Achilles

The first two meetings that Roslyne sat through with Dr. Crane were dreadfully boring, but things began to get a little more heated when she found herself sitting in a cold room, looking straight at the mayor of Gotham. He was dressed in an expensive suit, and his dark hair was slicked back. He was a lean man, but not as thin as the other man in the room. Roslyne could tell he had some muscle underneath those sleeves. In truth, Mayor Garcia would have been a handsome man were it not for is nicotine stained teeth and general attitude toward her hospital. After all, it had become something sort of a home to her in the last couple of years.

Garcia was there for one purpose and one purpose only: to tell Dr. Crane that he needed to take better care of his patients, mostly because a family member had recently visited Arkham and was appalled at the state of their loved one. They threatened to sue, and that had the mayor spooked.

"They're more than welcome to care for their own unstable family," Dr. Crane told the official in front of him. His eyes held no emotion whatsoever, no aggravation, no regret, nothing. It was the same stare Roslyne had seen her boss give patients. "Save for those who have been sent here on court orders, of course."

"Look, Crane," the other man leaned back in his chair and cradled his head in his hands. "You know that I don't give a rat's ass how you treat these psychopaths. Keep them in solitary, only feed them rice, I don't give a fuck, but you need to at least fake good care when family comes snooping around."

Dr. Crane stayed silent for a moment, and Roslyne could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "I'll take it under advisement."

Mayor Garcia was quick to speak again, "I'm not advising you; I'm telling you. It's a miracle this place is even still open after the break out." Roslyne hid a smirk at the mention of her work years before. "Now fix it, or you'll be out of a job." The man stood up, keeping eye contact with the doctor as he straightened his tie and sleeves, then promptly left the room, leaving the door to shut loudly behind him.

Roslyne didn't say anything for a while and only moved when Dr. Crane did. They both got up quietly until she finally uttered out, "Well, that was illuminating."

Crane rolled his blue eyes, pushing both of their chairs in. "I don't think I'll ever understand family reactions and relationships."

"You're a psychologist," she snorted. "Surely you have some experience in family dynamics."

The brunet sighed and closed the door behind both of them, much more quietly than the mayor had. "I do. Part of my psychiatric rotation was in a family counseling center. Still, I never quite understood the emotions tied to family. These people threatening to sue, their family member is more than likely a murderer, serial rapist, or something equally horrifying. Why would you want to take care of someone like that? Why would poor treatment anger you so?"

Roslyne shrugged. "You're asking the wrong girl.” He stayed quiet, prompting her to elaborate. “Orphan, here."

“My apologies. I didn’t know.”

"No need for apologies, sir. I'm there with you. I don't understand it either. Still, Garcia has a point." Crane raised an eyebrow, but Roslyne couldn't tell if it was threatening or encouraging. She continued anyway: "This can’t be the first time a family member has lodged a complaint against the hospital, and it probably won’t be the last, but the less the better. That should go without saying, right?”

“It should. Arkham just doesn’t have the funding it used to. Every year, Gotham’s infrastructure grows weaker and weaker, and we, in The Narrows, are who feel it most. Not to mention the fact that this is an asylum, and the stigma surrounding mental health has hardly improved in recent decades. It’s much more difficult to get funding for a mental hospital than a general hospital, so the bottom line is there’s just not enough money to keep this place in top shape, and even if there was—”

“You don’t care enough to.”

“Precisely. Now, we’ve got an hour before the new patient arrives.” Crane stopped and suddenly turned to Roslyne, icy gaze fixed on her face, though his own lacked any real expression. “Would you like to get lunch with me?”

Roslyne felt her eyebrows nearly shoot to her hairline. Crane had never asked anything like that of her. “Oh, um, yeah, of course.”

“Great.” If he was pleased, he didn’t show it. “There’s a small café a few blocks down. Had no idea I liked roast beef until I tried one of their sandwiches.”

