Aegri Somnia
Latin- A sick man's dreams (Horace)
VERY A.U-y NOLANVERSE
Author's long-ass note: Okay okay, before you all shoot me comic-book fans, I know the Batman franchise has a long rich historical tapestry and what I do know I've recovered from Google and my comic-book obsessive friend. This will probably have holes in it due to the fact I'm not monstrously into the DC universe. The following is written with the Batman live action Nolanverse in mind with elements pulled from the comics to flesh out a history that the movies did not include or did not elaborate on. Don't shoot me fellow nerds.
HarryxDr Crane. PrisonerHarry, Lemon, Yaoi & Adult situations etc. R&R...well..'tis not mandatory to review but I do rather like it. It lets me know what you think and I rather like keeping my finger on the pulse. Reviewing helps with that. Hintedy hint hint. This is also the longest chapter I've ever written. 7,094 + words. Wow, my fingers actually kinda hurt. The most I ever wrote was the 5,000 last chapter. Holy shit.
Now, psychology students, please don't shoot me either. Just enjoy the show.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or the Batman franchise.
The Joker loved chaos as much as he loved to rattle Gotham's Dark Knight. The Scarecrow had been the only one to successfully instil fear within the Batman which was his main weapon. The Joker preferred chaos really, it was more widespread and it was fun to watch people panic and run away like ants from a fire. This was perhaps why a majority of his taunts and challenges and 'fun' was something that would affect the entirety of Gotham City. The Joker had another talent other then causing chaos, monsterizing, yes, that was not a word but it was truly the best way to put it. The Joker could corrupt, could taint and could bring Gotham's hero down to their level.
Definition: Monsterizing, to turn something into a monster.
The Joker was rather good at that too.
There was someone that The Joker was quite aware of who often caused trouble within the DA office, an idealist they called her. He'd almost killed her. Harvey Dent had adored her but frankly The Joker just didn't see why. Rachel Dawes. That was her name and there was a perfect way to cause trouble within the establishment and simultaneously grab the attention of the Inspector Gordon who would have been a good target but nobody would have predicted Rachel Dawes and The Joker preferred not to be predictable. A rag soaked in chloroform and an infiltrated office later, The Joker thought he left quite a nice piece of art for the police force. The Joker grinned maniacally when he stalked off into Gotham practically sensing the scream of an intern within the office.
Gordon was almost sick when he arrived onto the scene himself.
Sick and surprised.
A blond was slumped over her desk, dead, but that was not where the horror ended. There was a canvas in the room –the kind a painter would use. On the desk from Rachel Dawes' head was a small pool of blood under a little card, beside it, a paintbrush dipped in the red substance.
"Jesus Christ," whispered Gordon under his breath.
On the canvas was the equivalent of a child's doodle, painted upon it in a shade of red was a poorly drawn bat.
Drawn in the blood of Rachel Dawes, and under the pool of blood dripping off the side of Rachel's head on the desk was a card. A playing card to be exact…
The Joker card.
There was something eerily calm about Harry Potter that it almost bordered lethargic, though Dr. Crane wouldn't strictly call him that. Bored might be the word, bored of Arkham Asylum to be exact. He didn't like the fact that the place was never quiet, he didn't like the fact that the white walls were so dirty that they gradually got darker and faded into a little collection of dirt that connected to the cold stone floors. Harry didn't like the fact the food they served tasted like baby-food being half-chewed, spat back onto a plate and served back to them. Even in Azkaban they had a loaf of stale bread and some water.
Dr. Crane was very aware of the fact that this place was Hell for him.
He had also ran tests on Harry's blood, and whilst it was human blood some part of it almost seemed animal. Serpentine -or something close to that anyway, which did not make any sense. Either way there was something unknown within Harry's blood and Dr. Crane hadn't the foggiest idea what it was exactly. It didn't match up with any living organism's blood on a scientific database. Harry Potter seemed to create more and more questions without even realizing it. He was an enigma wrapped in a puzzle and it was starting to get under Jonathan Crane's skin.
Dr. Crane was also aware of Harry's somewhat odd reactions to him, his reactions were normal and could be found within a stable society and most humans but he was falling dangerously close into something Dr. Crane wasn't sure if either of them wanted. Erotic Transference, that's what they called it in psychiatry. Normally this would not have jumped into his head but his last little chat with Harry seemed to strongly point toward it. Maybe he was making too much of a big deal about it, maybe he thought too much of himself, maybe he was interpreting Harry's actions and words wrongly.
