THE BEST MEDICINE
Chapter Four: Losing Hope
***
DISCLAIMER: Everything here is either BTAS, BMOTP or folklore. It's not mine - let's all thank Bob Kane, Warner Brothers and the German peasants of the 18th century. ^_^
A/N:
I hope people actually read author's notes around here. With my other stories I'm not so sure… lol… I mean, sometimes people comment about stuff that was addressed in my comments. ^_^ (Actually, I'll shut up now - I'm just grateful for reviews! THANKS EVERYONE!) I also address what people have said in their reviews.
Ya, I had these two chapters written days ago, but unfortunately… we watched BMOTP around that time… and well… I realized Arthur wasn't quite as hard as I was portraying him. As my sister put it, "He smiles a lot more than you think he does!" So… ya… he's a tough guy to write suddenly. POINT - Had to rewrite these chapters somewhat. BTW, I so don't picture anyone the way their drawn, especially when I write. It's usually live action in my head… weird… ANYWAY, most are more attractive or something… Well, whatever…
CLEARING THIS UP RIGHT NOW - Eddie is suit and tie Eddie. K?
Anyway, hopefully you're reading my comments… and hopefully you're getting all the symbolism… and hopefully these chapters turned out. I'm iffy on them both, unfortunately. (Lost confidence in my characterization.) Hope. Ha, pun not intended. Honestly. Anyway, the symbolism is kinda deep with me most times, people. These dreams aren't pointless. (Some stuff will be understood later though, I suppose.) Anywho, hope this chapter works. I dunno… let me know. Please help me out by reviewing! Thanks! ^_^
***
"There is another story concerning wolves that somebody has probably read to you, which is just as absurd. I am talking about Little Red Riding Hood, an extremely unpleasant little girl who, like the Boy Who Cried Wolf, insisted on intruding on the territory of dangerous animals. You will recall that the wolf, after being treated very rudely by Little Red Riding Hood, ate the little girl's grandmother and put on her clothing as a disguise. It is this aspect of the story that is the most ridiculous, because one would think that even a girl as dim-witted as Little Red Riding Hood could tell in an instant the difference between her grandmother and a wolf dressed in a nightgown…"
- The Reptile Room, Lemony Snicket
***
It was changing its clothes. Changing its very skin.
A small, dark haired toddler watched through the crack of a door.
There it stood, sheep skin around its ankles.
Its dark eyes turned his direction. Startled and frightened he'd be discovered, the child recoiled. It stood, staring at him, expressionless.
Only he knew.
A wolf in sheep's clothing…
~?~?~
"Arthur, be a dear and get my shoes…" Monica cooed.
A dark haired teen didn't hesitate. He was instantly gone, getting the heels she'd left in her dressing room. She was about to go on stage, a beautiful singer… She was everything to him.
Meanwhile, back at the curtain, the blond was having her final touches. Surrounded by friends, she was boasting about all the weight she was losing and all the boys she'd met over the long weekend. She sounded kind of… well… she was gorgeous though. Remarkable voice. Her updo was just awesome! Her eyes striking… her smile… her dress… WOW!
"So… what's with you and Arthur? He's been hanging around a lot."
"Reeves?" she was surprised. "Me and Reeves? You can't be serious."
"Then…" another friend trailed off.
"He's the only reason I'm passing Law." Monica was blunt.
Some giggled, some were surprised…
"So, you're just using him?"
"What did you THINK was going on? Good God, people - I don't think I could be the square's friend, let alone… EW, EW… Miranda, REALLY, I mean, just LOOK at him…"
Shoes hit the floor.
She turned. There was Arthur. HURT. Very hurt. He'd heard everything.
"Arthur…" she started, not sure what to say.
He turned, leaving quickly. He didn't have glasses yet. He dressed like everyone else… his hair was a jelled mess like the rest… He just couldn't understand it. It hurt so bad!
"Arthur! Wait!" she started after him. He didn't, though. No way.
