(no subject)

[notmydiagnosis]

The bat-man.

The very name made Johnathan Crane twitch, even though he wasn't even in Gotham. The roads were dusty, dingy. Difficult. But he'd personally requested to assess the Slayers, and Castle, upon hearing he was one of the brightest minds in Arkham, readily agreed.

'So long as none of my beauties go missing, huh?'

And of course, Crane had promised. Crane was a man of his word. None of them would go missing, because Crane had no intention. He had his eye on one Slayer and one Slayer only.

It was long and arduous and by the time he arrived at the prison compound he could already feel the headache spreading from his temples all the way to the bridge of his nose. The other interviews didn't help, either--clinically diagnosing those he already knew to be insane.

But, finally, the room was empty and Crane was left with just his paperwork and his headache.

"Dr. Crane?"

He looked up, brows raised.

"Kable is outside."

"Good. Send him in."

Comments

[slayer_not_player]

Tillman snorted but didn't say anything until he was asked for input. He had spent a lot of time over seas and while there, he had not met anyone from Gotham. He certainly wasn't up to date on his news now.

"Not much. Smuggling ring got caught there... must have been nine years ago," he stated. While he wasn't one for adding irrelevant details, he wanted Crane to be clear on just how much 'not much' implied without a lot of questions or dancing around the subject.

He began the process of assessing his physical state and cataloging injuries while he waited.

[notmydiagnosis]

Crane takes this in--looks at Tillman, analyzes him. He's done so countless times (and, admittedly, a few while the other man was unconscious), but his final stance ended with him clasping his hands behind his back and pacing.

His shoes made an audible noise on the metallic, grate-like floor of the cell as he paused to put his thoughts into words.

"You're the top-most ranked Slayer in the entire game. The one who's lasted the longest. You're most likely a soldier of some sorts. Veteran perhaps. And that's the exact expertise I'm looking for. I need your help, Mr. Tillman. There's someone out there calling himself... Batman. He and I aren't quite on the same terms. So."

He finally stops pacing, looking straight at Tillman. Staring at him.

"I helped you out and I... Need help in return."

[slayer_not_player]

"Bat man?" He enunciated the words individually and cocked an eyebrow, waiting for a correction that didn't come. It brought to mind a zoo keeper or a manic chiroptera enthusiast. That Crane wanted Tillman personally because of Slayers did not bode well for said enthusiast.

"You want me to kill the bat man," Tillman stated as he palpated the injuries on his wrists through their bandaging.

[notmydiagnosis]

"I don't want you to kill Batman." Something happened--something Crane didn't so much as notice. Jonathan Crane was a man of science, true, but he was also a man from Gotham--where it wasn't uncommon to hear of Batman's exploits, to here of the crime that ran rife in the streets.

"No. If you kill him, then that leaves a number of people to both become Batman in his wake, and go after the both of us due to vengeance." Namely, he wasn't stupid enough to kill the Batman simply because Joker would dive in in one fell swoop.

He brought his hands down, adjusting his tie and raising an eyebrow at Tillman.

"You'll find I'm not quite the upper-class, high-end person you might perceive me to be. I simply make an alternate means of income, and I wish to protect that. You, of all people, should know what it means to protect something."

[slayer_not_player]

Tillman rolled his shoulders out and was satisfied with the conclusion that the worst of his injuries would be resolved in a few days and that they wouldn't impede him in the least while they healed. The headache was probably the most distracting thing, but that could be remedied with some water and a nap.

His eyes had never left Crane, but as his analysis came to a close and he rested his hands on his thighs once more, he began to really look at the doctor. There was the slightest touch of a frown at his lips and crease to his brow. It wasn't disapproving, per se, but cold and hard nonetheless. He searched for motive in Crane's movements, signs of nervousness or dishonesty. Headshrinks, in his experience, had marvelous poker faces and the shrouding shadows were not in his favor.

"I'm sure it's exactly the same," he responded belatedly, a bit of edge to his voice. If this had been a mission briefing in the army, this meeting would have already offered up useful information instead of nonsense about bat men and vague insinuations. He didn't mention it, however, intent on using the time to analyze Crane more.

