Jonathan Crane wasn't fond of taking patients.

He only put up with it because it was a part of his job. Though he had been interested in studying different types of people earlier, with his residency at Arkham Asylum, he was introduced to a special brand of people who fascinated him much more than other patients could.

Criminals, most of them pronounced insane.

Each had a record of unspeakable felonies tied to their name yet an unshakable belief that they were doing the right thing.

Whether it was pride, ego, or some twisted savior or god complex, Jonathan's curiosity only increased the more he interacted with the worst Gotham had to offer. He was curious to explore the mindset of these people who struck fear in others' hearts, who seemed to have no conscience, and who were deemed incorrigible.

He was thoroughly fascinated by them, almost to an obsessive extent. Little did he know that if he continued on the path he chose for himself, very soon he would be among them too—another inmate of Arkham's top security cells, deemed highly dangerous and criminally insane.

Jonathan worked at Arkham Asylum until four in the evening, observing the so-called insane and incorrigible outcasts of society. After four, he returned to a small office he had rented in Robinson Plaza, dealing with his regular patients until the clock struck six.

What he did after six was a mystery as he would vanish inside his compact apartment in the Narrows only to reemerge the next morning. The dark circles around his eyes and the burns on his hands suggested that he didn't return home simply to retire for the night. He had built an extensive lab in his apartment and spent the rest of his time experimenting with toxic chemicals.

Charlize had no idea of his unusual idiosyncrasies by the time she showed up at his office. She had just met him once at the seminar but couldn't put him off her mind. So, as soon as she got some time, she took him up on his offer and came to visit him.

His office was on the fifth floor, and she had some trouble locating it as it was stowed away in the corner. When she pushed the glass door and stepped in, she saw it was a rather small setup. The waiting area only had two couches, and there was no space for a receptionist.

It seemed like Jonathan managed everything at his clinic alone.

"Next!" Jonathan's unmistakable voice rang through the waiting area, and a timid little boy stood up and walked over to the counseling room.

She noticed he had blonde hair and green eyes, was well-dressed and seemed to be from some influential family. He looked scared, but the man next to him nudged him, urging him to go and get that session done. Aside from those two, there were no other patients, and she knew it would be six soon, and Jonathan would be free then.

Charlize took a seat at a safe distance from the stern-looking man and picked up a research journal from the small collection Jonathan had kept for the people waiting there. 

It was an interesting collection, as he had thrown in a mix of fine prints, some children's books, a crossword that was marked all over, research journals and a healthy diet catalog. Clealry, he had no interest in whether the visitors appreciated the collection and actually used it to bide their time or not.

Time flew, and just as the clock struck six, the door to the counseling room parted, and the timid little boy stepped out. His eyes were paranoid, and he quickly returned to the man but said nothing. Charlize felt something was odd but didn't ask.

Soon, the two of them left, and as Charlize was the only person in the waiting room, she saw Jonathan emerge from that cabin. He paused abruptly as if seeing her there was a shock.

"Good evening," she uttered a polite greeting, trying not to make things awkward.

"Ah, where are my manners? Please come in, take a seat," he said, taking her to the counseling room and making her sit on the chair across from him. "You haven't been waiting long, have you?"

"Not at all. It's only been a few minutes. I hope I haven't disturbed you."

"Right and no, I'm glad to have your company," his eyes furtively swept over the room, making sure that everything was in order. Then, he resumed with the polite formalities, "What would you like to have? Tea is my personal favorite, but I can make coffee here too."

She shook her head, feeling flustered at all the attention, "You really don't have to entertain me, Doctor Crane. I just came to see you."

He paused as if not expecting that response, but then, as he observed her, he realized she was being honest.

"Oh... Of course," it didn't take him long to settle a smile on his face, though she couldn't miss noticing how his face colored slightly. "So I assume you will have tea with me?"

She agreed, watching him busy himself fetching the cups and kettle.

