In

Brigid stood next to Gordon, watching Dr. Crane through the one-way mirror in the dark observation room attached to the interrogation cell. Crane was waiting patiently, sitting so still that she was almost afraid that he could somehow sense he was being watched. It was a struggle to even look at him, unpleasant memories kept trying to surface in her thoughts, making it harder for her to compose herself. After a moment, she began setting up the tape recorders and Gordon, noticing her movement, decided to busy himself by putting on a pot of coffee. Not looking at her as he piled grinds into the machine, he addressed her quietly as she was slipping the secondary recorder inside her shirt.

"If you're in there and you need a break- take one." He said firmly, "You have plenty of time before the trial; if Crane starts getting to you, step out."

Brigid took a deep breath, "Got it." Her voice sounded more confident than she felt, and she sensed that Gordon might have sensed just how nervous she was. But she smiled anyway, grabbing the recorder and her files. "Keep your fingers crossed," she said as she walked towards the door leading to the connecting hallway, "Maybe we'll get lucky and get a confession today,"

Gordon's smile crooked to the left as he sighed, "Well, no offense but I won't be holding my breath. He's going to want to draw this out as long as he can."

Brigid, who was surprised that she had managed to maintain her facade of confidence this long, said nothing in reply, and instead let the door close behind her as she stepped through into the hall. Of course he'll draw it out, Gordon's right; but I can't see any benefit to it, other than to stave off boredom.

She tried to hang onto the lightheartedness her banter with Gordon had inspired as she approached the cell, but as she began unlocking the door to the cell, cold dread resurfaced in her chest. No amount of deep breaths would chase away the anxiousness gnawing away at her, and keeping her face as neutral as possible, she pulled the door open and crossed into the room. She let the door swing closed behind her, and walked forward to take the seat across from Crane.

His eyes tracked her carefully the moment she entered the room, his face purposefully controlled and expressionless. Moving mechanically, she set out the recorder near her side of the metal table, just out of Crane's reach, and placed her files next to it. In the grimy artificial gloom his eyes reminded her of flinty steel coins, polished so brightly they dimmed everything around them. Gathering together what papers she needed in silence made her feel increasingly more self-conscious of every movement. Flipping the recorder on, she cleared her throat and waited a few seconds before meeting Crane's gaze and speaking.

"For the purposes of this recording, I am special-agent Brigid Grey on retention with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and in the room with me is the former Dr. Jonathan Crane," Brigid began, her voice clear and flat.

"Has the medical board already revoked my license?" Crane asked with the shadow of a sneer, interrupting Brigid.

Crane's eyes flicked over her face, taking in her clenched jaw before she could mask her reaction. Not wanting to let him derail the recordings, Brigid continued speaking, undeterred. He let her finish this time, watching with a shadow of a smug smile as a cold cruel air crawled between them. The room was both too large, and too small all at once, threatening to force her throat closed as she spoke. The dim dirty light leached out any color around them, reminding Brigid of their unpleasant rainy day meetings last year.

"Do you consent to this meeting knowing that you do not have a lawyer present?" Brigid asked once she had finally finished.

Crane inched forward in his chair, leaning slightly towards the recorder as if he was doubtful the recording device's ability to pick up his voice. "Yes, that was what I requested. My legal counsel is already aware of my decision."

"Great." Brigid said under her breath, breaking away from his unflinching gaze and moving her introductory notes to the back of the file while Dr. Crane leaned back in his seat. Talking points stared back at her from the papers, and she pretended to read them while she regrouped. I haven't even been here twenty minutes, and we're right back where we started, she thought warily.

Taking a sip of her coffee, after letting a few more minutes of silence slip by, she steeled herself against her raw nerves and addressed him again. "So, is there anything you'd like to start with? Or do you want me to just go ahead and get the interrogation points over with?"

He smiled, caught somewhere in between being wholly unsurprised and slightly amused at her rough, curt attitude. "You didn't answer my question earlier."

Brigid frowned, raising a brow unimpressed. "I couldn't speak on behalf of the medical board, that would be a question for your lawyers." Then she shrugged, "But if you want a more immediate answer, all I can tell you is to stop wasting my time with a question you already know the answer to."