Roslyne giggled and matched his pace as they walked through the hospital corridors and eventually out through the front doors. Despite the sun shining outside, Gotham, specifically the area that Arkham was located in, managed to remain dark and dingey. Even while bathed in golden light, the sky scrapers seemed more daunting than magnificent. They almost leered down over pedestrians, like plants in a rainforest competing for the sun and damning the other lifeforms.

Crane stayed silent as they walked down the streets, only speaking when he opened the door to the small restaurant and murmured, “After you,” as she walked passed him.

The two ordered food quickly, simple sandwiches that Crane promised were gourmet. They only talked business. He divulged information about their new patient, Casper Salazar, a young female who was unstable, diagnosed with Schizophrenia and Borderline Personality Disorder, the latter of which being brought on by spending her childhood with an abusive stepfather. She had a history of violence, both toward herself and others, and had tried to kill herself twice. “That’s what’s on the record anyway. Patients sometimes try more than what has been recorded,” Crane told her, wiping his mouth with the corner of his napkin. “She could also be suffering from other ailments, but right now, this is what we have.”

“So, what brought her here? Is she being transferred?”

“Yes, she was in the psychiatric ward at Gotham General, but they decided she was too severe a case for them to take care of there.”

“Yeah?” Roslyne swallowed the bite of sandwich in her mouth. “What gave them that idea?”

“She tried to gouge her own eyes out at breakfast yesterday.”

“Oh.”



Casper Salazar sat alone and still in a patient exam room until the door began to open. She stiffened and probably looked in their direction, but Roslyne wasn't completely sure due to the fact that her eyes were both covered by large bandages. Small red scratches peeked out from underneath, and judging by the state of the patient's nails and fingers, Roslyne could easily guess what she had used to injure herself.

"Miss Salazar," Crane began, "I am Doctor Jonathan Crane, the head psychiatrist here at Arkham. I am here to learn about you, so that I can begin a proper treatment plan."

The girl cocked her head to one side. Her dark hair hung in her face in greasy tendrils, her skin, a pale olive shade, was waxy, stretched over the bones of her face tightly. She looked extremely malnourished.

"There's two of you," Casper said quietly.

"What was that?" Dr. Crane asked, leaning forward just a tad.

"There's two of you!" She shouted this time, and the man beside Roslyne simply blinked in response.

Roslyne had the new patient's chart in her hands; it had been faxed over the day before, and Dr. Crane had given it to her to glance over, so that when she took notes, she would have something to refer back to. She scribbled on the blank piece of paper that was sitting on top of the file, Patient seems easily agitated.

"Now, we have your file, but I want to give you a chance to explain what has brought you here to my lovely hospital."

Casper sniffed and made a face. "Doesn't smell lovely," she murmured.

Dr. Crane was getting annoyed and let it be very known. "Miss Salazar, I have no time for mutterers. If you do not speak up, we cannot properly assess your needs."

Her yell bounced off of the cold walls and made Roslyne grimace: "I don't want to speak up! Can't you fucks see that?!"

Roslyne watched as her boss took two steps forward so that he was within touching distance of their new patient. He leaned down so that he was closer to her ear and said quietly, "We can see fine, Miss Salazar. It is you who is impaired."

He straightened up, looked to Roslyne, then jerked his head toward the door. "We won't get anything out of her today. She needs time to adjust."

On their walk back toward Crane's office, Roslyne couldn't help but think about how cruel of a person the doctor had the capacity to be. Upon meeting Jonathan Crane, she had known that he was a little different, a little off. Those light blue eyes seemed to petrify some people, and there were times when he would look at her, and Roslyne couldn't tell if he was even seeing her or looking straight through her. He had always been very polite and courteous to her, but she was beginning to realize that she hadn't seen him interact with many other people in the hospital, and from what Roslyne had seen that day, she could assume one of two things: one, Dr. Crane was having a bad day and was therefore irritable, or two, he really was just a mean son of a bitch. Whichever it was, Roslyne didn't care much. She was glad that he treated her with respect. She had gotten use to witnessing cruelty years ago when she lived on the compound with Bane. She could remember watching her friend break the neck of a man who had doubted him and his mission. There was a sick satisfaction that Roslyne had felt uncoil in her stomach as she watched the dead man crumble, and she had gotten that same satisfaction from watching Dr. Crane's interactions throughout the day. Roslyne liked the coldness, the apathy. She respected it.

