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Jan. 23rd, 2009 02:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Slaughter is the Best Medicine
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)
Part: 1/?
Pairing: Joker/Scarecrow
Rating: R for this part, NC-17 overall.
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Jonathan's first session with the Joker doesn't go quite as he planned, but then, nothing involving the Joker ever does.
A/N: I think that my characterization of the good Dr. Crane (or at least, anything good in it) owes much tomercuriazs's excellent fiction about him. Particularly notable is the character study je te plumerai and the Scarecrow/Joker fic series (tragically unfinished) which starts with You Had Me At Hello. I can't recommend them highly enough.
“So tell me, doctor.” The Joker was sprawled on the couch opposite Jonathan Crane’s upright chair. Even without his makeup, even in drab hospital-issued clothing, he seemed to exude a sort of dormant menace. Perhaps dormant wasn’t the right word, Jonathan reflected. The threat the Joker posed, while not exactly imminent, seemed like it could spring out at any moment, probably when you least expected it.
The Joker looked him up and down slowly, eyes alive with interest. “How does one go from running Arkham Asylum, performing inhumane experiments on its inmates and flooding the Narrows with toxic chemicals, to running from the law, to returning to Arkham, this time as a patient…to working here again?” The Joker’s eyes held Jonathan’s, and Jonathan didn’t blink. The last thing he needed to do was appear to react to him. The Joker leaned forward again and looked him up and down again, even more slowly, as if he was devouring him with his eyes.
“You’re very pretty, doctor. Such lovely, full, pouting lips. I bet they’d look good wrapped around the cock of whichever one of them was fool enough to release you with a clean bill of mental health.” His eyes lingered on Jonathan’s lips. “I bet they’d look good wrapped around anyone’s cock.”
“Would you like to hear how I got rehired here, or would you prefer to continue indulging in obscenities?” Jonathan asked drily.
“Mmm…both.” The Joker settled himself back again with an expectant look.
Jonathan smiled thinly. “I simply explained to Dr. Quinzel that my madness was a result of the dose of my toxin that I received at the Batman’s hands.”
“Mmm…Batman.” The Joker turned his name almost into a moan. Jonathan waited for a moment, but he didn’t go on. Jonathan made a mental note of this and continued.
“My unfortunate choice to align myself with Ra’s Al Ghul was partly a result of the smaller doses of the chemical I used to take; I tested it on myself as well, you see. And partly it was my own ambition and greed. I’ve since repented.” There was the slightest hint of a smile on Jonathan’s face. It wasn’t audible in his voice, but he saw the Joker’s eyes sparkle at the sight. Good; if he thought they were alike, he might have a better chance of getting inside his head. “I was released from Arkham almost a year ago, you know. Dr. Quinzel was kind enough to give me another chance here.”
“Mm-hmm,” the Joker drawled. “Lucky you. And your…experiments?”
“Long over, of course,” Jonathan replied. “I’m under strict surveillance when I’m on the premises. Our sessions, as you know, are being recorded, as are all my sessions with patients. That's standard practice at Arkham now, of course, for everyone.” His lips twitched slightly. “My fault, I’m afraid. But I imagine that my recordings are scrutinized particularly carefully.”
“And that lovely drug of yours?”
“My remaining samples were destroyed when I was committed to Arkham. The police search my apartment every couple of weeks to ensure I’m not making any more of it.”
“I think they ought to be searching more carefully.” The Joker smirked at him. “Don’t you, doctor?”
“I can assure you that’s entirely unnecessary, but if you'd like to communicate your concerns to them, I’m sure they’d be more than happy to give them careful consideration.”
The Joker giggled shrilly. “Oh, no. I’m much more concerned with the idea that you might not have any more of it. I’d hate to lose such a beautiful potential…relationship.”
“I see,” Jonathan said, noncommittally. The Joker peered at him keenly for a long moment.
“You miss it, though, don’t you, doctor?” he said finally. “All those criminals and crazy people under your charge…and you could do anything you wanted to them.” Jonathan looked back at him calmly, refusing to be drawn in. “Don’t you wish, for instance, that you could try that wonderful little compound on…me?”