[notmydiagnosis]

"Precisely." Crane nods sharply, staring at Tillman. It was barely there, but he caught it--that slight look, that little glint. He chuckled, finding the entire thing void of amusement. Pushing the glasses back up to his face, he shook his head.

"I think you'll find psychoanalyzing one of Arkham's finest psychiatrists is a bit of a waste of your time. Now, moving on. As I've stated previously, your wife and child are on their way to Gotham. But I need your word you'll give me a hand. I'm not the bad guy here. Castle is. It just so happened this was mutually beneficial."

[slayer_not_player]

Tillman continued to stare, not bothered in the least by the attempt to dissuade him.

"You have my word," Tillman agreed readily. "Whatever you need." It was not unlike enlisting or signing on to Slayers. The only difference here was that he didn't have the foggiest idea of what he was being asked to do. It didn't really matter, though. His prize was the same.

"When can I see them?"

[notmydiagnosis]

Excellent.

Crane's demeanor shifted almost immediately--it was edging towards the same face he'd used with the mask, the light, contained emotion that was just shy of breaking through an incredible poker face.

"The moment they're here and safe I'll take you to them personally," he promised. "The time not spent with me--when I'm here, for instance--can be spent with them, or sleeping. That would be my recommendation. Now. If there are no questions, I should be getting back to your paperwork. Proving your mania isn't going to be a problem but it still requires a full report."

[slayer_not_player]

"You still haven't told me about the job," he pointed out. He had never worked any freelance gigs. He wasn't a mercenary. Every job he had ever worked was endorsed by and in full cooperation of the US government. And the government knew how to hold a briefing: straightforward, direct, succinct.

"And that," he licked his lips before continuing. "Whatever you dosed me with. You're not going to do it again, are you?"

[notmydiagnosis]

Jonathan Crane's answer was a simple shift of his weight, moving lightly to the balls of his feet as he quirked an eyebrow upwards.

"You're going to make sure I don't die, no matter my location. It's quite simple. Even a soldier like you should understand it." The corner of his lips moved, too--a light quirk--and he cleared his throat.

"I'm not your enemy, Mr. Tillman. It took me a great deal of effort to handle Richard Castle. I tend not to exhaust my resources unless I have the utmost faith in someone and you.. 'Kable.' You can handle a simple bodyguard job, can't you?

[slayer_not_player]

If the implication about his intelligence was supposed to get a rise out of him, it didn't succeed. Tillman merely lay back on his cot and rested his head on one forearm, his left knee bent so he could get up quicker if he needed to.

"It's just Tillman," he said softly as the door creaked open.

[notmydiagnosis]

"Tillman," Crane repeated, clasping his hands together and nodding. "Excellent. You start tomorrow, when I can get you out of here without much fuss. I've taken the liberty of putting you here in solitary confinement so as not to upset the other patients, or have them upset you." He was concerned about people like Croc and Bane--because as good as Tillman was, Crane doubted he'd last five seconds versus Clayface.

Taking a step forward, Crane extended a hand to shake.

"I'm looking forward to working with you."

I'm looking forward to figuring out what you fear most. What makes you tick. What makes those blue eyes widen in terror.

Crane nodded to himself. "I imagine this will be much easier than the Slayers regime."

[slayer_not_player]

Tillman's handshake was firm and confident and he might have held on a second longer than he needed to. Physical contact had been pretty scarce in the past two years, and the kind that he had received had largely been attempts at his life or being cuffed or otherwise dominated. The last person he had shaken hands with was his lawyer.

Crane's hand was soft and just a little cold. Tillman released him and lay back to stare at the ceiling once more. "See you later, Doc," was all he said.

The door clicked shut, the harsh heavy sound of metal on metal temporarily shattering the silence. Tillman closed his eyes and listened but after the walls absorbed the resounding clatter, there was nothing but silence. No footsteps in the halls, no murmur of guards, no screaming prisoners talking through the walls. It might have been relaxing if it weren't for the knowledge that he was in an asylum. He hadn't taken an insanity plea for a reason and yet here he was. Two years into a sentence, half a year away from freedom, and here he was at square one in a dank, shadowy little cell.

Tillman traced the letters of his tattoo without looking at it. Just a little bit longer.