Even though he was a master at concealing his emotions, she felt he was nervous. His eyes seemed to shift with a thousand questions he wanted to ask, yet he kept his mouth shut, focusing only on the task at hand.

When he returned with the tea and sat down across from her, he was much more composed than earlier. His eyes had lapsed back into that intense calm, closely observing everything in his vision.

"I'm not used to people coming here to see me unless they are patients, so I was just caught off guard," he remarked, elaborating why he had been nervous earlier. "But it's a nice change, I must say. At least now, I don't have to while my time by myself."

"I see... How have you been?"

"I... I'm doing well, thank you," he took a tentative sip from his cup, feeling somewhat self-conscious again, "How's your research going?"

"Ah, that," she remarked, "I gave your words a thought. I think you're right in saying I can explore it practically after getting my doctorate."

"Exactly," he looked relieved as that topic gave him a chance to hide his anxiety symptoms by talking. "Once you've received a doctorate, you will have the credibility and expertise to research further without any institution backing you up. Frankly, I did that myself. There was no way I could have made the progress I did if my research was affiliated with Kansas State University."

She paused in surprise, "You studied in Kansas?"

"I am from Kansas," he admitted, albeit reluctantly. "Anyway, enough talk about me. Let me show you the research I told you about on cognitive restructuring. You're sure to find it intriguing."

He stood up, not bothering that the tea in his cup was unfinished. Something was bothering him, but he dared not voice it out, pretending he had everything under control. But in that case, he should have been aware that Charlize was no stranger to psychology and its connection with body language and behavior. She could easily guess that he was trying to mask his unease by constantly keeping himself occupied.

"Doctor Crane, are you hesitant to talk to me?" She asked, unable to ignore the feeling that he was intentionally looking for things to keep her occupied rather than have a direct conversation with her.

His eyes snapped toward her in a clear expression that he had been caught in the act. "Is it that obvious? I mean..."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically but then resumed in her gentle tone, "You should have let me know if you were tired or busy or just not in the mood to see me. And I know I should have informed you before coming here but your card only had the address of your office so..."

He paused, then shook his head, "No, no, that's certainly not what I meant. I... I really hadn't expected you'd come to see me, that's all. I guess I'm a little flattered you're here and still need some time processing it."

"Flattered?"

He looked away, a ghost of a smile playing upon his lips, "I really should get those papers."

"If you must."

"I must," he rummaged through the files he had stacked behind his desk, a few books tumbling out from the makeshift shelf that he quickly sorted.

As soon as he turned away from her, he deviated to her research topic again.

"Every good research should challenge the norms, contradict the ideals, and aim to look beyond the unknown. Your research topic reminds me of a good contradiction—the nature versus nurture aspect of it. The more you can connect an unknown or unusual factor to an already known variable and derive conclusions to the undiscovered, the better it is."

"Just like you related fear with therapy?" She asked, drawing out a connection behind his words.

"Exactly," he set down a heavy folder that she noticed was color-coded from the edges. "My work is focused on the contradiction between fear and cognition. This connection has always fascinated me."

To her, he seemed a highly meticulous and extensively organized person. Despite the small setup and lack of assistance, he had kept everything organized to the bone.

"People see fear as a weakness, and some go to therapy to overcome it," he resumed, flicking through the pages in the yellow-coded section. "But what if fear was a tool for therapy itself? What if, in order to get better, you take help from the very thing you run from? A contradiction, like I said..."

Sometimes, it felt like he was a walking textbook on clinical psychology. But she was clever enough to realize he was simply reeling. 

Perhaps he felt the need to fill the silence between them, and the only topic he could find was related to contradictory research.

"It is an interesting concept," she agreed, looking at the titles he was skimming through. He had indeed kept a vast collection of old journal articles. "It reminds me of the saying that we have to face our fears to overcome them."

He paused, a muscle twitching in his jaw, "Just facing the fear is not enough. You have to understand it in order to transform it."