Her director barred the way. "You're on in five…"
"Five's all I need!" she insisted. "The midterm's tomorrow!"
~?~?~
Pachebel Canon. It was complicated and beautiful. Extremely beautiful. It had to be strings though - only strings did the piece justice. They kept trading the many parts about in various, complicated combinations. It was BEAUTIFUL. It kept building and building… just BEAUTIFUL…
They'd started playing it in the darkness for him… soothing beauty…
Now that he was out of the darkness, he still played it. It still soothed. It was almost therapeutic. It made him feel better somehow, though he was still too miserable too speak. Therapeutic…
Therapy. Damn.
Guards would be there momentarily. They were referred to as escorts, as he wasn't actually a prisoner, but they were guards all the same and treated him as though he may escape. Hell, he wanted to escape.
He hadn't spoken the first few days after the darkness had gone. He rarely spoke now. They'd managed to stabilize him enough to leave the little room. Something from Costa Rica had done the trick. For now. Nothing was certain. Who knew what tomorrow would bring… They had to inject him every few hours… They still needed something more permanent. They were still experimenting.
Now he sat in one of Arkham's few hospital-like rooms, in hospital clothes, legs crossed on the bed, his mind blank. Almost - he kept remembering things. Frivolous things. It was all the therapy. GOD, he hated the pointless therapy. He sat listening to the beautiful, complicated strings… hating the therapy…
Sure, it wasn't as bad as the needles… but… GOD… it was so stupid…
As the Amanda Marshal song put it: Everybody's got a story that'll break your heart. Everyone could whine to a shrink about their troubles, their past… everybody! The cab driver, the bartender, the university professor, the life guard… the big city councilman…
His mind rambled like this when it wasn't blank. His expression was so distant, so unhappy… He had to get back to work…
After therapy there would be more needles… eventually his dosage - the fix that kept him from losing his mind to the laughter, the fever…
He had to get out. Simple as that. He had to get out.
~?~?~
Swinging… he was swinging… soaring… laughing…
Edward loved the swings. He pumped, higher and higher. Unlike Katie, he wanted to fly. She sat, lazily drifting beside, lost in thought. She was a little older, his sister… sweet and sorta pretty… for a sister…
He was four and he could fly…
Heaven, how he loved the swing… how he loved to fly…
Now!
Springing out, he soared… soared through the air… so slowly… time seemed to stand still… he was flying… he was about to land… he-
~?~?~
-missed that old swing so much.
Edward Nygma, a few decades older now, was watching a deserted park through dark bars. He stared at the empty swings every time he waited for therapy. He sat in Smyth's office, staring out the window at the drifting swings.
How he missed flying… and Katie… and swings… crisp Autumn Saturdays…
He watched the empty swings drift, lonely and aimless… like him…
He would give anything to see children play on them, laughing, carefree… young and convinced they'd stay so forever… aware of nothing else… able to fly… He'd do anything to see children fly again…
He glanced to the nurse waiting with him. She was folding sheets on her cart, guards outside the door. He turned back to the window, thinking.
Finally, "Nurse, why are there never any children at the park?"
She glanced up, surprised, then confused. "I'm sorry?"
He motioned out the window. "The park. Where are the children?"
How could she tell him?
It was a parking lot.
~?~?~
He had to be quiet. SO quiet. It was raining. Again.
Staring blankly out the window, the brown-red haired boy's mother was in the next room straightening up. Again. Like always. She was sweeping up the shattered glass, up righting the furniture, silently crying, he imagined. He was practically immune.
He just had to be SO QUIET. Not a sound.
Daddy was sleeping. Daddy had a headache. He'd come home angry with the headache again… he always got the headache when he didn't take his medicine… When Daddy didn't get his pills… mum cried…
Lightening flashed and he saw Costello Honorez staring back at him from the neighboring window, across the fence. Rain trickled both windows, but his little best friend was sitting there too, sympathizing as always. He doubted Costello really understood. Frankly, he didn't - he was only three. They were only three.
