Not My Diagnosis

I watched the corpses and their only gravedigger grow smaller then turned to see my Knight out of the corner of my eye, smiling to myself. His expression was stern and concerned and delightfully confused, but that's not what I was smiling about.

"You're other ego must be Spiderman, the way you use that thing," I whispered. I wasn't entirely inclined to break his thought process, but wanted to see if he would respond. He made a glance at me, but kept his focus forward. We landed on one of the fire-escapes of a building about a block down. The sheer mechanics of his utilities intrigued me, but I didn't care enough at the moment.

He let me go and we stood several feet apart on the small block of cage. "Why do you do it?" was what bluntly came first.

"Why do I do what?"

"Don't play with me!" He grabbed the right half of my clothes and pulled me close.

I frowned very slightly, "Perhaps you should be asking yourself that question before me, Mr. Wayne." He paused in his breath and exhaled.

"I know why I do what I do. It's to keep people like you from doing what you do."

"Why did you ask if you knew what I did?"

"I wanted to hear you say it."

"Tell me, why do you think what you do is better than what I do?"

"I didn't ask for a philosophical debate," he growled, letting me go and removing his mask, running his fingers through his hair as he turned away.

"That what are you asking for? Do you even know, or are you just asking stupid questions out of anger?"

I leaned over the edge of the balcony, a cloudburst passing by releasing the tension Mr. Wayne should have. The patter on the rooftops and ground some twelve stories below the only sound.

"I remember having this conversation with you," he quietly, but articulately said. "Back with the Legion of Shadows. When you took me up to that flat at the very top of the mountain."

"Oh yes... the Legion," I sneered.

"You ask why my choices are better? Or why I think so? Because I don't kill people. My refusal to give up on them makes me better."

"Actually, it makes you insane. You repeat your actions, expecting different consequences. But they never come, do they?"

"Humans, in their nature, are variable. I expect a different result with a different variable. And some of them have changed."

"Why do you torture yourself with such nonsense. The truth of it all is that I kill the people who cause problems and you try to save them. You protect them from me, and without me, what would you be doing? You would be back to your petty days of chasing pick-pockets around, hoping you can impact their life for the better of society. The underlining factor here is hope for humanity. And yet, I would not be surprised if eventually they killed you."

"The truth is I am helping who I can."

"Death is help in its absolution. These people won't be happy until they're dead because if they are not part of the problem they are part of the other problem."

He sighed and it was quiet, save the white noise of the rain. The quiet lasted for a time; it seemed like we had been frozen there. There was no movement, and I'm not even sure either of us were breathing. I can't tell if it was sinking in or not, but I'm not sure I entirely cared. If it wasn't him it was someone else and I like him.

"You don't have the right to kill them," he whispered, staring over the edge of the railing.

"Not in this society, no. That's what makes me a criminal. I'm just playing into nature's primal plan of natural selection. Besides, I don't kill as many as you think. That's wasteful. I'm also curious as to why this conversation centers around their death instead of the hell they suffer from living."

"You mean what you do to them before you kill them?"

"Precisely."

"Because they are still alive. I like nothing of what you do, but your frivolity with their lives needs to end."

"I think that your unconscious mind has accepted that what I do is a necessity. That is why you do not lock me up, along with other reasons. I think, though, that it has bled into your conscious reality and you are fighting that with all your might because you do not want to accept it as it needs to be. I think deep down you are thankful I take care of what you otherwise would have to deal with and that eats at you because you've deluded yourself to think that it shouldn't happen." I crossed my arms and leaned back against the railing, quirking a brow slightly.

He looked over his shoulder at me and sighed. "I don't know why I bother."

"I don't either. You aren't going to persuade me, nor I you."

"I just feel like I can't live with this anymore."

"With letting me free?"

He nodded, turning to face me.

"If it's any consolation, I would escape anyway. And I always will until you turn this city around."

He nodded. "I hope you're made a nice room for yourself at Arkham."

I smiled, "Of course, but until then..." I walked towards him, still smiling foolishly. His face contorted with a strange expression as I ran my fingers down his armour, licking my lips in anticipation. He reached for me and I stopped him for a moment. "Wait... I like it better with the mask on," I smirked, as did he, and he paused to replace the mask over his face.