She drew back, feeling that his gaze was far more intense than earlier. He realized it, too, so he changed the topic.

"Here," he showed her the folder, having found his section in cognitive restructuring, "I think these will be useful for you."

Silence gripped them as she pored over the vast collection of research he had compiled. It was rather impressive that he had collected articles from all over the world, some even dating back decades. Coming across such an extensive compilation was rare.

"Doctor Crane, you have almost every research conducted on this topic ever," she spoke up, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and awe. "How did you manage to find all of these?"

"A good connoisseur never spills secrets of his trade," he remarked, "however, it did take me long to put together everything you can see here."

"And all these notes... One would think you were researching on this topic, too," she remarked, leafing through the pages of the folder.

His face colored, making him nervous again as he wasn't used to receiving a genuine compliment. "Well... It was part of my postgraduate thesis. You'll find a copy at the KSU archives."

"I remember reading one of your papers in which you had presented the impact of medication that alters the brain chemistry. Hallucinogens, I believe." She spoke up as she saw a topic on medications and cognitive restructuring. "I don't know why you never got nominated for that. Your research alone could open up a new field in psychopharmacology."

He paused, not expecting that she would have known about that research. It was a long time ago but it was his first step delving deep into the study of chemicals and their impact on human psychology. If she knew and was able to dig further, she might find out exactly what he was up to.

Jonathan certainly did not want her to find out.

"It's from the time when I was researching on exposure therapies," he added, "I no longer work with hallucinogens now due to obvious issues... If I did, we wouldn't be sitting in my office right now and my license would have long been cancelled."

She nodded, but her attention was on the collection of papers. In the meantime, Jonathan cautiously observed her, ensuring that he hadn't let slip too much in front of her. 

Each time he managed to get somewhat settled with her, something about her would throw him off again. He didn't know whether it was her personality or how she made him feel by taking a genuine interest in him and his research.

Usually, he needed ten to fifteen minutes to get the hang of the other person and then converse with them according to their mindset. He had thought he had gotten familiar with her back at the seminar—an ambitious student with a curious mind, nothing special.

But now, as she sat across from him in his office, he felt he had been wrong. 

She spoke very little, already having the patience of a therapist listening to her patients all day long. She was empathetic and could easily pick up on how the other person was feeling. However, possibly the most dangerous aspect of her was how she made him want to open up even though it was only their second meeting.

Charlize Thorne wasn't as easy to read as he expected. Her eyes and her words were a contradiction in itself. It made him want to know more, but he feared that in doing so, he would reveal too much of himself.

That feeling of caution put him on guard, which was why he hadn't been able to keep his attention on her fully as he had at the seminar. 

"Doctor Crane," her voice shook him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Would you let me borrow this folder for some time? I promise to return it soon."

"I don't think..." He was about to refuse but paused, reconsidering his words, "I mean, you can use it while you're at my office. I have no issue lending it to you here."

"Oh, but then you will find me here much more often," she smiled, "are you sure you wouldn't mind that?"

"I... I won't mind at all. In that case, if you ever have anything to ask, you can do so directly."

She nodded, her smile widening, "Thank you. You have no idea how useful that would be for me."

He smiled politely, hands clasping together, "I'm glad to be of some help."

***

From that day onwards, it became a routine for Charlize to drop by at his office, borrow the folder and complete her research. Often, he would guide her himself and the hours after six would go by in long discourse over cognitive therapies and other topics of their mutual interest.

As time passed, Jonathan found himself getting too accustomed to her presence. He would check the waiting area after six and on days she wasn't there, he would feel somewhat disappointed. Her visits were seemingly the only highlight of his day as he could easily detach himself from his current responsibilities when she was around.

Through their combined efforts, Charlize was able to expand on her topic much easily and her thesis turned out to be remarkable. She had invited Jonathan to the convocation ceremony as well but he had politely declined, feeling he should let her bask in the the limelight of her success by herself without his presence overshadowing her.