It was a giant 'maybe'.
He had stopped off at his home after lunch and gone into his personal library pulling out two books he decided to give to Harry, after all, he'd probably read them considering there was hardly anything for a sane man in a padded cell to do other then become as insane as his peers.
One of those books was a rather elementary psychiatric dictionary that defined the words used in his line of work, the other was a very thin book on the professionalism obligatorily used by therapists with their patients.
When he stopped off to deliver it to Harry's cell back in his Arkham cell, Harry nodded and accepted the odd choice of gift and took it as a token off kindness from Crane who knew of his boredom with surviving in Arkham as a reasonably sane man.
Crane ran a single finger through the soft brown curl of his hair and stared at the clock in his office, waiting for the late hours. On his desk was Harry Potter's progress files, he kept writing in that he was getting better and better. The improvements were not massive but it felt like just through their sessions every time he saw Harry the physical abnormalities -his mild underweight-ness and bags under his eyes seemed to improve. Crane was used to walking into a patient's room and seeing pure unadulterated fear in their eyes, instead when he stepped into Harry's he'd see an almost animated look. The lethargy and boredom that seemed to emanate him would stop at the drop of a hat from the moment he walked in and Harry would look at him as if he expected something. That Crane could hand down everything he needed to "fix" him with a few words and healing time. He'd seen the scarecrow mask yet he had not requested another therapist, he was fine with Dr. Crane, happy even.
Harry Potter was baffling and what was weirder, was that Crane found himself not minding the fact that the green-eyed teen did not fear him.
He saw the security camera in Harry's room had been switched on for a moment to see that he was sleeping and twitching uncomfortably on the mattress in his padded up cell. He told the Arkham guard to remain silent but vigilant and not step in unless he specified them to.
None of them questioned Crane silently creeping into Harry's room, he stood at the bed and listened to Harry's sleepy mumblings that had yet to develop into screams.
This would be the only time he could ever get the truth out of Harry, because it was the only time he'd ever admit it. Only when he was in the threshold of his pain within his nightmares did he ever tell the truth, sometimes he'd scream it. They'd be no illusive mystery-answers that Dr. Crane was getting so used to, he would get honesty.
"Harry," he murmured in a soft, calm whisper, determination within his narrowed blue eyes, the boy twitching on the bed let out a little sleepy grunt, hearing a voice call his names within his dreams.
"...plays 'Harry Hunting'...tries to...nobody...believes...me.." his sleepy rambles were rather disjointed. It sounded like something from his childhood and Crane was thankful he switched the audio-recorder on.
Harry was as sane as they come save for his violent nightmare-episodes, there was a question hanging in Jonathan Crane's mind. Harry's nightmares were a barrel of issues that Crane had spent most of therapy weeding through those and established the bloody patient-doctor trust.
Harry seemed too...good, too awfully nice and he was yet to observe anything that classed him as violently criminal per say. His datafile didn't even list why exactly he was in a state facility to begin with, it was all briefly alluded too but not even clearly stated. It didn't seem right to Crane, and he had yet to start chasing up the mysterious agencies and phone numbers listed, he wanted to talk to his patient first.
"Harry... what is someone like you doing in Arkham Asylum, what are you doing here?" his voice was soft and it almost carried pity, like a man talking to a child.
"...not my fault...didn't...kill...her...Ms Bones..." replied the sleeping rasping figure that writhed around on the mattress within his nightmares, just answering a voice he was hearing. A lovely calming deep voice that sounded familiar and was gently tearing at the fabric of his nightmares.
Crane froze.
Harry Potter? His patient, the sanest man in Arkham Asylum -was in for murder?
"Ministry...cover...up.."
Jonathan Crane felt a surge of victory and excitement and unwillingly found his voice rising in volume because of it.
"Ministry? What Ministry? Why cannot I find what the irregularity in your blood is? How is it you destroy your way out of straight-jackets? Why keep all these secrets?" Crane fired the questions he was desperate to know the answers to. The boy on the bed ceased answering him and violently jerked on the mattress. Perspiration dripping down his temple as the panting became heavier for a moment, the movements stopped and suddenly long lashes parted and he found a set of confused green eyes, though demanding ones staring at him. The volume of the voice that had cut through his dreams had pulled him entirely into the land of the awakened.
Crane stared down at the beautifully disheveled patient who was staring up at him, he knew how it must have looked. Him creepily standing there holding his personal sound recorder, watching him and talking to him as he slept, looming over him.