Jonathan thought he felt his eyelid twitch slightly, but if it did, the Joker didn’t give any sign that he’d noticed. “What do you think you’d see?” he asked.
The Joker grinned. “I think I’d see myself. With a pretty little wife, and several fat children, and I’d work a white-collar job and drink on Friday nights with the boys – but I wouldn’t ever get drunk, or violent, only a little tipsy, and when I got home, me and the missus would do it missionary style and then fall asleep.”
“You fear normality?”
“I fear…boredom,” the Joker replied, mouth still twisted into a grin that was more like a grimace. “I mean…can you think of anything worse?”
“A few things.” Jonathan gave another clipped smile. “But I take your point. And that’s why you like the Batman so much?”
The Joker moaned again at the mention of his name, and Jonathan resisted the urge to shift in his seat, aware that he was half-hard under his neat suit. When he’d heard that he was to be the Joker’s analyst, he had, secretly, wished very much that he could still administer his compound to his patients. It was fascinating to imagine what might happen to the Joker under its influence. He’d wondered if it would even had an impact.
While the idea hadn’t exactly been erotic at the time, it had occupied his mind thoroughly in the week he prepared to start sessions with the Joker. The suggestion of it from the man himself had been arousing, and Jonathan supposed he shouldn’t be terribly surprised by that. The Joker had a sort of terrifying charisma, twisted but extraordinarily strong. If he’d chosen politics instead of crime, he probably would have been President at thirty-five.
Jonathan wasn’t unduly worried by his erection. He’d identified and obsessed with patients before. Patients did it to their therapists as well. The important thing was to never reveal it, and to never let it control one’s actions.
“The Batman, oh, yes,” the Joker was saying. “Tell me, doctor, about your little run-in with him.”
“Run-ins,” Jonathan corrected him automatically, then chastised himself internally. He shouldn’t be giving the Joker any more information than was absolutely necessary, especially considering that any information at all was dangerous in his hands.
The Joker looked surprised and delighted. “How many?” he demanded. “Tell me everything about them.”
“We’re not here to discuss me,” Jonathan said firmly, knowing perfectly well that wasn’t going to work at all.
The Joker laughed. “Well, doctor,” he said, the emphasis on Jonathan’s title reeking of sarcasm. “As long as we’re not going to pretend that we’re here to cure me.”
“Think what you like,” Jonathan replied indifferently, and was pleased to see that the tone seemed to needle the Joker ever so slightly. In the blink of an eyelid, however, he’d regained his self-possession, and he straightened up and leaned towards Jonathan again.
“If you won’t tell me about all of your dates with the Batman, then just tell me about the one with the fear drug,” he said. “What did you see?”
“He was a terrifying figure,” Jonathan began. It was almost a recitation, he’d told the story to Arkham’s finest so many times. The Joker waved his hands, cutting him off.
“No no no no,” he said. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
Jonathan tried to brush him off again. “I have a number of fears, none of which will be very interesting to you,” he started. “They’re quite typical – ”
The Joker’s face was a parody of disappointment as he shook his head sadly. “Would you like to know what I think?” he asked.
“I would be delighted,” Jonathan replied, utterly deadpan, and the Joker giggled and leaned in still further.
“I think that you are terrified of losing control, even for an instant.”
Jonathan breathed in and out slowly. In the back of his mind he could sense that strange feeling, the feeling that had taken him over when the Batman dosed him, and periodically since then. It was a feeling like something was not quite right, or perhaps that everything was entirely wrong.
The Joker was watching him closely. Lies, Jonathan knew, were useless with him, and in order to get anything from him, he was probably going to have to give quite a lot.
“You’re correct,” he said, without a trace of emotion. The strange feeling was subsiding, and internally, he breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t overwhelmed him. He had retained himself.
“Are you all right, doctor?” the Joker asked, with a façade of concern. “You were looking a little…off for a moment there. And you know what they say – madness takes its toll.”