His head tilted back slightly at that, making it obvious to Brigid he was looking down his nose at her.

Trying her best to seem unperturbed, Brigid pressed on. "Is there anything you would like to discuss about the events leading up to the incident that occurred last December? Or would you like to tell me about what you've been doing this past year?"

"Don't these kinds of interviews usually start with you asking something like- 'have you been comfortable in jail?' or 'is there anything I can get you?'" Crane mused.

"You're right, they do." Brigid's face tightened with a sharp smile, "Interrogators like the people they interview to think they care about them; that they're friends. Criminal psychiatrists do the same thing right?"

"Yes." Crane said, looking as if admitting it put a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I thought so. Well, let me set some expectations for you about how this is gonna go," Brigid's smile widened fiercely, "I'm not your fucking friend Jonathan. If you have complaints about how you're being treated, tell it to your lawyers."

Crane leaned forward on his forearms, "Is this because I threw you off the roof? Maybe I should have requested to speak to someone else, it seems like you're letting your emotions cloud your judgment."

Please do asshole, she thought, make my day. This is the last place I want to be, and we both know you're bluffing.

Brigid leaned forward, mirroring his movements, her smile fixed in place."It's your right to do that, if you'd like. I've already spoken to three different agents in the BAU that are on standby just waiting to get a crack at you, all you've got to do is say the word they can be here in two hours."

Crane said nothing but watched her, his face waxy in the light. Brigid couldn't tell if he was annoyed, or trying to mentally regroup, but after no response she continued. "With your expirence in court, I'm not going to waste my time. You asked for me to be here, and I am. So we can spend the next hour going back and forth, or you can just tell me why you threw away what was a promising career to become a terrorist."

"Well, rehabilitation of patients was impossible with the current treatment methods, so I suppose I had to look for other options." He gave her a benign smile and Brigid had to force away a scowl.

"And how does the mob come into the equation then? And exactly when was it that you decided you were going to be testing it on an entire city, instead of just criminals?"

Crane shrugged, as if the conversation was beneath him, a sentiment that Brigid shared albeit for different reasons. "You tell me. After a dose of the toxin, do you think someone would be able to commit another crime?"

Brigid didn't like that Crane kept trying to tie their conversation back to their more unpleasant encounters together, and despite knowing at a certain point it would have come up eventually, it irritated her more than she had expected. A memory of glittering dark eyes watching her from the corner of a cell flashed before her eyes.

"So you attribute the more, uh, subdued behavior your patients displayed to your experimental treatment?" Brigid scoffed, then shook her head thoughtfully, "Actually 'subdued' is the wrong word isn't it? They were in constant states of distress, and I remember there was at least one patient that didn't seem to be effected,"

Crane's eyes glittered with malice, "Was there? You know, I had an awful lot going on at the time."

Brigid narrowed her eyes, "Oh I can imagine. Dancing to the tune of organized crime families, running a criminal asylum, helping out your terrorist friends. Your work life balance must have been shit,"

Again he gave her another sardonic, unimpressed smile. "And here I thought you had become incapable of being civil," he breathed, "That's a bad habit of yours Brigid. When you think you're close to getting what you want, you fall back into your friendly, charming routine. You can try to be as obstinate as you please, but you can't help yourself."

Brigid grit her teeth so hard, she tore a hole in the inside of her cheek, all the while Crane watched her, silently gloating. She hadn't wanted to try to provoke him so early, but his barb cut deep and before she could think about it further, the words came pouring out.

"If you were like this in school, it's not a surprise you didn't have friends."

Crane laughed coldly, "Oh, that's your expert opinion? Remind me, did you ever get past Psych 101 in college?"

Brigid felt her smile teeter towards becoming a sneer, "I'll let you have that one, because I'm in the mood to be civil," she said, straining to control her own voice so it didn't shake. "But don't bullshit me. You taught psychology at Gotham University, and now you're telling me it never occurred to you that you've got all the hallmarks of an antisocial personality disorder? I'm not buying it."

"No one can fool you," Crane smirked, but Brigid noticed his eyes flicked towards the recorder on the table. "By the way, how has your year away from Gotham been?"