Costello, a dark Mexican tot, was adorable and friendly. A good friend. Whenever Daddy had the headache, he'd run over to the Honorez place. He'd forgot all about it there. He'd play with Costello. Costello's daddy never got the headache. No, he didn't think Costello had a daddy. His mum was nice though. Real nice. Always brought cookies, treats.
He was trying to think now. Trying… but his mind was too lazy. Things tended to haze. There were always things he was too little to understand. Most things were like that, in fact. His mind didn't process some stuff… just skipped over and carried on…
He watched Costello through the rain. He motioned his little hand in a timid wave. His best friend, his ONLY friend, mimicked the gesture.
Suddenly, lightening crashed again, unexpected. He cried out, alarmed.
He realized his mistake, but it was too late. Just too late.
"EDWARD!"
~?~?~
"Edward?" Dr. Smyth. It was-
Blinking, Nygma realized where he was. Reality. What had he been saying? Oh yes. Honorez. His childhood friend. Right.
He truly wanted to get better and Smyth knew just what to say, what to ask, to make him talk. He always left the sessions feeling better when he played ball. When he talked. He doubted they'd ever let him out again after his last backslide… but hell, he had to TRY to pull things together. He wouldn't spend his life screaming in a padded cell. He had to work his way up in the institution. Had to get status. A better life… even if it was within these walls forever. He had to win back his mind! Unlike most super villains, he sincerely wanted to get better.
~?~?~
Reeves was staring out over the parking lot, uncomfortable. Doctor Caledon Smyth, a serious fellow who reminded him of Billy Zane's Cal Hockley, was sitting behind his desk, silent. Waiting for him to say something. Anything. GOOD LORD IN HEAVEN - he hated this.
"Arthur…" Cal started carefully. "Your leave of absence won't last forever. We have to get you back on your feet-"
"Then why are we wasting time here?" Arthur was blunt, eyes still through the bars. "We should be testing."
"Firstly, your system needs rest. We can't just keep pumping you full of mystery chemicals. There's enough risk in all this - no need to overdo it. Besides, we need time between tests to gauge results. Secondly, physical healing isn't all you need after this affair, believe me. You've been through a serious trauma, Councilor-"
"Must we use such melodramatic terms?" Always blunt, indifferent, cold.
"Councilman…"
"Exactly. Councilman. I've got to get back to work."
"Then play ball." His phrase. Always his phrase.
"Have they replaced me already? I can just see Ripenburg slipping into my spot without a second thought. Runner up, my ass - he bought this town!"
Inside Caledon Smyth was pleased. Progress. He was venting somewhat.
"Isn't that a major part of politics?" Make conversation.
Arthur didn't answer. Damn. Most patients loved to talk. Most criminals wanted attention. Loved it. This guy was the very opposite. If anyone saw him here he'd just DIE. If anyone knew he was here… Wow, there was so much ego wrapped up in there. So cold. So- UGH. The guy just did NOT do personal. He couldn't get personal. It was almost scary. Fortunately, in his line of work he'd seen all types. This sort just took time.
Unfortunately, Reeves didn't have time. There certainly was talk of replacing him. His job hung in the balance. Even if he spilled his life story it would do little good until they discovered a more permanent cure to his ailment, for in truth, that was the more important part - all that kept him here.
He could ask about this Ripenburg character, but that would be stupid. Reeves was smarter than his average patient… by how much he didn't know… but by some. Hm… he'd have to tread carefully. When in doubt, talk about yourself. Get the ball bouncing or however the old saying-
Showing the pictures on his desk, he smiled, "This is my niece, Hope." He doubted Reeves would even look. Surprisingly, he did. He was cold, but polite it seemed.
"She's cute." He didn't smile. Hope certainly was cute, though. No lie.