"W-what are you doing Dr. Crane?" managed a somewhat breathless Harry, confusion within his irises.
Dr. Crane knew he owed Harry some kind of answer.
Harry felt a little intruded on by the end of it and the faintest bit angry whilst looking a bit alarmed, worried about what he'd exposed to the doctor. He understood that the man was frustrated by the fact he couldn't reveal certain things due to the Statute of Secrecy. He didn't ask for consent, he had just come in and asked for answers at his most vulnerable moment. His dreams were rather nice when a silky baritone had cut through them, but his sleep-addled and vulnerable mind should not have let the answers leak from his mouth. It was a grievous moment of weakness.
'How dare this...bloody holier-then-thou muggle just...' his jumbled sleepy-thoughts assembled some sense of outrage.
Crane realized his action, done in desperation for truth, could have shattered the carefully assembled trust he had with the only patient he'd ever had an honest interest in.
At the end of the day, it was to help him, but Harry was still violated by the action of Crane coming into his room and quite literally stealing the truth out of him, or at least bits of it.
"I'm sorry,"
Dr. Crane had never said sorry for what he did to his patients, this was a first to himself too. He had surprised himself but he would have said anything to wipe the awful mix of betrayal, distrust and wariness off of Harry's gentle features. He was a man who for all intents and purposes, could switch off his morality and sense of medical ethics when it pleased him though now it seems he had momentarily lost control of the ability when he found himself uttering "I'm sorry,".
"What happened to 'transparency'? The honest approach? Or am I actually just a 'crazy' who needs to be placated one moment, and then treated like a criminal liar the next minute requiring you to try and steal the truth off of me when I'm bloody vulnerable?" Harry wished that had come out more artfully, but he was angry and confused and sleepy.
Dr. Crane winced at the sudden shouting and bluntness and held his hands up in a mock-surrender.
"I...I was just...too impatient for answers Harry. I apologize, I regret doing this, I hope this has not shattered the trust we've formed," said Crane awkwardly, not sure if he meant it or not, which was amazing because normally this would have been said to save face for the fact he was caught in the act when he shouldn't have been, yet he was actually wondering the sincerity of his apologies. Maybe he meant them?
There was a small awkward conversation that ensued as Harry sat upright on the bed and attempted to fix up his disheveled appearance.
It ended with Dr. Crane walking out of the cell feeling distinctly less victorious despite what little answer he may have snagged.
Dr. Crane had a needle of disappointment when Harry was not going to their next therapy session, well, he didn't have the option but he raised a brow when he found two Arkham guards bringing him into room seven by his arms. Harry hadn't kicked up a huge fuss like most would, but simply didn't bother moving off of his mattress until dragged up.
"Are you really this angry with me that you didn't even want to come to the session?" asked Dr. Crane softly.
"I'm not that angry anymore doc, but I'm trusting you a whole lot less," admitted Harry. Crane barely bit-back a visible wincing reaction, not even his scarecrow-incident with this particular patient shattered or chipped at 'the trust' because even then Crane had decided to ask for permission. This was something he did not do with most of his 'crazies', if anything Harry was his 'sane' yet by going and sneaking into his cell and using non-approved methods of gaining information...
He'd inadvertently treated Harry like just another one of the Arkham crazies. He wasn't. Both of them knew this.
"If I was as angry as I am distrusting I would have asked to see another shrink," sighed Harry "-but I didn't," it showed that like he previously stated, he wasn't that angry. Just a touch betrayed, though really a part of him told him that he should be used to that by now.
Jonathan Crane did not like the way things were going and all of a sudden his patient seemed to be doing what he did quite frequently. He turned the tables on their head so-to-speak.
"-Why did you get me those books anyway? I read that stupid Erotic Transference book and let me just say-" Harry had evidently been working up a bit of frustration over it. Crane grimaced knowing the tirade coming probably wasn't going to end for a while.
Definition - :
- Erotic Transference: To Fall For One's Therapist.
At first Harry assumed Crane had just picked something off of his own private libraries without looking but after yesterday's fiasco he came to learn the man never did something without a reason and usually an ulterior reason behind that one to boot. Then he realized Crane had given him that particular book for a reason. Harry couldn't believe the nerve and ego of this guy! Then he realized over the sessions he had displayed a few signs of the emotional attachment but it was out of desperation as he talked to nobody else within Arkham...and well...
