AN: Thank you to those who reviewed. I really appreciate it.
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Crystal blue eyes watched from behind the square shaped glasses as his patient paced around his cell. He had gotten his hands on the security footage, and from this angle, he could see the man walking around, his hands moving. Crane wondered if he was talking to himself, and made a note on the pad of paper he was writing on. Nygma seemed uncaring that anyone was watching him, though he would occasionally look at the camera, as though asking its opinion. He would continue on, as though the lack of a response didn't bother him.
Crane had been watching the security footage for a few days now. He had yet to approach his new patient, deciding to evaluate him without contact first. Nygma had no normal schedule, it seemed. Some days, he was awake as soon as the sun filtered through that small, barred window of his, and he was energetic. Other days, he slept until the guard came through with his meal, and he'd sprawl out in bed all day, talking to himself.
Nygma's file said that, for a little bit, he'd be confined to his cell with no visitors, other than the doctors, and his meals would remain there as well. He would not even be allowed outside for exercise. The only exercise the lanky brunette would get was whatever he did in his cell. Nygma usually didn't do more than pace around his cell, frantically moving his arms. Crane made a note to get some kind of microphone in his room, so that he could hear what it was the man was saying.
After three days of this scrutiny, Crane sent the guards to get his new patient and bring him to a therapy room. It was time to begin.
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Three days had passed without Edward meeting his new doctor. However, he had a feeling that his doctor was watching him, so the mastermind made sure to put on a show. He changed up what he did, never waking up and doing the same thing. He wanted to keep the doctor wondering what he would do next, as an elaborate part of the ploy he had in his mind. Granted, the doctor's refusal to see him was making it a little difficult for his plan to come into effect, but he was a patient man.
Edward's attention was captured by the guards coming, their keys jingling. He looked over, almost uncaringly, but continued his gestures. His mouth was moving, but he wasn't actually making any sounds. It was part of the fun of knowing that the cameras didn't have any sound.
However, as the guards stopped in front of his cell, Edward paused, raising an eyebrow. Three days were all his new doctor needed? Interesting…
"Nygma, you know the drill. Time to meet the doc," said the burlier guard on the right. Edward shrugged and moved forward, putting his wrists out through the slot, feeling the handcuffs snap into place. He took a step back, allowing the guards to open the cell, and then stepped forward to walk with them. Each one kept an arm on his, but at least this time he wasn't dragged down the halls like a bad puppy who had just released the contents of his bowels on the floor. He made a mental map of where he was going, comparing it to the other maps he had in his head of the halls of Arkham Asylum. He was going the same way he had gone one of the first times he was brought in. Ah, memories. He watched as they came upon a familiar door, one with thick, bulletproof steel. Edward doubted that the security was for the inmates as much as it was for the doctors. Oh, well.
The door opened with a loud, obnoxious honk! type sound, one that Edward didn't want to worry about identifying. It was the same noise that the doors separating the patient wings made. He was put into the room, which quite resembled one of those interrogation rooms on those cop shows, except there were no cabinets, no mirror, no decoration. Just chairs bolted to the ground, and a table, also bolted to the ground. It was rather blasé, Edward thought.
The guards left his handcuffs on, but stepped outside the door. Edward examined the room for a mere moment before leaning back, managing to hide the wince as his sore back protested with a sharp spike of pain. The abuse he had taken from Batman, followed by the poor conditions of the metal cot he was told to consider as a bed gave him a sore back. Well, he'd fix that when he got out. It was high on his list of things to do once he escaped.
His attention was drawn away from the pain in his back by the sound echoing in the room as the door opened again. In stepped a slim, almost lanky man. He wore a pair of black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black tie. They were under the white coat that identified him as a doctor, though Edward always wondered why the shrinks were the ones who wore those instead of doctors. He was sure that that was meant more for medical doctors than mental doctors, but he didn't question it. The man's dark hair was in almost perfect disarray on his head, and his crystal blue eyes seemed to hold little to no emotion behind the rectangular lenses of his glasses.
"Hello there, doctor. I suppose you already know who I am, but I'll be the polite little patient and tell you anyway. My name is Edward Nygma. And you are?"