Asking Reeves about his family was also stupid. No, he had to keep treading. Treading. Goodness, few patients made him feel awkward or uncomfortable… but this man secretly did. He was so… unfeeling… Speaking personally with him was unnatural. Still, he trudged onward, hoping to succeed eventually…
"Ya, I don't see her much these days. My brother Rich and the family moved to Canada. Near Winnipeg, actually. Nice little town…" He trailed off, then came back with an honest realization. "You know something, I've never been to Canada."
"You're not missing much." Reeves really was an ass.
"I dunno. Rich speaks very highly of it. He moved there last year and has never looked back. I mean, it's quiet… less crime…"
Reeves snorted eloquently, "Please. We live in Gotham. ANYWHERE would be an improvement there - and I do mean anywhere." He spoke so simply. So caustically.
"There's a lot of hate in you." Caledon observed simply.
Arthur said nothing - though the comment was most unexpected.
"Councilman, please… if you ever want to get out of here, you have to cooperate. You have to try."
"Doc, must I be MORE candid? I'm not comfortable speaking personally with you-"
"-with ANYONE, Councilor." Cal came in perfectly.
Something ever so slightly slipped through. His armor wasn't as tough as he pretended. That had touched on something, perhaps only slightly, but STILL… it was a reaction…
Arthur, prior to this recent episode in his life, had been a decent enough character in his way. He'd smiled, spoken personally occasionally at parties. Yes, parties - he'd been social. Sort of. Regardless, post his evening confrontation with Jack Napier, things had changed. His world was on the line. Therefore, he was a bit of a bitch, to be blunt.
Suddenly, "Doc, everybody's got a sob story. Everybody. I'm not going to sit here and whine to you about my childhood. If you must know, I had an awesome childhood. I've had an awesome life. I don't need to talk to you about it. I don't need to talk to ANYONE about it!"
He was getting angry. Excellent.
"There's nothing wrong with me! I don't need therapy! Furthermore, I think these sessions are more hinder than help, for incase you haven't noticed - I'm practically SHOUTING!"
Caledon's expression remained noncommittal.
"Hello?" Reeves snapped, though he was simmering down.
"It felt good to get all that pent up frustration towards me out."
"What?"
"Arthur, I'll be candid now - unless you cooperate, Ripenburg really will take your job and you'll be locked up here forever."
Just the way Cal said it… it sounded like a test, a deliberate trigger. He said nothing. Their gazes silently locked. He could and would be stubborn. They could and would let him go home.
This lasted several moments, until a nurse - "Doctor Smyth, Pamela Isley's turn…"
"How nice." Arthur was expressionlessly cutting, caustic. "If I had been making a serious breakthrough we would have been cut off. What an efficient practice you run, Doctor."
Cal smiled, "See you this afternoon, Arthur."
"Why bother?" Reeve's wheelchair was rolled away. He was still thin, especially in his face - his cheeks slightly hollowed in. He would need the chair for a little while yet. A long while, perhaps…
~?~?~
There she was. Beautiful, little Hope. She was curled up in her blankets, fast asleep… a precious smile upon her small face. She was perfect, like a painting. It was all like a painting. She slept on her side… her face precious, heartwarming… facing off the bed…
A strange, heavy breathing came from beside, behind her back…
She slept on… so warm… so wonderful was sleep…
The breathing continued… heavy, frightening…
He knew what was coming. There was no doubt about these things anymore.
The breathing… the brea-
Her eyes opened suddenly, silently startled.
Sitting up slowly, the beautiful child turned to find a wolf in grandma's cap and nightgown curled up under the blankets beside her. It breathed so heavily, eyeing her like a lamb…
She wasn't afraid. She wasn't at all afraid.
Expressionless, she just sat there, holding her blankets.
RUN… FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, RUN!
Without a word, she rolled back over and went to sleep, pulling the blankets up to her throat, snuggling deep.
The wolf remained, still breathing heavily… wolfishly…
It was dark, practically black… It's eyes hungry…
Why didn't she run? Why didn't she run?!