Jonathan glanced at the clock, without entirely meaning to. He didn’t let the relief show on his face as he said, “On that note, our time is up.”
The Joker groaned. “Just when things were starting to get interesting,” he said, rising. “See you next week, doctor.”
“Our next session is in three days,” Jonathan reminded him. The Joker grinned widely.
“Oh, I forgot,” he said, without sounding the slightest bit surprised. “Thanks, doctor. You sure are easy to talk to. And interesting. I feel better already."
***
A few minutes later, Jonathan came silently in one of the stalls of the men's room. He had a private office, but he couldn't be sure he wasn't under surveillance there. It was a somewhat distasteful deed, the smell of sick and antiseptic stinging his nose, but a few tugs gave him the relief he required. When he had washed his hands, Jonathan looked into the mirror for the moment and resolved not to think about the Joker any more than he had to in order to prepare for his next session. Best to avoid this little fantasy turning into anything more serious.
***
Two days later, the Joker broke out of Arkham. Jonathan arrived to find the place in an uproar, mostly because there was nothing actually broken. He seemed to have disappeared into thin air, leaving no trace behind. Convinced that no one could break out of Arkham’s maximum security wing, at least without leaving some sign, an exhaustive search of the whole hospital had been undertaken under the assumption that the Joker was still there, hidden somewhere. But apparently he was really gone.
Jonathan’s office was locked as usual, but somehow he was unsurprised to find a note on his desk, scrawled so deeply in black ink one would think the writer was angry with the paper. No, Jonathan decided, that wasn’t it at all. The emotion here was triumph.
Doctor, it read. Can’t wait for our next session. It was unsigned, but then, Jonathan reflected, why on earth would he have bothered to sign it?
For a moment he debated bringing the note to the police. They would probably provide him with some sort of protection, though they would hate to do it. The strange feeling lingered in the back of Jonathan’s mind as he folded up the piece of paper and put it into his briefcase. He could always choose to call them later.
But, whispered the thing in his mind, you won’t. And Jonathan knew it was telling the truth.
Author:
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)Part: 1/?
Pairing: Joker/Scarecrow
Rating: R for this part, NC-17 overall.
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Jonathan's first session with the Joker doesn't go quite as he planned, but then, nothing involving the Joker ever does.
A/N: I think that my characterization of the good Dr. Crane (or at least, anything good in it) owes much to
mercuriazs's excellent fiction about him. Particularly notable is the character study je te plumerai and the Scarecrow/Joker fic series (tragically unfinished) which starts with You Had Me At Hello. I can't recommend them highly enough.“So tell me, doctor.” The Joker was sprawled on the couch opposite Jonathan Crane’s upright chair. Even without his makeup, even in drab hospital-issued clothing, he seemed to exude a sort of dormant menace. Perhaps dormant wasn’t the right word, Jonathan reflected. The threat the Joker posed, while not exactly imminent, seemed like it could spring out at any moment, probably when you least expected it.
The Joker looked him up and down slowly, eyes alive with interest. “How does one go from running Arkham Asylum, performing inhumane experiments on its inmates and flooding the Narrows with toxic chemicals, to running from the law, to returning to Arkham, this time as a patient…to working here again?” The Joker’s eyes held Jonathan’s, and Jonathan didn’t blink. The last thing he needed to do was appear to react to him. The Joker leaned forward again and looked him up and down again, even more slowly, as if he was devouring him with his eyes.
“You’re very pretty, doctor. Such lovely, full, pouting lips. I bet they’d look good wrapped around the cock of whichever one of them was fool enough to release you with a clean bill of mental health.” His eyes lingered on Jonathan’s lips. “I bet they’d look good wrapped around anyone’s cock.”
“Would you like to hear how I got rehired here, or would you prefer to continue indulging in obscenities?” Jonathan asked drily.
“Mmm…both.” The Joker settled himself back again with an expectant look.
Jonathan smiled thinly. “I simply explained to Dr. Quinzel that my madness was a result of the dose of my toxin that I received at the Batman’s hands.”
