felt I had no choice in the matter."
"Was this matter choosing to go to Arkham or choosing to join the Scarecrow?" Leland asked curiously, writing down her response down in her notebook.
"Both," Becky replied, slightly itching at the starchy material of her jumpsuit. "But I'd rather be with him than in this dreary place."
"And why would that be, Becky?"
The redhead smiled. "You may not believe this, but the Scarecrow has helped me more than you would expect." She took a look at the analog clock on the wall. "But it seems that we're all out of time."
"Yes, we are. Thank you for your time."
Becky snorted. "Not like I had any choice."
Leland chuckled. "Yes, but you have cooperated better than most patients."
As the guards came in, Becky smiled at her. The doctor seemed quite a bit nicer than what Crane had said. Who would have thought I would have found the nicest doctor in Arkham?
"So, um, Bert," she said, reading the guard's nametag. "Where exactly are we going next?"
"Group therapy," he replied gruffly, taking out another piece of chewing tobacco and crunching it in his mouth. "And don't you be making any trouble now, you hear? Otherwise, we're going to have a little talk, lady or not."
She smirked. What she wouldn't give to knock that stinking man's block off.
She frowned. Where is that coming from? She thought, confused. I'm not usually this aggressive. She shook her head, blamed it on the uncomfortable atmosphere, and kept walking, eventually being lead towards two double doors, where she assumed was where group therapy took place.
Group therapy, a program engineered to help keep the inmates socialized, was a relatively small program under Arkham's very brief schedule of entertainment. With a group of inmates no bigger than 5-6 people, it was one of the smallest of the scheduled events, and for good reason. With Arkham very understaffed due to the other rogues' breakouts, especially the Joker's, the group needed to be monitored closely to make sure no chaos would erupt. Many times, the patients were given someone familiar or friendly with them to keep the chaos under control, as well as to try to keep causalities to a minimum.
That's what Becky remembered hearing when she had eavesdropped on the guard her first day. She knew that Jonathan was likely to be in there, as well as Edward, Harley, Ivy, and perhaps the Joker. She shuddered at the thought of the Joker. Her encounter with him had left her with a healthy fear of being near the madman. Hopefully, Harley would be there to keep him busy.
As the guards opened the doors and escorted her in, she could see that her guess was correct. Jonathan and Edward were playing chess in the corner, the Joker was on the couch, watching a small TV hooked into the ceiling, with Harley cuddled next to him, and Ivy was talking lovingly to a small flower in a vase.
As she walked in, Jonathan turned from his spot in the corner, calling her over with his eyes and a slight tilt of his head.
Smirking, she joined them over by their small chess table; sitting between the two genius rogues, making sure to give Joker a wide birth as she passed him.
Currently, the game was in the process of being completed, with almost all of the pawns gone as well as two black rooks, two white bishops, and a black knight. Most of the remaining pieces were trapped, with both sides guarding against each other so that only the queens, kings, and three of the knights were available to move.
Jonathan moved his remaining pawn, eyeing Edward's white knight critically. He was very close to getting a checkmate. The white king was just in the right position. All he needed was for Edward to get cocky enough that he would lose sight of just how close the master of fear was to victory.
The Riddler moved his knight, and Jonathan closed in for the kill. Just as he was about to put his piece in place and call checkmate, the psychologist that was assigned to the group came in, calling for everybody to gather around her.
"Crap!" Jonathan cursed, his fist clenched in frustration. And just when he was getting to the good part, too. He glared at Edward's smug, grinning face as the man patted his shoulder.
"Better luck next time, eh, Johnny?" he said, swaggering to his seat as the tall man seethed.
Jonathan growled under his breath. He hated being called Johnny. That was always what Granny used to call him, and he wanted everything to do with her to burn in whatever layer of hell the old hag had ended up going.
"Forget about him," Becky replied as she walked towards her seat. "He's an idiot anyway."
"Hey!" Edward cried.
Becky just grinned, taking a seat between Harley and Ivy.