~?~?~
Chapter Four: Losing Hope
***
DISCLAIMER: Everything here is either BTAS, BMOTP or folklore. It's not mine - let's all thank Bob Kane, Warner Brothers and the German peasants of the 18th century. ^_^
A/N:
I hope people actually read author's notes around here. With my other stories I'm not so sure… lol… I mean, sometimes people comment about stuff that was addressed in my comments. ^_^ (Actually, I'll shut up now - I'm just grateful for reviews! THANKS EVERYONE!) I also address what people have said in their reviews.
Ya, I had these two chapters written days ago, but unfortunately… we watched BMOTP around that time… and well… I realized Arthur wasn't quite as hard as I was portraying him. As my sister put it, "He smiles a lot more than you think he does!" So… ya… he's a tough guy to write suddenly. POINT - Had to rewrite these chapters somewhat. BTW, I so don't picture anyone the way their drawn, especially when I write. It's usually live action in my head… weird… ANYWAY, most are more attractive or something… Well, whatever…
CLEARING THIS UP RIGHT NOW - Eddie is suit and tie Eddie. K?
Anyway, hopefully you're reading my comments… and hopefully you're getting all the symbolism… and hopefully these chapters turned out. I'm iffy on them both, unfortunately. (Lost confidence in my characterization.) Hope. Ha, pun not intended. Honestly. Anyway, the symbolism is kinda deep with me most times, people. These dreams aren't pointless. (Some stuff will be understood later though, I suppose.) Anywho, hope this chapter works. I dunno… let me know. Please help me out by reviewing! Thanks! ^_^
***
"There is another story concerning wolves that somebody has probably read to you, which is just as absurd. I am talking about Little Red Riding Hood, an extremely unpleasant little girl who, like the Boy Who Cried Wolf, insisted on intruding on the territory of dangerous animals. You will recall that the wolf, after being treated very rudely by Little Red Riding Hood, ate the little girl's grandmother and put on her clothing as a disguise. It is this aspect of the story that is the most ridiculous, because one would think that even a girl as dim-witted as Little Red Riding Hood could tell in an instant the difference between her grandmother and a wolf dressed in a nightgown…"
- The Reptile Room, Lemony Snicket
***
It was changing its clothes. Changing its very skin.
A small, dark haired toddler watched through the crack of a door.
There it stood, sheep skin around its ankles.
Its dark eyes turned his direction. Startled and frightened he'd be discovered, the child recoiled. It stood, staring at him, expressionless.
Only he knew.
A wolf in sheep's clothing…
~?~?~
"Arthur, be a dear and get my shoes…" Monica cooed.
A dark haired teen didn't hesitate. He was instantly gone, getting the heels she'd left in her dressing room. She was about to go on stage, a beautiful singer… She was everything to him.
Meanwhile, back at the curtain, the blond was having her final touches. Surrounded by friends, she was boasting about all the weight she was losing and all the boys she'd met over the long weekend. She sounded kind of… well… she was gorgeous though. Remarkable voice. Her updo was just awesome! Her eyes striking… her smile… her dress… WOW!
"So… what's with you and Arthur? He's been hanging around a lot."
"Reeves?" she was surprised. "Me and Reeves? You can't be serious."
"Then…" another friend trailed off.
"He's the only reason I'm passing Law." Monica was blunt.
Some giggled, some were surprised…
"So, you're just using him?"
"What did you THINK was going on? Good God, people - I don't think I could be the square's friend, let alone… EW, EW… Miranda, REALLY, I mean, just LOOK at him…"
Shoes hit the floor.
She turned. There was Arthur. HURT. Very hurt. He'd heard everything.
"Arthur…" she started, not sure what to say.
He turned, leaving quickly. He didn't have glasses yet. He dressed like everyone else… his hair was a jelled mess like the rest… He just couldn't understand it. It hurt so bad!
"Arthur! Wait!" she started after him. He didn't, though. No way.
