"He just wasn't the man I thought he was."
This phrase had become the refrain of her story of lost love for nearly two years. When pressed for details she only said that the memories were too painful, her wounds had not yet healed.
The feeling of being whole is something we often look to others to give us. We tell them things like 'You are my better half' or 'I was nothing without you.' This may sound good or even noble, but what happens when you lose that person? What do you do now to be whole? Were you whole in the first place?
It would appear that you were just in an illusion of what whole really is.
He had broken her heart.
He had violated her trust.
He had shaken the foundation of everything she believed in professionally.
He had loved every minute of it.
They say that you should trust those little signs that your brain and body gives you to alert you that something isn't quite right. Danger is close to you and you need either to fight or flee.
She had done neither. She had ignored her instincts and allowed him into her life. Not just allowed, pulled him in even though he had protested.
Well, he had at first.
When it came down to it, one of the most basic needs people have is to find a mate. He had been an extremely unlikely match, or so it had seemed.
Narcissistic and callous, he naturally drove people away from him and faded into the background and had become an observer, a recluse. And in spite of this, he had been the best of them.
Doctor Arkham sat across the conference table from Commissioner Gordon and Renee Montoya. Montoya was shuffling paperwork whilst Arkham looked over a couple of files and Gordon scratched a few notes in the margins of a saturated legal-ruled sheet.
The three of them looked up as Joan Leland entered the room and closed the door discretely behind her.
"Good morning, Joan," the elder man's voice greeted her as she took her seat. She saw Doctor Arkham's harried expression as he pushed a couple of files toward her.
"Good morning, Doctor Arkham," she said glancing at the files. She read the name on the top and looked up at her boss at a loss for words. He smiled grimly.
"Jonathan Crane is Doctor Keatons' patient," she said while holding up the file.
"And the Joker is Doctor Quinzel's patient, but she isn't available," he paused. "I have promised Commissioner Gordon full cooperation from our institution. You are the head of psychiatric medicine, Joan, and I expect you to act in full capacity of your position."
Joan Leland pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. Her heart beat furiously in her chest. She wanted to flee.
"As you know, the Joker has escaped and has had a full day's head start on law enforcement. We need to interview Crane and get as many details from him about the Joker and their association as possible," Arkham said.
"I don't see how Crane could have been involved in this incidence," she said softly. "The two inmates haven't even been in contact with one another for months."
"Victor Zsasz was caught on the courtroom tape and his fingerprints were all over the glass and pitcher from which the Joker was poisoned," Gordon said tapping his pen on paper. "Mr. Zsasz was also given prolonged treatment at Arkham under the care of Jonathan Crane when he was found to be incompetent to stand trial."
"So," Joan paused for a beat, "it is your summation that Jonathan Crane orchestrated this attempted assassination when he has had no contact with any of the parties involved in months? I'll give you that he has proven to be a criminal mastermind, but that is quite a stretch."
"Why do you say that, Doctor Leland?" Montoya asked, eyeing her warily. Joan attempted to smile but faltered.
"This isn't his modus operandi. He doesn't give clues and he wouldn't use a method that would result in death so quickly. He likes to watch, to study his victim's responses to his methodology. He likes to see the fear." Joan said and her shoulders sagged slightly.
Joan sat the files side by side and looked between them, feeling powerless and already exhausted. She glanced up at Arkham like a little girl asking her father to not make her do a chore. And a terrible chore it was.
"With all due respect, Doctor Arkham, I do not believe it would be appropriate for me to interview him. Perhaps you should have Detective Montoya or Commissioner Gordon go in to extract whatever information they may need. But it is my job to protect these inmates, these patients, to help them make progress, to…" Joan spoke but Arkham cut her off.
"I hired you, Joan! I hired you because you are a great psychiatrist and more than capable of handling this position. Let alone this interview. You need to set aside your feelings and focus on the task at hand," he said slamming his fist on the table. Joan started at his action.
She took in the faces at the table and drew a calming breath.
"He asked for this," she said. She caught Arkham's and Gordon's gaze in succession.
