Elena fidgeted uncomfortably in her grey uniform dress. Recently, she had found the fabric coarse and irritating against her skin. It was frayed at the ends of the skirt from repeated washing, and the edges of her sleeves were also coming undone. She would much rather wear the sleepwear the hospital had given them all day- plain, white pants and a soft night shirt. But since when did she have a say in anything that went on in this hospital?
She was sitting in Dr. Crane's office waiting for their daily interview, and had been doing so for the past twenty minutes. No doubt he was forcing her to wait on purpose, as part of another of his psychological games he loved to play, to bait her. But she now knew better than to react to him- he had shown her what he was capable of in the basements of Arkham.
The image of the reptilian monster came to mind; the way he had flicked his forked tongue at her and hissed, the nauseating green scales that covered his body, how he had nearly bitten her hand off with his jagged yellow teeth. The message was clear: obey or else.
Crane had always seemed to cold, his eyes like frozen ice in the dead of winter, but the Crane that led her down to the basement had a fiery temper, and been violent as well. The doctor had always struck her as the type that adhered to a strict set of rules, and she had not pegged him as the type that would hit her, or offer her up as lunch meat to a hungry alligator for that matter. Yesterday proved once again how wrong she was. And he had told her how he planned to poison the entire city.
She was refastening the button to her breast pocket, which concealed her stolen lighter, courtesy of Red, when Dr. Crane walked in. She quickly dropped her hands to her lap.
"Hello Miss Moretti," he said calmly, sitting down in the chair opposite her behind his mahogany desk, as if nothing horrific had happened the day before. "How are you this morning?"
"Oh, being polite today, are we?" she asked, before she could stop herself.
His eyes flashed, but whether from anger or amusement, she couldn't tell. His thoughts were a mystery to her, one she would probably never solve.
Without taking his eyes off of her, he reached for a file folder on his desk and pulled a sheet of paper out. "It would be wise not to aggravate the person that holds your life in their hands."
"Who said I'm wise?" she teased. If he was going to murder her she might as well make the most of it.
"I'm not going to kill you, if that is what you are wondering," he said. "But your actions will have consequences, make no mistake. Do I have your assurance that no one will find out about the project occurring downstairs?"
"Who would I tell?" she responded. "The lovely lunch matrons?"
"Or Mr. Falcone," he said, eyebrows raised, prepared to gauge her reaction. "He says he will visit this Wednesday."
Her facial expression did not change, though he could see her jaw clench. He was a master at concealing his emotions, while she wore hers on her face, plain to see. He could read her like a book.
"Wonderful," she muttered. He could see from where he was sitting she was fiddling with the lining of her dress and his eyes lingered on the bare skin of her pale legs.
Ogling the patients, are we? asked an unwelcome voice. Tsk tsk, how unprofessional.
Crane eyes hastily darted back down to the file on his desk, and thought furiously, Scarecrow, you agreed to be silent.
Sorry, Scarecrow mock apologized, laughing. Only here to help.
"So," Crane continued, a bit ruffled by Scarecrow's comment, "You attended Saint Francis' Preparatory School for elementary, middle, and high school, but never went to college." It wasn't a question, but a statement, and an accusatory one at that.
"Guess school was never my thing, doc."
"When you were transferred to Arkham, I was sent your grade reports as well. All A's, every year. Applied to over eight different colleges and accepted to Princeton, among other schools."
"Why are you so interested, Crane? Is this giving you more insight into my psyche?"
You let her call you that? Scarecrow scorned. If it had been anyone else, you would have poisoned them by now. Let me take control, I'll teach her-
Yes, because that worked so well last time, Jonathan replied derisively. Some indulgence to our patients is necessary, if we are to find the answers we are looking for. He had hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but Scarecrow continued.
About Falcone? Oh please, we can handle him if he decides to turn on us. You know what I think Johnny? I think you like staring at that pretty face an hour every day.
Then you may be me, but you don't know me very well, to think I'm affected by such superficial things. Crane turned his attention back to his patient, but found she wasn't paying attention either. She was leaning her elbow on his desk and resting her head on her hand, gazing out the office window. Her eyes were what intrigued him, though. They were not the muted, cloudy grey shade he observed occasionally in his patients, no doubt due to the memory fogging drugs he prescribed. Her irises were fiercely grey, with pupils as black as the glossy wings of a crow in a field. Completely devoid of color, they still seemed… vibrant. His eyes traveled downwards to the thin grey fabric of the hospital uniform that only barely concealed the curves of her breasts.
She had caught him staring at her, and was unimpressed.
"Find what you were looking for, doctor?"
"Why must you be so hostile, Miss Moretti?"
"I'm the hostile one?! Are you kidding me?"
Crane's amusement at her outburst must have shown on his face because she scoffed in disbelief. "You tried to feed me to a fucking alligator!"
"Actually he's a crocodile." She stared at his incredulously, and her mouth opened and closed but no words came out.
"Is something the matter?"
"I'm sorry," she said in a tone that made it clear she was not so. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around- how did you say that with a straight face? Honestly, it's like you're made of ice! Are you allergic to human emotion or something?!" She was livid.
"Perhaps you should calm down, Miss Moretti," he said.
She could hear the blood rushing through her head and she stood up suddenly. "Unless you have mean to feed me to someone else, I'll be going."
"Sit," he said sternly, his mouth in a grim line.
She did sit, but not back in her seat across from him. Instead she walked to the leather couch he used for therapy sessions and sat, as far from him as possible.
He feigned an irritated sigh and stood up, readjusting his tie as he did and walked over towards her. Crane was really more amused than anything, though he didn't show it.
Elena knew he would follow her over to the couch, but did not predict that he would sit right next to her. She did her best to not feel uncomfortable, because she knew that was what he wanted.
"What now?" she asked. She fought the flush of color that threated to rise to her face when she thought of his proximity to her.
He said nothing, and instead rose his hand slowly to her face. Don't look at him, don't look at him she thought, but her eyes darted to his face. Sharp cheekbones, penetrating blue eyes- Curse his attractiveness she swore and looked away.
With two fingers, he lightly tilted her chin upwards. His touch was cold, but sent sparks of warmth shivering down her spine. She refused to flinch, or look at him for that matter, afraid her body would betray her. She closed her eyes.
"What have we here?" he asked, and her eyes shot open. In his hand he had her lighter- when she had had her eyes closed he had unbuttoned her breast pocket.
Dammit.
He flicked the lighter, and the flame went on. "You didn't really think you could trick me, did you? The fire, leading me to believe it was caused by Red- clever, but not clever enough." He held the flame so close to her face that she could smell the gasoline. "I'll be keeping this." He was so close to her, and she could feel his soft whisper on her bare neck. He let the cap SNAP shut, startling her. "And to answer your previous question," he taunted, "Yes, I did find what I was looking for." Then he smirked that infuriating smile of his. "What did you think I was looking at beforehand, Miss Moretti?"
She hated him, every last inch.
"You may leave, now," he said. He was back in control, in power.
She seriously debated snatching the lighter back, but in the end, admitting defeat, stormed out of his office.
Crane felt elated, but not for long.
You know she doesn't belong to you? She's not your plaything, hissed Scarecrow. She's Falcone's, and when he comes on Wednesday he'll remind you of that. Just imagine what he'll do to her. If you're lucky maybe he'll let you watch-
Enough! Crane shouted, determined to regain control of his mind again. I will deal with Falcone. Soon enough he will fear me. His mind traveled back to Elena, remembering just moments ago how she had refused to look at him. Everyone will.