Nobody ever visited.
As much as it pained Harry to acknowledge it, he could see Crane's reasoning in getting him the book. He hadn't brought the topic up of Erotic Transference in conversation though, probably to save awkwardness or avoid actually voicing the fact he could have misread signs. The book was supposed to be a hint but Harry had straight up called the doctor out on it.
The tension was almost tangible within the air and the argument was heated in the soundproofed room. To be honest the words coming out of Crane's mouth were quite automatic but whatever he was saying must have calmed the red-faced angry male down slightly.
"You know, everyone says your sadistic!" hissed Harry, flipping through the medical dictionary and slapping it into the desk, Harry leaned over the desk to stare down Crane easier but also cause the tension via proximity to increase into absolute tangibility.
"It wouldn't surprise me if the nut was running the nuthouse,"
Definition - :
- Sadism
[In Psychiatry] sexual gratification gained through causing pain or degradation to others [see masochism]
Crane's eyes flickered down to the definition of the word underlined on the page under the 'S' catagory of the psychiatric dictionary he had gotten Harry merely so he could understand the terms used in the other book.
Harry was saying more things now, and at the back of his mind he knew he probably deserved it. He infringed upon Harry's privacy when he had initially promised transparency and instead was caught sneaking around for answers. Harry was also dragged in like a rather weak doll by two of the guards at Arkham so it showed he wasn't quite ready to be in his presence but was none-the-less forced.
Dr. Crane snapped back into the argument when he could hear Harry trying to anger him, frustrate him even as a type of subconscious payback.
"-so, get off to other people's pain then hmm? That's obviously popular opinion around here Scarecrow. So when I was writhing around in pain in my bed or when you switch on the bloody camera in my cell, were you getting off to it?" he snarled. Harry was obviously trying to get under his skin and it was working a little.
The boy who had leaned forward on the desk to get all up in his face about it now found himself thrown back onto the desk entirely by Dr. Crane's strength in comparison to the detainee kept on a weak diet.
Just like the Arkham guard had done, he was moved like a rag doll.
"Don't assume such disgusting things about me Potter!" that had come out far more viciously then he had intended. He also hadn't meant to throw Harry onto his desk and have him laying on it rather frazzled and a touch hurt. For a man who was fairly weak in hand-to-hand combat the apparent ease in which he had thrown the boy-war-veteran was a bit disturbing to say the least.
Dr. Crane didn't even want to think it as he looked down on the detainee who was looking up at him through long lashes with angry verdant green eyes that easily made emeralds look insignificant in value and beauty. Dr. Crane felt a shoot of self-disgust when he noticed the dull fascination with Harry's soft gasps for breath as he bordered groaning in pain when his back impacted the desk, chest moving up and down rhythmically. It wouldn't have bothered him if it wasn't his patient, then he found himself quite moved by the fact that he again lost his control over when he considers his medical ethics and when he doesn't. The book which had defined sadism had been violently thrown to the floor when he had slung Harry onto the desk animalistically, his eyes flickered to it, wondering whether to pick it up.
"Bloody hell I didn't mean it," gasped out Harry, looking up into Dr. Crane's bright blue eyes as the man loomed over him.
"I know, you were just trying to get me as angry at you as you are at me, for a moment it worked," grumbled Crane, backing down.
"I didn't think you would stoop to that though," said Crane, watching Harry uncomfortably sit up on the desk he had been thrown onto like a corpse on an autopsy bed. He was now staring up from his cushioned chair at Harry who was staring down to meet his eyes. It was odd to have a patient looming over him and splaying themselves quite casually on the desk, ignoring the chair but he'd allow it since he'd practically laid into Harry when he should have maintained a lid on his inward outrage at what Harry had said. It was a wind-up. He knew it, but he had gotten annoyed anyway.
"Well doc, you gave me the tools and well... I just picked up on what everyone's been saying. We addressed the rumors in one session but you told me they were just that, rumors in an insane asylum, yet you didn't directly tell me they weren't true. Then eventually you pulled the gassy stuff on me, kind of surprised you asked for my consent though, but anyway...it showed at least some parts of rumors must be accurate," said Harry lazily tipping his head to one side and Crane witnessed the return of lethargy that usually disappeared from Harry when he walked into room seven had returned.
Crane didn't mind it, but the state of mild lethargy was too eerily calm for someone that was angry not too long ago.