"I'll have you know that I will not allow you to set me up for public humiliation like you did with Harleen. I will give no testimony in court and I want my name removed from any witness statements," she said and then set her eyes upon Gordon. "I have been completely cooperative with all of these investigations and I have had to make a great deal of personal sacrifice in order to do so. But you are dancing a fine line of ethics here, Commissioner, and I will not allow mine to be compromised."
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some things to review before I interview Jonathan Crane. I assume you'll have him ready when I am?" She arched a brow toward Arkham who nodded silently as the other three left Joan to herself.
Joan had raced from her office at Arkham to the holding area at MCU the night they had caught him. His expressions changed from angry glares to strange smiles in an instant and he was in the midst of a bizarre tirade when she arrived.
"I am the master of fear! The lord of despair! Cower before me and witness terror! Worship me, you fools! Worship me! Scream hosannas of anguish to me, Scarecrow the all-terrible God of Fear!"
He howled in laughter and then caught sight of her. His hair was greasy and plastered against his head. He was handcuffed and still wore a suit and dress shoes. She looked aside and saw the officers arranging items that they had taken from him on a table.
"Glad you could make it, Doctor Leland," Lieutenant Gordon greeted her and shook her hand. Jonathan was staring at her, his blue eyes wild.
"I'm going to approach the cell," she said and stepped toward it confidently. She stopped just outside of an arms reach and studied him.
He was a mess. He stood and met her on the other side and smirked at her.
"I suppose you will be evaluating me?" He asked; that strange look still in his eyes. One that wasn't altogether unfamiliar to her. She took him in, the ratty suit, the poor hygiene, the air of cockiness in how he held himself.
From what they had discovered since Fear Night, her presence was a mere formality. His corruption and sadistic experimentation had long since written him a ticket to Arkham.
"Do you have an obolus for the ferryman?" Joan asked quietly.
"Do you still make hominy the way I like it?" He replied.
It had been at a conference they had attended when she caught the glimpse of something else beneath the cold façade, the mask he wore for the world. After a long day of seminars during which he had given a lecture on his specialty in psychopharmacology and its application in the treatment of phobias, she had found herself standing beside him in an elevator. He didn't make a move to stop the doors from closing even as she called out as she rushed toward it. She shoved her folded blazer between the sliding doors and they had immediately reopened.
He had regarded her with his cool gaze from behind his rectangular lenses and then stared ahead at the control panel as she pushed the button for her floor. She had turned to him, frowning and smoothed her blazer over her arm.
"I suppose you didn't hear me," she said as she moved beside him, looking at the panel as well.
"I suppose not," he replied crisply.
They rode the elevator in silence, two of the five psychiatrists from Gotham present at the conference. They knew each other professionally but not beyond that. The fact that he chose to distance himself from her in quiet company was irritating. The elevator stopped at her floor and she stepped out.
"Goodnight Doctor Crane," she said turning slightly toward him as she exited.
"Goodnight Doctor Leland," he spoke in an even tone as the doors closed again. She looked at the closed doors for a moment and then shook her head and retreated to her room.
She showered and contemplated retiring for the evening. She watched the evening news as she dried her hair and then decided she was not about to shut herself up in her room. There were a few hundred attendees at the conference and she was not one to be unsocial.
She dried and brushed out her black hair, re-applied her make-up and slipped on a red cocktail dress. After pulling on a pair of black heels, she set out to join the party downstairs.
Once she had arrived in the lobby, the concierge directed her to a number of restaurants and bars the other attendees had headed off to. She decided to go to the hotel lounge for a quick bite and a drink to get started. She entered the low-lit room and scanned it for familiar faces from the day.
To her surprise, she found Jonathan Crane sitting alone at a table in the corner. He still wore the suit he had been all day. His head was down and he was turning a glass around on the table and casting an occasional casual glance. She smoothed her dress and headed directly to his table.
"Is this seat taken?" She asked, smiling politely. He looked at her and seemed to consider his response before giving it.
"No," he said looking at her cautiously, as if she were setting a trap.