Her director barred the way. "You're on in five…"
"Five's all I need!" she insisted. "The midterm's tomorrow!"
~?~?~
Pachebel Canon. It was complicated and beautiful. Extremely beautiful. It had to be strings though - only strings did the piece justice. They kept trading the many parts about in various, complicated combinations. It was BEAUTIFUL. It kept building and building… just BEAUTIFUL…
They'd started playing it in the darkness for him… soothing beauty…
Now that he was out of the darkness, he still played it. It still soothed. It was almost therapeutic. It made him feel better somehow, though he was still too miserable too speak. Therapeutic…
Therapy. Damn.
Guards would be there momentarily. They were referred to as escorts, as he wasn't actually a prisoner, but they were guards all the same and treated him as though he may escape. Hell, he wanted to escape.
He hadn't spoken the first few days after the darkness had gone. He rarely spoke now. They'd managed to stabilize him enough to leave the little room. Something from Costa Rica had done the trick. For now. Nothing was certain. Who knew what tomorrow would bring… They had to inject him every few hours… They still needed something more permanent. They were still experimenting.
Now he sat in one of Arkham's few hospital-like rooms, in hospital clothes, legs crossed on the bed, his mind blank. Almost - he kept remembering things. Frivolous things. It was all the therapy. GOD, he hated the pointless therapy. He sat listening to the beautiful, complicated strings… hating the therapy…
Sure, it wasn't as bad as the needles… but… GOD… it was so stupid…
As the Amanda Marshal song put it: Everybody's got a story that'll break your heart. Everyone could whine to a shrink about their troubles, their past… everybody! The cab driver, the bartender, the university professor, the life guard… the big city councilman…
His mind rambled like this when it wasn't blank. His expression was so distant, so unhappy… He had to get back to work…
After therapy there would be more needles… eventually his dosage - the fix that kept him from losing his mind to the laughter, the fever…
He had to get out. Simple as that. He had to get out.
~?~?~
Swinging… he was swinging… soaring… laughing…
Edward loved the swings. He pumped, higher and higher. Unlike Katie, he wanted to fly. She sat, lazily drifting beside, lost in thought. She was a little older, his sister… sweet and sorta pretty… for a sister…
He was four and he could fly…
Heaven, how he loved the swing… how he loved to fly…
Now!
Springing out, he soared… soared through the air… so slowly… time seemed to stand still… he was flying… he was about to land… he-
~?~?~
-missed that old swing so much.
Edward Nygma, a few decades older now, was watching a deserted park through dark bars. He stared at the empty swings every time he waited for therapy. He sat in Smyth's office, staring out the window at the drifting swings.
How he missed flying… and Katie… and swings… crisp Autumn Saturdays…
He watched the empty swings drift, lonely and aimless… like him…
He would give anything to see children play on them, laughing, carefree… young and convinced they'd stay so forever… aware of nothing else… able to fly… He'd do anything to see children fly again…
He glanced to the nurse waiting with him. She was folding sheets on her cart, guards outside the door. He turned back to the window, thinking.
Finally, "Nurse, why are there never any children at the park?"
She glanced up, surprised, then confused. "I'm sorry?"
He motioned out the window. "The park. Where are the children?"
How could she tell him?
It was a parking lot.
~?~?~
He had to be quiet. SO quiet. It was raining. Again.
Staring blankly out the window, the brown-red haired boy's mother was in the next room straightening up. Again. Like always. She was sweeping up the shattered glass, up righting the furniture, silently crying, he imagined. He was practically immune.
He just had to be SO QUIET. Not a sound.
Daddy was sleeping. Daddy had a headache. He'd come home angry with the headache again… he always got the headache when he didn't take his medicine… When Daddy didn't get his pills… mum cried…
Lightening flashed and he saw Costello Honorez staring back at him from the neighboring window, across the fence. Rain trickled both windows, but his little best friend was sitting there too, sympathizing as always. He doubted Costello really understood. Frankly, he didn't - he was only three. They were only three.