While he was doing that I made my way over to the escape ladder and leaped over the side, riding it down as the rings holding it up snapped. Just before it completely broke I jumped to a lower balcony and through an open window that lead to it. I ran by a couple who were asleep on the couch, their sleep all but disturbed. I flew through their front door and down the hallway to the stairs.

Several stories later, when I reached the floor ground, I bounded out the grated door and stopped in the street when I realised I had left my suitcase again. I sighed in aggravation and ran down the street, whistling for Nightmare. I didn't expect him to show, but of course he did. He never seemed comfortable going to the stable without me. He ran out of the one of the alleys and next to me, and I grabbed a hold of his reins, leaping up onto his back.

We rode down the street and I took a good hold of one of the straps attached to the saddle, leaned down and snagged my briefcase as we passed. I sat in on my lap and reattached my grip where it should be. Nightmare and I were comfortable enough with each other that I could do things like that with him and not have him spook. I suppose he was used to it by now.

I looked around and saw nothing aside the usual. It was calm and Nightmare and I were off. I navigated him to Arkham and dismounted. I stroked his face a few times and walked inside; he meandered off into the shadows, like he always did.

I walked up the stairs with a relieved breath and made my way through the opera-house hallway. I was always impressed since when I was first hired here of the quality of the establishment, especially for being in the narrows. I made my way up the grand staircase and to the second floor. I was never too interested in their elevator, but it was the only way to the basement.

I stopped and traced the dark metal railing with my hand, casually glancing behind me and beyond to see if anyone had followed. Empty. I adjusted my glasses and chuckled to myself, following the stairs up to the door.

I followed the screaming halls down and around until the sound faded. I walked into my office and set my briefcase on my desk, sitting down and writing out a file on the 'Narrows Experiment'.

I was about half-way through and a knock came on the door. I looked up in irritation and pressed the play button on my answering machine, turning it up. 'Dr. Crane is not in right now, but if you'd like to make an appointment, pleas-'. The message was interrupted by a voice. A woman's voice.

"Dr. Crane, I don't mean to interrupt, but I am afraid this guest cannot wait," she timidly spoke against the door. I stood and tried to compose myself before I greeted whoever shouldn't be bothering me. I opened the door and tensed, my eyes flashing over with adrenaline as Mr. Wayne smiled and finished tucking a fifty dollar bill into her blouse.

She looked up to me and quickly away. "Thank you, Jessica," I smiled, my discontent expressing itself in my words that made her cringe. She was about to rush down the hall when Mr. Wayne grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Whoa...whoa...where are you going so fast? I thought you might help the good doctor show me around. You must know what's going on just as much as he does. Besides..." he leaned down to her ear, whispering loudly, "you might have to help entertain my friends over there." I looked down the hall as seven police officers made their way around the corner.

I adjusted my glasses with a hard swallow, staring that burning, yet emotionless gaze at him. "Well. Shall we begin the tour, since that's what I assume you an your 'friends' are here for?"

He huffed out a few laughs," Yes, yes... Jessica, will you, please, help guide them around while I talk with Dr. Crane?" She nodded hastily and was quick to leave my presence; I know she dwelled on the thought of what might happen to her for the intrusion, and that was good enough.

"Shall we?" I waved an arm in the direction we would start with and followed it, Mr. Wayne snaking after me and catching up to my side. I passed a malevolent glance to him and he just smiled in the stupid way he does as Bruce Wayne. The tread of footsteps followed as the mob of police made their way a few steps behind us, Jessica muddled in the midst of them.

I led them down the corridor of barred in men and few women. "This is where we keep the criminals who are recovering. Their treatment is minimal and the ability to see and communicate with one another allows for adjustment back into society. They sometimes work themselves and each other into frenzies, reveling in their former ways, but I believe they should be exercising their frustrations here rather than towards you gentlemen and your compatriots." I looked back over the crowd following me, some of them taking notes along the way, a bemused smile plastered across His face.

