His Darling Assistant

Part 17: Smile

Sighing into your hands, you peeked between fingers at Jonathan's steady smile. It made no sense. He was locked up in a straitjacket in a padded room, yet he looked like he would rather be nowhere else. You frowned and crossed your arms.

You had been visiting him every day at work since he was sent to Arkham. As much as you convinced yourself it was purely due to professional reasons, you hadn't failed in finding some excuse to see him.

He still unnerved you, though. That smile that hadn't dropped once reminded you that Jonathan Crane was locked up somewhere in his head, and you were facing someone entirely different.

"So," said the Scarecrow, "Are you just going to stare at me again? Or are you hoping to have a productive session for once?"

You rolled your eyes at him, but as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. You had to make some progress, or stop coming to see him. You glanced down at the list of prepared questions you had printed out.

"Let's talk about your childhood."

"No."

You sighed again. "Okay, um, let's talk about this 'Scarecrow' character."

"Let's talk about you, darling."

"What?"

His smile grew wider. "No clever comeback? Whatever happened to 'not your darling?'"

You gaped at him, face growing hot. Why is he so difficult?

"Why didn't you say I was fit to stand trial?"

"I- that's not relevant."

"Why not?"

"You're the patient here, Jon."

"Back to nicknames, are we?"

You sighed, chewing on your bottom lip. This was going nowhere.

"Stop smiling like that."

"Excuse me?" He didn't comply.

"Stop looking at me like you want to eat me."

He raised his eyebrow at you. You rolled your eyes again and stood up.

"This is going nowhere," you said, turning the doorknob to leave.

"You wish him dead, don't you?"

Your hand stalled on the doorknob, a chill running down your spine.

"Joseph Sharpe. You wish I had killed him."

You turned, glaring at him, refusing to say a word.

"Don't deny it, sweetheart. I'm sure you've considered doing it yourself."

"Shut up."

"Oh, how it would feel, his blood running down your hands, face frozen in fear-"

"Shut up!"

He only smiled. You turned back to the door, sick.

"Stay out of my head," you muttered as you shut the door behind you.

+++

Scarecrow smiled at the back of your head as you left, knowing you'd be back. He knew his time was limited, as the doctor had been clawing at him for days and was close to breaking through. He was mostly fine with that, as there was only so much he could do from the confines of a solitary cell, and it seemed they'd be there for quite a while. He just wanted to stay until the last possible moment. He was wary of you, of how you'd dig and dig until the doctor told you everything, but he knew it was inevitable anyway.

He felt his grasp over the body loosen, and he knew his control was over for now. He'd leave it up to the doctor to break down your walls as you broke his.

+++

The next time you stepped into Jonathan's solitary cell, he wasn't smiling. You pulled in your chair and sat opposite him as you had done every day for the past two weeks. He didn't even look up.

"Dr. Crane?"

Your words seemed to go right over his head. He stared at the floor, uncomprehending.

"Jon?" Your voice was softer this time, no trace of authority or annoyance. It was the way you used to say his name.

He looked up at you, fear in his eyes.

"Jon," you repeated, "are you alright?"

After a moment, he nodded, schooling his features into an impassive sort of expression. Relief washed over you as you realized he was back– your Jon was back.

"I missed you," you said, before you could stop yourself. A hint of a smile graced his lips, but it was his smile, not the creepy mask of Scarecrow.

"Why am I here?" his voice was dry as if he hadn't used it in months. You straightened in your seat.

"You're my patient."

He beheld you for a moment, then scoffed and looked away.

"Can you– are you willing to talk?"

"With you?"

You nodded.

"Yes," he said tentatively, and you smiled.

"Good."

"But under one condition."

You nodded again, glad that the conversation was at least going somewhere.

"Every question I answer, I get to ask you one in return."

You were playing with fire. Jonathan Crane knew his way around the human mind more than anyone else you knew. If you said yes, you were granting him access to your thoughts, your secrets, worst of all your fears. But if you said yes, he'd give you the same key to his own mind. May the best psychiatrist win.

"Fine. How old were you when you were first confronted with this Scarecrow?"

"I was nine." You nodded and made a note in your notebook, looking up at him expectantly.

"Do you want to kill Joseph Sharpe?" He stared at you, completely neutral, no Scarecrow smile twisting his features. Your lips parted, and you stared back knowing full well that if you lied he'd see right through you.

"I do."

His smile grew.