The doctor said nothing as he looked at Edward, merely peering up at him over the glasses before leaning back slightly in his chair. The manila folder sat in front of him, the tab labeled with an impersonal white sticker that read, "NYGMA, EDWARD". Of course the man would bring his file in. Edward did notice, however, the man didn't have a pen, a pencil, pad of paper, tape recorder, nothing with him that would help him to record this interview. Was he going to use the footage from the security camera? That wouldn't be a good idea. Due to the serious rules of doctor-patient, or attorney-client, privilege, those cameras didn't have sound attached either. It was crazy how few cameras in this hospital had sound…
"Or you could not introduce yourself, but I feel we're getting started on the wrong foot," Edward said after a moment of silence, a pout forming on his face, though it was obviously fake. He was grinning slightly, even as he pouted. The doctor still said nothing, merely continued to gaze at the inmate. Edward wondered if he had made the right choice, and was beginning to feel agitated. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the voice that he heard was not his own.
"What do you speak to yourself about in your cell?"
The man's voice was a bit deeper than Edward expected, but the question he asked made him raise an eyebrow. Edward leaned forward slightly, though not enough to raise suspicion to the doctor in front of him. The man was cool, calm, and collected, his eyes merely watching with detachment.
"All sorts of things," Edward responded. "I speak of birds and cotton candy… Children's laughter…"
"You may be right. I believe we are starting off on the wrong foot." The doctor didn't seem aggravated or frustrated, just calm. The calm was almost annoying, in a way. But, it gave Edward a chance to think of ways to work on aggravating the doctor.
"But a first impression is truly the most important one, isn't it, doctor?" he asked. He intentionally trailed off a bit at the end of his sentence, intending to get the doctor to notice that he had not introduced himself. The badge typically worn by the doctors was not on this doctor, but the guards would not have let him in, had he not been cleared to come in with a patient. A game?
"So it has been said. What do you speak to yourself about in your cell?" Brown and blue eyes clashed, and that was when the doctor realized that the brown was more of a hazel color, shifting slightly toward green the closer to the pupil.
"Looks like you'll have to get some sound and figure that out. Come on now, doctor! Don't you want to hear about my childhood? This isn't the way these interviews are supposed to go! How about listening to how daddy abused me, or mommy never stuck around?" Crane moved and Edward smirked internally. Finally, a reaction! However, Crane's hand merely moved to open the folder, and he skimmed it.
"Edward Nashton, AKA Edward Nygma, or The Riddler. In and out of Arkham, formerly associated with the henchwomen, Echo and Query. Mother is not a topic you speak of, father physically abused you, turned to puzzles and riddles to prove superior intellect." Crane lifted his eyes to the man across from him, who merely watched him. Of course the doctor would go to the file and look through other doctor's write ups. Damn cheaters.
"Oh, that's all well and good, but are you really going to rely on other doctors' diagnoses? Aren't you more interested in finding things out for yourself, doctor?" Crane didn't rise to the bait.
"I have no intention on relying on subpar information," Crane said, his voice never changing in tone or emotion. Edward was amused, however, and was going to find a way to push this man.
"Before I am dragged out of the room by the guards, riddle me this, doctor." Crane had been warned that Edward would resort to riddles, and had been advised not to listen. However, Crane did not particularly care what the others had thought. He was going to conduct his patient interviews the way he wanted to.
"Very well, Nashton-" Crane didn't react to the sudden sneer that crossed Edward's face- "what is the riddle?"
"A poor, but smart, farmer is convicted of fraud against a rich governor. As these stories tend to go, he gets the death penalty for his crime. The judge allows him to say one final sentence before he is killed. If he speaks the truth, he will be beheaded. If he lies, he will be hanged. On the day he is to be killed, the farmer says one sentence that forces the judge to let him go free. What, doctor, did he say?"
Crane watched Edward as the door opened and the guards came in. Edward stood of his own free will and smirked.
"Until next time, doctor."
Crane watched the guards lead Edward from the room silently, his blue eyes moving toward the ceiling as the door closed. He closed the file, standing and moving, the door opening once more. He walked down the halls, smirking ever so slightly as he entered his office. For now, he could play Nygma's game.
Edward smirked as he was led to his cell and the cuffs removed. He rubbed his wrists again, more out of habit than anything else. By the time the next therapy session came around, he would know if this doctor was worth his time or not…
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AN: If you think you know the answer to the riddle, feel free to PM me, and I'll tell you next chapter if you're right.