Costello, a dark Mexican tot, was adorable and friendly. A good friend. Whenever Daddy had the headache, he'd run over to the Honorez place. He'd forgot all about it there. He'd play with Costello. Costello's daddy never got the headache. No, he didn't think Costello had a daddy. His mum was nice though. Real nice. Always brought cookies, treats.
He was trying to think now. Trying… but his mind was too lazy. Things tended to haze. There were always things he was too little to understand. Most things were like that, in fact. His mind didn't process some stuff… just skipped over and carried on…
He watched Costello through the rain. He motioned his little hand in a timid wave. His best friend, his ONLY friend, mimicked the gesture.
Suddenly, lightening crashed again, unexpected. He cried out, alarmed.
He realized his mistake, but it was too late. Just too late.
"EDWARD!"
~?~?~
"Edward?" Dr. Smyth. It was-
Blinking, Nygma realized where he was. Reality. What had he been saying? Oh yes. Honorez. His childhood friend. Right.
He truly wanted to get better and Smyth knew just what to say, what to ask, to make him talk. He always left the sessions feeling better when he played ball. When he talked. He doubted they'd ever let him out again after his last backslide… but hell, he had to TRY to pull things together. He wouldn't spend his life screaming in a padded cell. He had to work his way up in the institution. Had to get status. A better life… even if it was within these walls forever. He had to win back his mind! Unlike most super villains, he sincerely wanted to get better.
~?~?~
Reeves was staring out over the parking lot, uncomfortable. Doctor Caledon Smyth, a serious fellow who reminded him of Billy Zane's Cal Hockley, was sitting behind his desk, silent. Waiting for him to say something. Anything. GOOD LORD IN HEAVEN - he hated this.
"Arthur…" Cal started carefully. "Your leave of absence won't last forever. We have to get you back on your feet-"
"Then why are we wasting time here?" Arthur was blunt, eyes still through the bars. "We should be testing."
"Firstly, your system needs rest. We can't just keep pumping you full of mystery chemicals. There's enough risk in all this - no need to overdo it. Besides, we need time between tests to gauge results. Secondly, physical healing isn't all you need after this affair, believe me. You've been through a serious trauma, Councilor-"
"Must we use such melodramatic terms?" Always blunt, indifferent, cold.
"Councilman…"
"Exactly. Councilman. I've got to get back to work."
"Then play ball." His phrase. Always his phrase.
"Have they replaced me already? I can just see Ripenburg slipping into my spot without a second thought. Runner up, my ass - he bought this town!"
Inside Caledon Smyth was pleased. Progress. He was venting somewhat.
"Isn't that a major part of politics?" Make conversation.
Arthur didn't answer. Damn. Most patients loved to talk. Most criminals wanted attention. Loved it. This guy was the very opposite. If anyone saw him here he'd just DIE. If anyone knew he was here… Wow, there was so much ego wrapped up in there. So cold. So- UGH. The guy just did NOT do personal. He couldn't get personal. It was almost scary. Fortunately, in his line of work he'd seen all types. This sort just took time.
Unfortunately, Reeves didn't have time. There certainly was talk of replacing him. His job hung in the balance. Even if he spilled his life story it would do little good until they discovered a more permanent cure to his ailment, for in truth, that was the more important part - all that kept him here.
He could ask about this Ripenburg character, but that would be stupid. Reeves was smarter than his average patient… by how much he didn't know… but by some. Hm… he'd have to tread carefully. When in doubt, talk about yourself. Get the ball bouncing or however the old saying-
Showing the pictures on his desk, he smiled, "This is my niece, Hope." He doubted Reeves would even look. Surprisingly, he did. He was cold, but polite it seemed.
"She's cute." He didn't smile. Hope certainly was cute, though. No lie.