“Mmm…Batman.” The Joker turned his name almost into a moan. Jonathan waited for a moment, but he didn’t go on. Jonathan made a mental note of this and continued.
“My unfortunate choice to align myself with Ra’s Al Ghul was partly a result of the smaller doses of the chemical I used to take; I tested it on myself as well, you see. And partly it was my own ambition and greed. I’ve since repented.” There was the slightest hint of a smile on Jonathan’s face. It wasn’t audible in his voice, but he saw the Joker’s eyes sparkle at the sight. Good; if he thought they were alike, he might have a better chance of getting inside his head. “I was released from Arkham almost a year ago, you know. Dr. Quinzel was kind enough to give me another chance here.”
“Mm-hmm,” the Joker drawled. “Lucky you. And your…experiments?”
“Long over, of course,” Jonathan replied. “I’m under strict surveillance when I’m on the premises. Our sessions, as you know, are being recorded, as are all my sessions with patients. That's standard practice at Arkham now, of course, for everyone.” His lips twitched slightly. “My fault, I’m afraid. But I imagine that my recordings are scrutinized particularly carefully.”
“And that lovely drug of yours?”
“My remaining samples were destroyed when I was committed to Arkham. The police search my apartment every couple of weeks to ensure I’m not making any more of it.”
“I think they ought to be searching more carefully.” The Joker smirked at him. “Don’t you, doctor?”
“I can assure you that’s entirely unnecessary, but if you'd like to communicate your concerns to them, I’m sure they’d be more than happy to give them careful consideration.”
The Joker giggled shrilly. “Oh, no. I’m much more concerned with the idea that you might not have any more of it. I’d hate to lose such a beautiful potential…relationship.”
“I see,” Jonathan said, noncommittally. The Joker peered at him keenly for a long moment.
“You miss it, though, don’t you, doctor?” he said finally. “All those criminals and crazy people under your charge…and you could do anything you wanted to them.” Jonathan looked back at him calmly, refusing to be drawn in. “Don’t you wish, for instance, that you could try that wonderful little compound on…me?”
Jonathan thought he felt his eyelid twitch slightly, but if it did, the Joker didn’t give any sign that he’d noticed. “What do you think you’d see?” he asked.
The Joker grinned. “I think I’d see myself. With a pretty little wife, and several fat children, and I’d work a white-collar job and drink on Friday nights with the boys – but I wouldn’t ever get drunk, or violent, only a little tipsy, and when I got home, me and the missus would do it missionary style and then fall asleep.”
“You fear normality?”
“I fear…boredom,” the Joker replied, mouth still twisted into a grin that was more like a grimace. “I mean…can you think of anything worse?”
“A few things.” Jonathan gave another clipped smile. “But I take your point. And that’s why you like the Batman so much?”
The Joker moaned again at the mention of his name, and Jonathan resisted the urge to shift in his seat, aware that he was half-hard under his neat suit. When he’d heard that he was to be the Joker’s analyst, he had, secretly, wished very much that he could still administer his compound to his patients. It was fascinating to imagine what might happen to the Joker under its influence. He’d wondered if it would even had an impact.
While the idea hadn’t exactly been erotic at the time, it had occupied his mind thoroughly in the week he prepared to start sessions with the Joker. The suggestion of it from the man himself had been arousing, and Jonathan supposed he shouldn’t be terribly surprised by that. The Joker had a sort of terrifying charisma, twisted but extraordinarily strong. If he’d chosen politics instead of crime, he probably would have been President at thirty-five.
Jonathan wasn’t unduly worried by his erection. He’d identified and obsessed with patients before. Patients did it to their therapists as well. The important thing was to never reveal it, and to never let it control one’s actions.
“The Batman, oh, yes,” the Joker was saying. “Tell me, doctor, about your little run-in with him.”
“Run-ins,” Jonathan corrected him automatically, then chastised himself internally. He shouldn’t be giving the Joker any more information than was absolutely necessary, especially considering that any information at all was dangerous in his hands.