"-bearing that in mind and all the access you have to me, sadism in the dictionary and you proving at least a bit of the hearsay to be true...I had to ask," drawled Harry, who was currently grasping at straws to make the session last longer, despite previously not wanting to be around Crane due to being angry at him. Though after thinking about it and annoying the doctor with his presence, he found this to be a way of leveling the playing field, and in honesty this was the first [corrupt] person to attempt helping him. He couldn't exactly remain angry at Jonathan Crane that long, for a muggle, he was actually quite...good for Harry.
"You were serious?" there was absolute disbelief in Crane's voice -could Harry have been serious when he asked if he 'got off' to seeing him in pain? It had to have been a wind up.
Suddenly the male on the desk began cracking up and laughing for the first time in a long time as he saw the smear of red making it's way over Crane's cheeks unwillingly. The man probably didn't realize it, he was still serious and stone faced behind his glasses, his blue eyes betraying his emotion behind them though.
"I think we should add 'gullible' to that dictionary alongside your picture doc, no offense," Harry was joking.
Joking.
Harry Potter could tell certain things even if he wasn't particularly good at reading people, he could tell Crane wasn't the type to blush so when he was he probably didn't realize it. A mix of sternness and mild irritation crossed over by the out of place blush on the doctor's cheeks which already had handsomely prominent cheekbones made Harry's stare become fixated. The glasses, the neatly done psychiatrist look was almost too perfect, Harry had not allowed such analysis over the muggle but caved to his bubbling feelings that had not frothed forth since Azkaban had damaged a good part of his emotional capacity for such.
Jonathan Crane was dressed to the nines, slacks, loafers, nicely ironed out blazer which showed off a strong set of shoulders narrowing to his slender figure as his eyes roved down. Under the blazer was a rather modest black jumper which had a polo shirt underneath that, a red tie tucked along beneath the jumper and done squarely up to the top button of his white collar. Over all of this was a very loosely worn white open coat that had a name-tag on it. To others he may seem mundane or geeky in appearance but facially he was a mix of aristocratic yet gentle with succulent lips, prominent cheek bones, immaculate hair, stunning big blue eyes accentuated by glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. The out of place blush made Harry want to pull the man up off the chair to his tie onto his feet and dishelve him more, yet not put a hair out of place, he wanted to peel the clothes off Crane's slender form and yet keep them on as he looked so good in them. Conflicting.
Through the silence that followed Harry's laughter, the tension could be felt in the air again, though a distinctively different one as Dr. Crane picked up on the almost searching stare he was getting under the green gaze.
Harry tried to violently cut off his thoughts and hope the need to suddenly cross one leg over the other wouldn't arrive and cursed Azkaban for it's repression and himself for his lack of control.
"You know, I haven't laughed in such a long time that my face actually feels odd," said Harry finally as he ghosted his fingers by the side of his mouth as he felt his facial muscles tingle from the workout of actually laughing.
"I think you might have fixed me a bit doc," said Harry in a quieter tone as Crane merely raised an eyebrow and faught the urge to smile back.
"I hope so Harry," he returned.
"I think the whole Erotic Transference thing is a load of bollocks," said Harry suddenly. His eyes roving to the book discarded on the floor, it mentioned how forbidden falling-for-the-therapist was, the fact it was interpreted as morally wrong in the medical profession and such. He could see their points but it was far too aggressively clean cut, what if some people legitimately fell in love?
"Pardon?" Crane asked coolly.
"Not even getting into the specifics about it but...it doesn't exactly apply Dr. Crane, not to you anyway, you can switch your medical ethics and morals on and off from what I can tell," shrugged Harry innocently "-I wish I could do that," it would have spared him so much pain.
Though now he felt like all he wanted was happiness and he didn't care where he got it, how he got it or for who dare get in the way of it.
Dr. Crane was somewhat amoral, though not entirely but Harry envied him anyway.
"Interesting," his eyes narrowed as he mulled Harry's statement over.
There was empathy between them and a trust he had not bothered to establish with other patients or people before, Harry had proven that on occasion he could view him as an object worthy of physical lust. They were rather open about it, he also needed Harry's continued faith in him until he could gather anything 'true' about this anomaly and then carefully unwrap the mysteries he'd covered himself with. There was a way of doing that, though not a medically ethical one -not that Crane cared too much for it.