"Now that we are all here," said the psychiatrist, adjusting the clipboard in her hands. She was rather petite woman, with long, curly blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and blue eyes that seemed to match the scrubs she was wearing. "I'd like to open this session by talking about our feelings."
Crane groaned.
"Is there something you would like to share with us, Mr. Crane?" she asked, politely.
"Its Dr. Crane, Dr. …" he squinted at her tag, adjusting the glasses on his nose. "…Wesley, is it? I'd rather hope you won't forget that," he said, contempt clear in his voice. "And, if you want my honest opinion, I don't much care for these petty discussions."
"And why might that be, Dr. Crane?" she asked, writing his thoughts down on her clipboard.
"Oh, Oh, I know, teacher," the Joker said enthusiastically, practically hopping in his seat. "I think that he just doesn't want to say anything about his new giiiirrrrlllfriend."
"Excuse me?" Crane growled, one of his eyes briefly flashing from their normally placid sky blue to a vivid, flaming yellow.
"Ohohoho, it is true, isn't it?" The Joker jumped on his chair, rocking it side to side as he chanted: "Johnny and Beck-y sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."
"Shut up, clown!" Crane snarled, shooting up from his seat and pointing his long, bony index finger at the clown. "My relationship with Miss Albright is strictly professional."
The clown just continued to laugh. "Yeah, right. And Ivy doesn't have a thing for ol' bacon-face."
"That was one-time thing, and you know it, clown!" Ivy hissed, the plant in her arms making a slight shree. "Besides, last time I saw you, weren't you at the red-lights district downtown?"
"You WHAT?!" Harley shrilly screeched, practically bursting eardrums, shattering glass and causing dogs to howl ten miles downtown. "You went to the red-lights district without me?"
"Now, now, pooh-" Joker backpedaled, his hands up and trying to calm the enraged blonde.
"Don't 'pooh' me, Mistah!" she snarled, practically grabbing him by his jumpsuit and shoving him towards her. "You promised you would only go there with me!"
"Can we please just get back on topic?" the psychiatrist whimpered, huddling in her chair away from the two psycho clowns. She hadn't thought things would get this out of hand on her first day of the job.
"Sure," Crane drawled creepily, taking out a small notepad and crayon, as pencils and pens were banned following Joker's latest breakout. "What are you feelings right now, Dr. Wesley? Uncomfortable? Anxious? Scared?"
Becky's eyes widened at the utter chaos before her. "Is it always like this?" she whispered to the Riddler, who was sitting two seats from her.
"Sometimes. You should see what happens during art therapy," he replied, enjoying the show that Harley, Ivy, and Joker were putting on as they tried to strangle each other.
Finally, the poor woman couldn't stand it any longer. "I-I can't take this anymore! Guards! Guards!" she yelped hysterically, turning and fleeing from the encirclement of Rogues.
The Scarecrow sighed as the guards rushed in. "And just when she was about to crack. How disappointing."
Becky just shrugged as she put her hands behind her back. "Perhaps it's just not your day,"
"Perhaps," Jonathan replied, tilting his head to adjust his glasses on his head. One side was bent at an awkward angle, and that caused his glasses to become hard to control. He would need to find a better-fitting pair once he escaped.
And just before the guards approached them, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Becky, be careful what you say. Not everyone has our best interests in mind."
She blinked at him as he leaned away from her, his hands forcibly cuffed behind his back as he was roughly marched through the double doors and back to his cell.
As the guards finished cuffing her and more rushed to handle the Joker and Harley, Becky couldn't help but wonder, as she was being lead away, what Crane had meant. She knew that everything wouldn't be sunshine and unicorns in this place, but she trusted that the psychiatrists still wanted to do their job, and surely protocols must be in place in order to keep such abuses of power under control.
After all, she thought, if such things were to happen, surely this place wouldn't have stayed in business.
But little did she know just how deeply the corruption of Arkham was rooted in the hearts and minds of its inhabitants.