She took a seat beside him and called over the waiter and ordered herself an appetizer and drink as well as another for him despite his quiet protest.
"So, you come here often?" She joked and sipped her martini.
A few more drinks and he relaxed and almost seemed like he was a different person. He smiled at her and she caught a gleam in his blue eyes she found hypnotic. Laughing and talking and more drinks passed between them. The next ride in the elevator was a lot cozier. They both got off on her floor and he walked her to her room. She leaned against the door jamb and smiled at him. He suddenly looked at his feet and swallowed, looking a bit uncomfortable.
"It was nice talking with you, Jonathan," she said touching his arm gently. His gaze met hers and his unease evaporated.
She didn't remember who made the first move, and it ultimately didn't matter. His kiss was tentative and she made hers inviting. She drew him inside her room wordlessly, sparing him any embarrassment in admitting that he wasn't the kind of guy who did this very often.
He'd been clumsy but that had been overshadowed by his eagerness. Once they were alone, he was seemingly uninhibited. His white skin on her ebony flesh, his hands and mouth explored her in the most intimate ways. And that gleam never left his eyes as he took in her every move, gasp and cry.
He had gone before she had awakened in the morning. She was only mildly surprised by that as they both had their own rooms to prepare themselves for the days' events.
When she met him in the conference room as he poured his coffee, he regarded her with the same coldness and distance typical of his character. She could only stand and watch him walk away as if the night before had never mattered.
"I don't know what you were thinking," Joan said trying to keep and even tone as she started the car. Jonathan sat back casually and seemed to be ignoring her.
"It was only a demonstration," he said detachedly. She felt something in her neck pop as she whipped her head to face him.
"A demonstration! You shot one of your students!" She cried, hitting the steering wheel and sounding the horn.
"It was an accident, a ricochet," he shrugged. "And it drove the point home to them, a lesson they won't forget soon," he smirked. Joan stared at him open-mouthed for a few moments before finally pulling out of the police station's parking garage.
"Well, this is the last time I post bail for you and your little demonstrations!" She hissed and glared at him.
Neither of them were surprised when Jonathan was called before the University board the next day and then fired. He had been angry, but not surprised. He had already been hired as head of psychiatry at Arkham Asylum, but had wished to retain part-time status at Gotham University.
"They'll see the error of their ways," Jonathan seethed while Joan stood over the stove, stirring hominy in a pan.
"That sounds an awful lot like a threat, Jonathan," Joan said looking at him worriedly. He shook his head.
"The position at Arkham is more suited to your talents and expertise anyway," she said looking back at the pan and scraping the spatula across the bottom.
He ruminated over dinner as they ate in silence. Joan was upset for him, but still startled by the actions which had led to his termination at Gotham University. Her family was planning on visiting Gotham in a couple of weeks and she was still on the fence of whether to introduce him to them.
They had been seeing one another for a year and a half. She talked to her mother about her boyfriend but hadn't told her everything about him. He had points for being educated, a doctor, and a Southerner. Joan's own family had moved to Detroit from Georgia when her grandmother was a little girl.
She hadn't told them he was white.
It was ridiculous that in this modern age they were still placed under racial scrutiny. No matter what other qualities he had, they would see him as a 'white boy.' She'd heard enough of it already from her friends.
Jonathan left the table without a word and closed himself up in her office. Sometimes it was as if two different men resided within Jonathan. He could be moody and distant, but there was another side to him that came out when the time was right. That side joined her later in the bathroom while she toweled off and led her to the bed.
Joan wound the spaghetti around her fork before savoring its taste. She dipped a piece of garlic bread into the sauce and bit into it and then realized he hadn't been paying attention. He was eyeing the display of his cell phone from behind his rectangular lenses.
"Jonathan?" Joan asked while she discretely dabbed her lips with her napkin. His blue eyes pierced her and she felt a tingling on the back of her neck.
"It would appear that Miss Dawes requires my presence at Arkham," he said, irritated.
"What does she need now? Didn't you tell her we were leaving?" Joan asked frowning.