The Joker looked surprised and delighted. “How many?” he demanded. “Tell me everything about them.”
“We’re not here to discuss me,” Jonathan said firmly, knowing perfectly well that wasn’t going to work at all.
The Joker laughed. “Well, doctor,” he said, the emphasis on Jonathan’s title reeking of sarcasm. “As long as we’re not going to pretend that we’re here to cure me.”
“Think what you like,” Jonathan replied indifferently, and was pleased to see that the tone seemed to needle the Joker ever so slightly. In the blink of an eyelid, however, he’d regained his self-possession, and he straightened up and leaned towards Jonathan again.
“If you won’t tell me about all of your dates with the Batman, then just tell me about the one with the fear drug,” he said. “What did you see?”
“He was a terrifying figure,” Jonathan began. It was almost a recitation, he’d told the story to Arkham’s finest so many times. The Joker waved his hands, cutting him off.
“No no no no,” he said. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
Jonathan tried to brush him off again. “I have a number of fears, none of which will be very interesting to you,” he started. “They’re quite typical – ”
The Joker’s face was a parody of disappointment as he shook his head sadly. “Would you like to know what I think?” he asked.
“I would be delighted,” Jonathan replied, utterly deadpan, and the Joker giggled and leaned in still further.
“I think that you are terrified of losing control, even for an instant.”
Jonathan breathed in and out slowly. In the back of his mind he could sense that strange feeling, the feeling that had taken him over when the Batman dosed him, and periodically since then. It was a feeling like something was not quite right, or perhaps that everything was entirely wrong.
The Joker was watching him closely. Lies, Jonathan knew, were useless with him, and in order to get anything from him, he was probably going to have to give quite a lot.
“You’re correct,” he said, without a trace of emotion. The strange feeling was subsiding, and internally, he breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t overwhelmed him. He had retained himself.
“Are you all right, doctor?” the Joker asked, with a façade of concern. “You were looking a little…off for a moment there. And you know what they say – madness takes its toll.”
Jonathan glanced at the clock, without entirely meaning to. He didn’t let the relief show on his face as he said, “On that note, our time is up.”
The Joker groaned. “Just when things were starting to get interesting,” he said, rising. “See you next week, doctor.”
“Our next session is in three days,” Jonathan reminded him. The Joker grinned widely.
“Oh, I forgot,” he said, without sounding the slightest bit surprised. “Thanks, doctor. You sure are easy to talk to. And interesting. I feel better already."
***
A few minutes later, Jonathan came silently in one of the stalls of the men's room. He had a private office, but he couldn't be sure he wasn't under surveillance there. It was a somewhat distasteful deed, the smell of sick and antiseptic stinging his nose, but a few tugs gave him the relief he required. When he had washed his hands, Jonathan looked into the mirror for the moment and resolved not to think about the Joker any more than he had to in order to prepare for his next session. Best to avoid this little fantasy turning into anything more serious.
***
Two days later, the Joker broke out of Arkham. Jonathan arrived to find the place in an uproar, mostly because there was nothing actually broken. He seemed to have disappeared into thin air, leaving no trace behind. Convinced that no one could break out of Arkham’s maximum security wing, at least without leaving some sign, an exhaustive search of the whole hospital had been undertaken under the assumption that the Joker was still there, hidden somewhere. But apparently he was really gone.
Jonathan’s office was locked as usual, but somehow he was unsurprised to find a note on his desk, scrawled so deeply in black ink one would think the writer was angry with the paper. No, Jonathan decided, that wasn’t it at all. The emotion here was triumph.
Doctor, it read. Can’t wait for our next session. It was unsigned, but then, Jonathan reflected, why on earth would he have bothered to sign it?
For a moment he debated bringing the note to the police. They would probably provide him with some sort of protection, though they would hate to do it. The strange feeling lingered in the back of Jonathan’s mind as he folded up the piece of paper and put it into his briefcase. He could always choose to call them later.
But, whispered the thing in his mind, you won’t. And Jonathan knew it was telling the truth.