He also didn't want to admit to his self-shame when he thought of Harry in a bizarrely sexual manner when he'd caved into an anger and alpha-male-like primeval urge for dominance and thrown him into the desk. Harry had bright green eyes, tresses of healthy long black hair, bangs hiding a unique lightning bolt scar quite nicely and a pale reflection not unlike the shade of moonlight. The panting, the rhythmic movement of his chest and the defeated look that flashed in his eyes when he'd apologized. He didn't want to admit those things sent a surge of positivity, but Harry knew it, and he knew it.
"Well then, where do we go from here Harry?" asked Crane in his now normal, painfully monotone demeanor.
"Our sessions are almost all day now, yet while we make progress the idea of you being fit enough to face discharge and parole is looking like it'll take more and more time. No matter how much I fit you in, unless there was a way for me to conclusively prove you're fit enough for society," Harry could practically see the cogs turning in Crane's mind as he spoke.
"If I put you under closer monitoring and you can prove your coping with your episodes and maintain normal societal behavior... convincing higher ups to put you forward for discharge would be easier. It'd be good in your parole hearing, as for integrating you into real society itself, perhaps..." Crane trailed off. That always came up in the hearings for anyone coming out of Arkham -can they be trusted in society and could they cope?
Crane had an idea, and was suddenly glad for how much power his name held. He was the number one psychologists in the state and maybe even the globe. He was renowned within his field and he was quite aware of how to work the court. He'd gotten guilty men out of Arkham before, perhaps for once, he could get an innocent man out to.
"I'm sure you'd prefer not to be released into a hostel of some sort with random people checking on you, so, if you're not adverse to it Harry, would you like me to remain your therapist even if you left Arkham?" asked Dr. Crane, pressing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and giving his patient a measuring look. Everything was falling into place too perfectly, he could almost grin ear-to-ear like a cat that had caught the canary.
"How would that be possible?" Harry couldn't picture himself getting used to being without Crane so quickly. So far the muggle had helped him more then anyone had, Hell, the fact he'd even made an honest go to in the first place was something that elevated him to a higher status in Harry's mind. For someone who had no one, Crane was perhaps his last and only hope that he didn't want to let slip through his fingers or maybe he really would go mad. To have kindness dangled in his face after so long and the prospect of it being suddenly yanked away and being thrown into a cold, crime-ridden corner of America. A country he wasn't even used to.
"If I was at your parole hearing, if we got it in Gotham after all, perhaps I could get you released into my custody. It would appease the board I know that much and resolve any doubt that you'll have issue integrating and being kept under careful watch," mused Crane out loud. It gave him a chance to have the anomaly all to himself and keep tests and such off the record easier. He'd have unlimited access, prospects and possibilities that usually made it hard for the heavily guarded and watched asylum to do. He could even use it as an excuse to get Harry to trust him and then exploit the trust to find the answers he'd been burning to know. Then he could chase up the mysterious agencies involved with Harry's incarceration once he got the full picture.
The media could jump on this -a man could be reformed, restored, the system worked! He could become a moniker for therapeutic cures and the incarceration system of Gotham which was constantly under criticism. It could give Crane more positive publicity, he could just picture it -then the DC office would have to get off of his back and the board of medical misconduct would have another healthy dose of illusion of how good he was as a person to keep their noses out or remain suspicion-free of his misconduct.
Hell, he could even use it as an excuse to take long excursions away from his work at Arkham to concentrate exclusively on Harry Potter. His enigma wrapped in a puzzle, whom he alone would solve.
The usually cold and calculating Jonathan Crane found himself thrown for a loop when he realized there were practically tears of joy rising in green iris's that had so much hope in them, the previous lethargy he saw in Harry momentarily disappeared. The patient launched himself off the desk into Crane, literally not wanting to let the chance slip through his fingers. Crane seized up but then remembered he was in the presence of Arkham's least violent. It took a moment to register the action, it was an embrace: a hug.
Blinking owlishly for a moment but too cold to return it, his eyes flitted to the book on the floor again, then it became apparent it was becoming very uncomfortable again.
Very dully he could make out that Harry was mumbling 'thank you's into his chest, maybe even crying a bit. Such a reaction was not something surprising, to any one else yes, but not to Crane. He guessed a number of things about Harry which their sessions together had proved, Harry Potter was not used to having nice things. If he had, then he at least expected them to be yanked away from him. Harry was not used to having proper emotional supports in place either and it became evident from the severity of his reaction that he also did not expect kindness. The snippets of his past were dark but Jonathan Crane suspected that what he didn't know was even darker.