Brigid wholeheartedly knew, looking at Crane's handsome vicious face, that he at least had an idea that the last year had been hell. His stunt last year had caused her to endure numerous grueling meetings with numerous departments. Old men, whose faces were so similar they blurred together in her mind, staring her down and picking apart every decision she had made. She had been like a corpse unable to defend itself from vultures waiting to descend from above.

Crane watched her, and even though she was sure her face was blank, he seemed to know. It was like he was inhaling her suffering, the shame and resentment. She knew she should keep eye contact with him, but she couldn't. Avoiding his gaze, she turned off the recorder and stood up, gathering together her notes.

"I think that's a good stopping point," Brigid said calmly, looking at the double sided mirror.

Crane exhaled slowly, making Brigid turn to look at him again. The smirk was gone, and the manic energy that had been burning in his before had quieted, at least for the moment.

"Next time we speak, don't bring Lt. Gordon with you."

Brigid stared at him stunned. She was surprised he had guessed Gordon was watching from the other side, but even more shocked at the audacity of his request. "Not a snowball's chance in hell."

Crane calmly rested his hands on his lap as if they were in another one of their weekly meetings, instead of an interrogation cell. "Well, I won't tell you anything unless we can speak in private. No eavesdroppers." He scooted forward slightly, affecting that same pose from before that made him look weak and boy-like. Raising his voice slightly to address Gordon, he continued, "I'm sure Lt. Gordon and the rest of the GCPD will have better things to do with their time."

Brigid didn't appreciate Crane's intentionally trying to undermine her answer. Though Gordon wasn't in the cell, he could hear them perfectly well in the adjacent room. Her brow furrowed slightly.

"It's not going to happen. And even if for some reason I was allowed to, you talked someone into killing themselves not even a full two days ago. So, no."

For the first time since seeing him again, his mouth split into a wide grin. "Can you prove that?"

Brigid didn't answer, instead she turned and walked towards the door, her things neatly clutched in her hands. She'd had enough.

"Think about it, then decide." Crane's voice called out to her before the door shut behind her, cutting them off.

She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly trying to expel the tightness in her chest. Gordon was already closing the door to the other room, and heading towards her looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Well." Brigid said, hoping to prompt something out of Gordon.

He let out a heavy breath, eyes flicking between the floor and Brigid, his worried frown hiding beneath his mustache. "Well."

Brigid tucked the files under her arm and rubbed warmth back into her numb hands. She hadn't realized how cold it had been in the cell, before addressing Gordon. "I'll be damned if I know how he found out it was you on the other side."

Gordon gave a half shrug. "I don't know. He's been in solitary. Other than the visits and calls from his lawyers, and meals, no one's been in contact with him. Rachel always said he was a creepy son of a bitch,"

"Hmm." Brigid said vaguely, the two walking down the hall. Gordon seemed unusually worried about something, though he kept tight-lipped about it and Brigid was too mentally tired to pry. Hell, it could have just been he was freaked out that Crane knew he was there. If it was something important, she was sure Gordon would have said more. Before they reached the main part of the building, Brigid handed Gordon the first recording, and switched the second hidden one off.

"Thanks. I'll get these over to Harvey, the DA's office will probably email over the transcripts later."

"Gotcha. If you guys are okay with it, I'm going to sweat him out tomorrow. Maybe we'll try again the day after." Brigid said, pulling on her coat and trying not to bump into other officers as they navigated through the building towards the exit.

"It's your call. You got him talking, that's always a good sign. He won't miss an opportunity to jerk us around before he tells us anything useful." Gordon said, stopping briefly as a dark haired officer approached them and handed him a file. Brigid recognized the woman from her last visit, before remembering she was with Gordon Fear Night too. The woman nodded towards her, and Brigid smiled back before her attention was drawn back to Gordon. "Thanks Ramirez, give me five."

"Yes sir," Ramirez answered, looking between the two as she walked off.

Brigid watched her go, before squinting at the bright light filtering through the glass doors leading outside to the city. "This is my stop. I'll be in touch," She said, fishing in her pocket for a phone to call a taxi. Gordon nodded.

Stepping outside, it was cold and damp. She had heard it was an unseasonably cold winter in Gotham this year, and she could feel the difference. The cold was bitter and unrelenting as she waited for the taxi, but it didn't bother her much. She was grateful for the numbness.