Asking Reeves about his family was also stupid. No, he had to keep treading. Treading. Goodness, few patients made him feel awkward or uncomfortable… but this man secretly did. He was so… unfeeling… Speaking personally with him was unnatural. Still, he trudged onward, hoping to succeed eventually…
"Ya, I don't see her much these days. My brother Rich and the family moved to Canada. Near Winnipeg, actually. Nice little town…" He trailed off, then came back with an honest realization. "You know something, I've never been to Canada."
"You're not missing much." Reeves really was an ass.
"I dunno. Rich speaks very highly of it. He moved there last year and has never looked back. I mean, it's quiet… less crime…"
Reeves snorted eloquently, "Please. We live in Gotham. ANYWHERE would be an improvement there - and I do mean anywhere." He spoke so simply. So caustically.
"There's a lot of hate in you." Caledon observed simply.
Arthur said nothing - though the comment was most unexpected.
"Councilman, please… if you ever want to get out of here, you have to cooperate. You have to try."
"Doc, must I be MORE candid? I'm not comfortable speaking personally with you-"
"-with ANYONE, Councilor." Cal came in perfectly.
Something ever so slightly slipped through. His armor wasn't as tough as he pretended. That had touched on something, perhaps only slightly, but STILL… it was a reaction…
Arthur, prior to this recent episode in his life, had been a decent enough character in his way. He'd smiled, spoken personally occasionally at parties. Yes, parties - he'd been social. Sort of. Regardless, post his evening confrontation with Jack Napier, things had changed. His world was on the line. Therefore, he was a bit of a bitch, to be blunt.
Suddenly, "Doc, everybody's got a sob story. Everybody. I'm not going to sit here and whine to you about my childhood. If you must know, I had an awesome childhood. I've had an awesome life. I don't need to talk to you about it. I don't need to talk to ANYONE about it!"
He was getting angry. Excellent.
"There's nothing wrong with me! I don't need therapy! Furthermore, I think these sessions are more hinder than help, for incase you haven't noticed - I'm practically SHOUTING!"
Caledon's expression remained noncommittal.
"Hello?" Reeves snapped, though he was simmering down.
"It felt good to get all that pent up frustration towards me out."
"What?"
"Arthur, I'll be candid now - unless you cooperate, Ripenburg really will take your job and you'll be locked up here forever."
Just the way Cal said it… it sounded like a test, a deliberate trigger. He said nothing. Their gazes silently locked. He could and would be stubborn. They could and would let him go home.
This lasted several moments, until a nurse - "Doctor Smyth, Pamela Isley's turn…"
"How nice." Arthur was expressionlessly cutting, caustic. "If I had been making a serious breakthrough we would have been cut off. What an efficient practice you run, Doctor."
Cal smiled, "See you this afternoon, Arthur."
"Why bother?" Reeve's wheelchair was rolled away. He was still thin, especially in his face - his cheeks slightly hollowed in. He would need the chair for a little while yet. A long while, perhaps…
~?~?~
There she was. Beautiful, little Hope. She was curled up in her blankets, fast asleep… a precious smile upon her small face. She was perfect, like a painting. It was all like a painting. She slept on her side… her face precious, heartwarming… facing off the bed…
A strange, heavy breathing came from beside, behind her back…
She slept on… so warm… so wonderful was sleep…
The breathing continued… heavy, frightening…
He knew what was coming. There was no doubt about these things anymore.
The breathing… the brea-
Her eyes opened suddenly, silently startled.
Sitting up slowly, the beautiful child turned to find a wolf in grandma's cap and nightgown curled up under the blankets beside her. It breathed so heavily, eyeing her like a lamb…
She wasn't afraid. She wasn't at all afraid.
Expressionless, she just sat there, holding her blankets.
RUN… FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, RUN!
Without a word, she rolled back over and went to sleep, pulling the blankets up to her throat, snuggling deep.
The wolf remained, still breathing heavily… wolfishly…
It was dark, practically black… It's eyes hungry…
Why didn't she run? Why didn't she run?!
~?~?~