Crane wasted no time in gathering what he needed to head down to one of the many labs in the hospital. He slid more papers into his briefcase and straightened up his office while Roslyne sat at her own desk and began checking emails. The thin man stepped out once again, shutting and locking his office door behind him.

"I should be back in a couple of hours," he told her. She nodded in response, and with that, he was off, expensive loafers hitting the tiled floor quickly as he disappeared from view.

The next two hours Roslyne spent tapping away at her keyboard, answering very few calls, and scrolling through her phone. She was waiting to hear from Henry—an explanation, an apology, an acknowledgement. Anything, but no message came. She grew more and more antsy as the minutes passed, excited for this evening. Sparring with Bane after so many years... She'd been dreaming about it ever since she left the compound. Hopefully, she wouldn't disappoint, but Roslyne felt like she had kept up with her training pretty well considering she had lost her trainer and gym all in the same day. Of course, going to his new place meant that she would probably run into the Richardson girl again.

Her thoughts spiraled from there. A large part of Roslyne was still upset at the fact that Bane had gone and adopted a new pet of sorts. He said that Camille was nothing like her, but what did that even mean? Did it just mean that she wasn't as skilled? Did Bane still share part of his past with her? Had she seen him without his mask? That last thought made her stomach drop for some reason. Don't be ridiculous, it's not like you have any claim over him. She did her best to talk herself back up, determined to make sure that the evening spent with her old friend was going to be a good one, sewer brat or not.

Finally, Roslyne was roused from her thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps, and when she looked up from her computer, she was pleased to find Dr. Crane approaching her. He looked slightly different than he had when she had seen him just a couple hours ago, but she couldn't quite place how. His eyes may a little glossier. His lips seemed darker, as if they were chapped or he had been chewing them nervously. Did Dr. Crane even get nervous?

"Trial start off well?" Roslyne asked almost hesitantly.

Crane nodded. "Just fine, thank you. You're free to go, Roslyne."

"I can stay if you need me longer, sir," she told him honestly. Of course, she had somewhere else she would rather be, but if the doctor needed help with anything else, she was happy to oblige.

"I don't," he said shortly.

Roslyne began gathering her things and slipped her arms into her leather jacket. Situating her bag on her shoulder, she flashed the man a small smile. "Tomorrow then?"

"Yes, eight AM, please. Thank you for your work today."

"Of course, Dr. Crane," she said as she began to walk away. Roslyne's breath hitched in her throat when she felt fingers curl around her wrist, and she turned around with raised eyebrows.

"I mean it," he told her, light blue eyes peering at her so that she felt vulnerable in a way that she hadn't in years. "Thank you, Roslyne." She could feel her heart thudding in her chest and didn't miss the way that his gaze flickered down to where his long fingers held her wrist. He could feel her pulse.

Still, she was able to speak smoothly. "You're very welcome, Dr. Crane." She had witnessed and been a part of multiple atrocities in her lifetime. She was not about to let one handsome, unnerving psychiatrist make her forget who she was.

His grip slackened, and she used her now free hand to brush hair out of her eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, sir." As she left, she could feel him watching her. It sent a shiver down her spine. Perhaps it was the excitement of the day affecting her brain, or maybe it was just Roslyne finding Crane attractive in general, but as she got into her jeep, she couldn't help but think that having a not-so-professional relationship with him wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen to her. Not by a long shot.