I walked down the hall farther, stopping in front of a cell that was closed in on the sides, save the front. In the center sat a man with green hair and heavy make-up. He sat there, staring at his nails as he worked on painting them. "This one, I'm not sure what to make of, but he is insistent on starting riots when he has close access to the others. We keep him over here and he appears to have a fetish for knives and his life is centered around a twisted kind of joy. I am afraid I can only force them to tell me so much; he is rather cryptic."

The man in the cell looked up slowly, blinking slowly and standing up, setting his supplies down on the table nearest to him. He squinted for a moment and looked taken aback. "What's a pretty boy like you doing here, sweetcheeks?" I looked over to Mr. Wayne, along with the rest of the group, as that's who he was staring at.

"Me?" He looked around at all of us an back to the prisoner.

"You think I'm talking to him?" He flipped out a knife and pointed it to one of the officers. They all stepped back and drew guns on him. The painted man raised an eyebrow and looked over to me.

"Gentlemen, please.... I would rather not have you drawing unnecessary force in my Asylum," I spoke. The police looked at me and made no move. I frowned and wrinkled my nose a bit, but reset myself as Mr. Wayne addressed them.

"Officers, please. I don't think he's much of a threat here. If he stabs me you can shoot him."

They lowered their weapons and he turned back to the man in the cell. "I'm here, because I like to make routine visits to the places of operation my business supports. And I like seeing the good doctor and all of the hard work he's doing." The green-haried man stared at him in confusion for a moment and broke out in laughter.

The officers tensed again, but Bruce waved them down and stepped closer, looking the man over slowly. "Hey.. hehe .. come 'ere," the detained chuckled. Bruce stepped even closer. "Lean in." He did. The knife went through the bars and to his neck and neither of them breathed. The armed man stared at him for quite a while before the officers caught on and drew arms again. Mr. Wayne waved them down once more. "You're aren't sweating. And you aren't laughing. What the hell's wrong with you? Maybe the 'good doctor' should put you up here as well. We would have a good time." He let out a chilling laugh and withdrew the knife. "Stay there, cupcake. I got something for you." He walked back over to his table and grabbed small vial of something. I watched the trigger-happy officers shake. He took the cap off and motioned for Mr. Wayne to move in closer again. He unfurled some bright red lipstick and took to drawing on Bruce's cheek. His tongue maneuvered around his lips as he put all of his attention on the canvas.

He stepped back and made a frame shape with his hands, clapping. "Perfect." He puttered across the cell and pulled down his mirror, holding it up for Bruce. A smiled finally carved its way across my face. The mirror revealed to him a ridiculously large kiss mark. Bruce quirked a brow and examined it. "Now there's something to make the ladies jealous," he addressed him with the tip of the knife. "Tell them Gotham's Golden Boy belongs to the Joker." He laughed again and Mr. Wayne smiled and chuckled a bit, looking back to the officers.

"You should lighten up," he said to them as they sheathed their pistols.

"Yeah... why so serious?" He grinned, the red around his mouth accentuating it.

I inhaled and exhaled slowly, the sight of the knife to His neck finally setting in and sending my heart into a slight state of panic. Fear was a gripping thing. "Shall we continue?" I inquired, looking over the shaky group. I walked off down the hall way towards the stairs and heard over my shoulder, "Come back again, peaches. I'll draw you a smile next time." The laughed echoed down the hall and my breath caught, knowing the true intent of the man and his future plans.

I made my way up the stairs quickly, followed closely by the object of my tender affection. When we broke brief line of sight from the rest I reached for his hand and squeezed it for a moment, exchanging glances with him. My heart steadied itself upon his touch, and I was finally gaining deeper depth to my studies. I heard the steps up the stairs and released him, opening the third floor door and escorting the lot of them in.


{In my opinion, a week is a long time to wait. My anxiety grew waiting to /post/ the story; I'm not even reading it. So, I shall be updating semiweekly(appox. 3-4 days) in vain hopes that is sufficient break time and update time for those who are fast readers. Thank you to those who review with votes or words. And, in a strange twist of coincidental ideas, here is the beginning of Kumiko's recommendation. I hope you enjoy it.
~Dr. Crane}