So he made no effort to physically remove Harry, but for the sake of the book on the floor offered a moot point.
"This is getting uncomfortable for a variety of reasons," managed Crane, resisting the urge to shift around in the cushioned chair as he was very aware of the other body that was collapsed over him. Eventually Harry backed up and found himself sitting directly in Crane's lap, embarrassed to have thrown himself from the desk into his therapist, he smiled sheepishly.
Harry's gaze followed the psychiatrist's at the book tossed on the floor titled 'Erotic Transference'.
It highlighted how relations between a therapist and their patient that transcended professionalism were wrong and the psychological inner-workings of it and how such a thing happened and how it became frequent enough to warrant itself as a section of psychiatry that required serious consideration.
"Load of bollocks that book is," murmured Harry, resting into Crane again though this time knowing he had no excuse to do so, and should have removed himself.
In terms of medical ethics, the book had valid points, but Harry's chaotic life which was naught but a string of disasters now had very simple goals.
Freedom and happiness, in that order. He believed he sacrificed enough for this world and ultimately he was abused for it as Scrimgoer had him thrown into prison facilities and even pushed off out of Britain merely to get him out the way. Used and abused. Now Harry didn't care where he got his happiness from or ultimately where he found freedom, he didn't care for anything that would get in the way of it anymore because he spent his entire life being selfless and yet still being forsaken at the end of it all. He voiced such thoughts to Crane who nodded in understanding and decided not to press the points of Harry's life that required his selfless acts, he had more then enough time to unwrap the puzzle that was, his patient.
But this digresses from the point, in a nutshell, Harry didn't care much for whatever unwritten or written rules it broke if he wanted to be happy in his way and if that was with the muggle doctor then nuts to the book on the floor. To him it was a load of bollocks and that's all it ever would be and to Dr. Crane he could choose whether he wanted to apply it's ethics, but he switched those on-and-off at will, so really there was no longer a professional barrier that separated any more-then-platonic feelings between a patient and their doctor. Between Harry James Potter and Jonathan Crane. Wizard and muggle. Light and dark.
Harry had continued the conversation from Crane's lap and the doctor had given up trying to get him to move having not exactly employed any method to. He just kept motionless and tried not to cause a body friction that could cause the tension in the room to thicken anymore lest they suffocate under it.
The Scarecrow feared he was going soft but then reminded himself of his purely business motives.
Yet that seemed like a child trying to justify why their hand was caught in the cookie-jar when he used it as justification in his mind.
Yes his purely business motives were very much applicable, but to deny the fact any feelings played no factor would be like trying to claim that penguins could indeed fly.
Penguins class as birds, some argue mammal, but either way they don't fly.
Feelings are involved.
The Scarecrow was not getting soft, but perhaps the other side of him, Dr. Crane might be.
There was only one thing two people did with that kind of tension in a room, with that close a proximity and with that sole awkward stare into the eyes of another when they search for anything else to say but can't.
This was how Jonathan Crane could find himself sloping down into the therapist chair in room seven with Harry looming above him from his lap, face leaning down into him and tresses of black hair falling forward to touch graze his face as he felt lips over his. Harry didn't have a good romantic past, so he decided to throw what he thought he knew out of the window and bit-the-bullet so to speak. He was rather good at it, even if the other man couldn't exactly tell due to having absolutely no romantic history behind him whatsoever.
Harry tried not to let the slender man slip between his fingers as he feared the hope he had riding on him would not, causing the arms around Crane to tighten slightly, and the kiss to harshen and perhaps border aggressive.
Jonathan found he didn't mind either way, and continued to melt into the chair, now totally sure what few medical ethics he had were beaten like a dead horse by a pissed off and vengeful jockey.
Too soon to call it love, too deep to call it infatuation, more then one kind of feeling to class as lust.
Harry didn't think he'd find a touch of joy in such confusion, but was pleasantly surprised when he did and decided it was easier not to care where your happiness in life came from.
When the therapy in room seven ended abruptly after the kiss and no more, Crane found himself smirking without control on it and Harry found himself walking without the haunting calmness. The borderline lethargy...it had gone for at least a moment.
The Erotic Transference book lay forgotten on the floor of room seven for cleaners, but not before a giant slightly-muddied boot-print hit the cover directly as Jonathan Crane walked out and headed for his office, trying to refocus on the rest of his work and failing. Dammit, maybe he was going soft, but then again, maybe it'd be worth it for his anomaly.