His Darling Assistant

Part 16: Criminally Insane

You sat in the witness stand staring down at Dr. Crane. He looked so small, with his crooked glasses and handcuffed wrists. So unlike his murderous alter ego. He stared right back at you.

His face was unreadable. His expression was completely neutral, those deep, raw eyes just barreling into your soul. You felt a pang in your heart that you decidedly ignored.

"Doctor?"

The Judge's voice pulled you away from his eyes. You blinked.

"Yes, Your Honor?"

"I'm asking what your diagnosis is for Dr. Crane here."

"Oh, right. I'm sorry, Your Honor. In my opinion, Dr. Jonathan Crane is a danger to society, and criminally insane and unfit for trial."

The judge surveyed you. You stared back, heart racing wildly. You knew as well as she did that Jonathan was perfectly able to stand trial.

It felt like an eternity of being grilled under her stare before she continued with a small okay. You finally allowed yourself to look down at your hands.

Why did you do that?

Why would you say that?

Do you want to see him again? Because now you'll have to, every day you go to work. Why would you SAY that?

He's messed up. He's so messed up. He's awful.

I can fix him.

You let out a small laugh at the thought. God, what was wrong with you? You sounded just like the idiot girls from soapy TV shows.

I can fix him.

Bullshit.

You looked up again, and your gaze landed back on him against your will. His features remained perfectly neutral, his eyes trained on yours through his glasses, but you could have sworn you saw a hint of a smile under his carefully donned mask. You really didn't like the light, fluttery feeling it gave you.

+++

You stared past the little square window into the solitary cell that once held Joseph Sharpe. Now, it was Jonathan Crane in the straitjacket, cuffed to the wall, his glasses askew on the floor, as if they had fallen off. He didn't see you staring. He just sat, patiently on his knees, gazing into nothing. The smirk only you could notice had not left his face.

There was only so much stalling you could afford. With a deep breath, and another, you opened the door.

He looked up at you, squinting, and smiled fully.

"Dr. Crane."

"Darling assistant."

"I'm not your assistant anymore. I'm not your anything."

"It seems you're to be my psychiatrist."

You said nothing, refusing to take his bait. Keep it professional, damn it.

"Do you know where you are?"

"I do."

"Could you tell me where that is?"

Dr. Crane let out a dramatic sigh and looked at you pointedly. You gripped your pen until your nails dug into your palm, refusing to let up.

"Tell me where we are, please."

"Arkham Asylum. The very same cell that held one Joseph Sharpe, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not." You refused to grant him any semblance of a reaction.

"I wonder where he is now."

Dr. Crane smiled at you understandingly, as if he knew your ex was currently sharing a room with the scariest looking inmate you could find, because you didn't have the guts to murder him.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop getting in my head. God, just shut up please–"

"Keep it professional, Doctor," he scolded you. You felt your face flush and took a deep breath.

"My apologies, Dr. Crane," you forced yourself to say, "give me a moment."

He simply continued to smile as you stepped out of the room, closing the door behind you. You didn't allow yourself to loosen the grip of your pen until you heard the reassuring click of the lock. You stared anywhere but that square window behind you, refusing to let him see the terror on your face. Closing your eyes, you tried to think of something to ground you, but all you could see were those deep, ocean blue eyes, the slight wave of his hair, those stupidly beautiful hands of his that were woefully hidden by his straitjacket–

You opened your eyes, and looked down to see the ink from your pen had burst out and spread all over your hand. Almost against your will, you turned and glanced through the square window. Dr. Crane was still knowingly smiling at you, completely unfazed. Without really understanding what you were doing, you opened the door, picked up his glasses with your clean hand, and gently placed them on his face before walking out and leaving the solitary ward.

God, his smile.

His dumb, fucking, absurd smile.