Rachel Dawes had been picking away at Jonathan for months as if she were strumming an exposed nerve. The woman had seemingly made it her personal mission to attack Jonathan's decisions on every case he took and had been digging into practices at Arkham. What the woman hoped to uncover was beyond Joan, still she had her own little barb in her side.
"Perhaps I could have been of assistance in running interference with Dawes, had I been appointed to that position," she smirked. He regarded her coldly.
"I thought you had gotten over that," he said, "perhaps I didn't realize the depth of your pettiness." Joan took a deep breath and stared holes into her significant other. He shook his head and set the phone down on the table.
"You are just as emotional and irrational as the rest of them," he said. Joan looked away and bit the inside of her lower lip.
"I already explained my decision to you regarding the position at Arkham. I was sure you understood how unprofessional it would be to have you working beneath me," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Let alone the cries of foul play from the other candidates when the nature of our relationship came to light."
"You didn't have to be an asshole about it," she said remembering how she had received a rejection letter in the mail from him instead of being told face to face. But that was how Jonathan Crane did things.
"And you didn't have to make a scene in my office, more to the point why hiring you would have been a mistake," he said calmly and then took drink of his wine.
Joan looked at her watch as Jonathan waved over the waiter. Their flight was due to leave in three hours.
"Do you want me to swing you by Arkham on our way to the airport?" She said motioning toward her watch. She watched his expression changing as he seemed to be thinking out the scenario.
"No, you go ahead, I'll take a cab," he said as he came to her side and pulled her coat from the back of her chair and held it open for her.
She felt uneasy but didn't know why. She slid on her coat with his assistance and grabbed her purse before they headed to the door where Jonathan asked the host to call a cab.
"What if you miss the flight?" She asked, looking at him. He tilted his head and touched her hand.
"I'll catch the next one, of course," he said with a wry grin. Joan blinked and hesitated as he tried to steer her outside.
"Perhaps I should come with you," she said and noted how he narrowed his eyes.
"It is unlikely that this business should take very long, but I won't let Miss Dawes and her issues hold us both up. Worst case scenario," he leaned close and his breath tickled her ear, "you'll have a little extra time to get ready for me."
Joan blushed and Jonathan led her to her car and kissed her discretely.
It was the last time she ever saw him.
Joan walked into the therapy room with a file, a notepad and a pen. She glanced at the mirror on the wall, knowing that they would be watching her question Crane. She took a seat across from him and slid the chair up to the table, establishing an authoritative posture.
He sat back in his seat casually and regarded her curiously. He wore his rectangular framed glasses and a red Arkham jumpsuit. He was unrestrained. His hair was clean, but unruly and his face was clean of stubble.
Nothing happened at first, like they were playing the 'quiet game.' Breaking the ice would not be easy to do since she had outright refused to treat him since his institutionalization. And in the time he'd spent there he hadn't had many kind words for her.
"It appears your friend has left you high and dry," she began and he tilted his head. "The Joker? Whatever plans you two made together you can forget them because he's out now." He shook his head.
"Really, I heard he was poisoned," he said as if he were talking to a child.
"He was. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" She asked and he looked at the mirror and then back at her.
"Why would I?" He shrugged.
"It was one of your former patients that did it," she replied. He snorted and looked at the mirror again.
"I wouldn't even know where to begin picking apart the absurdity of your accusations. I've been in here for a year and a half. I've talked to the Joker, but it's not as if I've had any interaction with him since he killed Petersen. Even then, I have no cause to kill him," he said to the glass and then looked back at her. "Is that sufficient?"
"While you were out, you continued your experiments. You employed former Arkham inmates, such as Mr. Zsasz who then tried to kill the Joker," she replied.
"The people who worked for me then went on to follow the Joker," he nodded.
"Were you two working together even then?" She asked. Crane smirked. Joan closed her pen and sat forward.
"I know what you think about me, Jonathan. I hear the things you say about me. I would say that you've had it pretty good here, would you?" She raised her brows. He shrugged.
"All of your privileges, your books, your periodicals, I can make them go away like that!" She said snapping her fingers. "I can make things very uncomfortable for you and I don't believe there would be a soul who would protest it."
"You wouldn't," he smirked, "you don't have what it takes to do bad things to people."
"Not people, just you, Jonathan," she said drawing out the words. "Am I getting the quotation right? 'Is it Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned?'"
Crane considered her words for a few minutes before looking back at her. When he did, there was something different in his eyes.
"What kind of card did he say you were?" He asked.
"What?" She frowned.
"The Joker, he told me you met with him for a session or two. He says everyone has a card, what did he say yours was?" He replied. Joan tapped her pen on the paper.
"The Queen of Clubs," she said looking up at him. He smiled slightly. "Does that mean something to you?" He shook his head.
"I met the Joker on a handful of occasions before I was caught. He was recruiting help and I pointed him in the way of some former patients," He said.
"But not Waylon Jennings," Joan replied and Crane looked at her smugly.
"No, Waylon was a special case," he said eyes clouded with memory. "Besides, the Joker and I have very different philosophies. We could work toward a common goal, but in the big picture I don't see there being a successful partnership." He looked at her again.
"What about your time at Arkham?" She asked. He shrugged.
"We played Chess, we talked about Rachel Dawes and the Bat-man," he replied. "I believe everything was recorded as I am sure this is now. We knew that and neither one of us wanted to share our ideas."
"Who won?" She asked as she wrote 'Chess' on the paper. Crane made a sour expression.
"The Joker, every damn time," he said flatly. "You people are wasting your time with me; you're not going to find the answers you need here."
Joan looked at her notes and flipped through the file before closing it again and fixing a quizzical look on Crane.
"Tell me about what happened when Petersen died," she said fixing her brown eyes on his. Crane shook his head.
"Samuel Petersen would have made for an excellent test subject. I had speculated on how he would respond and then one day the Joker made a deal with me," he said.
"Oh?" Joan replied.
"He said that if I could capture his queen, then he would tell me how he got his scars. We began play and Petersen sat down and began babbling on about Doctor Quinzel but the Joker was focused on the game. He scanned the board as if he was walking amongst the pieces and I made a move which put me one move from his queen," Crane said.
"Then he picked up his queen and tapped the piece on the board three times and then he turned on Petersen. He had his hand in the man's mouth before he had time to react. And then he was on top of him, covering his mouth with one hand while squeezing his throat with the other. Petersen was dead by the time the guards finally got the Joker off of him," Crane looked at his hands.
"He had shoved the queen piece into Petersen's larynx, asphyxiating him. He looked at me as the guards were restraining him and said, 'the queens have the real power.'" Crane looked up. "So I lost that game as well."
Joan tapped her pen again and looked at the mirror and then back at Crane. She opened the file and removed a photograph which she passed to him. He took it in his hands and looked the image over very carefully.
"Riddle me this," he read the words from the image. His eyes met hers.
"This was a test for Commissioner Gordon. He wanted to see if Gordon could save the Joker, or if he would try." Crane replied.
"You say he…" Joan began.
"Of course He. There has been someone running around the criminal ranks of Gotham, more of a trickster or a pain in the ass. The first time I worked with the Joker we came across a puzzle attached to a bomb. There was a clue left behind, worded like this," he pointed at the image.
"I guess you got out of it," Joan replied. Crane nodded.
"Not with what we'd come for though. That was the price of escape. Only we couldn't just chalk it up to another nutcase vigilante. I did some asking around, they call the guy Eddie Nigma," Crane chuckled.
"E. Nigma, cute," Joan looked at him.
"Did you get what you wanted?" Crane asked. Joan mused.
"Did you?" She replied. "I will not remove any of your privileges." His gaze didn't waver when she stood. She swallowed and picked up the file, pad and pen.
"I will review your case periodically," she said meeting his eyes before leaving the room.
A/N: The Scarecrows' quote upon his capture is from the "Batman The Animated Series" episode Harley's Holiday.
The Heaven and Hell's fury quote is from William Congreve's The Mourning Bride