But even after her doctorate degree had been completed, she didn't abandon her habit of showing up to his office and having tea with him regularly. Jonathan looked forward to those visits as they were the only normal thing in his very hectic life.

One day he was in his office and the clock had struck half past six but Charlize wasn't there. Jonathan had had a particularly draining session with Thomas Elliot, his youngest patient and the only one of them who showed no signs of progress and only deteriorated further.

He was the same boy Charlize often saw in the waiting area and wondered what was wrong with him. Sometimes, she wanted to take the boy aside and ask him if he was so scared because of what happened at the sessions or what he went through at his home. But she couldn't interfere with a colleague's patients nor did she have the right to suspect Jonathan for being behind the boy's worsening state.

Jonathan himself was stumped as no matter what approach he tried, Thomas only seemed to get worse. As he sat in his office, studying Thomas Elliot's file, he was haunted both by Charlize's absence and the current predicament with the young patient. 

His eyes strained over the text and he took off his spectacles, placing them on the table in front of him as he rested his head back and closed his eyes.

He should never have gotten entangled with that mess if some family friend of the Elliots hadn't recommended him as a therapist for the heavily disturbed boy. Now, he was stuck, knowing that Thomas would only deteriorate further and nothing could save him.

Either he could let his brain simmer and disintegrate slowly or expediate the process to get rid of him sooner. The latter option felt horrible indeed but he convinced himself there wasn't much he could do either way.

He was lost in thought, trying to find a viable solution to his problem, when a knock on the counseling room's door shook him out of his thoughts.

He straightened and then called out, "Come in."

It couldn't be a patient, he thought, but when the door opened, he was surprised to see Charlize.

"I hope I didn't disturb you, Doctor Crane," she spoke up, coming inside the small room.

"You're an hour late today," he remarked drily, eyes flickering to the clock.

It was an attempt to mask the relief he felt to see her and the way his heart had skipped a beat. He had been convinced she wouldn't come that day yet there she was, right in front of him. 

"Yes, well... I have something to tell you."

She eagerly took the seat across from him and he saw that her eyes shining with delight. She was quite radiant which meant whatever news she had to give was something that she had been hoping for.

"I'm all ears," he closed the file and put it aside, not wanting his sour mood due to the Elliot boy ruin that moment with Charlize.

"My doctorate thesis got nominated for this year's research excellence awards," she told him. "You have no idea how excited I am... I can barely contain it!"

"I can tell. Your eyes give it away," he remarked and couldn't help but smile at her. "Congratulations."

"It wouldn't have been possible without you." She handed him the papers that she just retrieved from her bag. "Here, they sent the details of the event and I can bring a plus one."

"Oh... Good," he mumbled, eyes skimming over the fine print.

"So will you go with me?"

The question startled him and he looked up as if he hadn't heard her right, "You want me to go with you?"

"I do. You've helped me a lot in my research and I meant it when I said none of this would have been possible without you," she resumed though each word seemed to strike him in the gut, "I want to share this moment with you."

"But... But... You shouldn't..."

"Why not?" She looked unconvinced, trying to figure out why he was refusing. 

Seeing her eyes locked on him questioningly, he took in a deep breath before answering. 

"Because... I am not conventional, my research and methods unsettle people. I don't want my association with you ruin your career prospects," he explained, trying his best to make her understand that it would be better if she left him out of it.

"You already didn't come to my convocation and I let it slide but not this once. Besides, you are a colleague and a good friend, nothing else matters," she was resolute, not taking no for an answer. 

A good friend.

She thought of him as a friend. The words revolved in his mind and he momentarily blanked out. His hands were clasped tightly, his knuckles fading white and she noticed his attempts to hold in the turmoil of his thoughts.

Much to his shock, she reached out to gently disentangle his fingers.

He stiffened at the touch initially but then let her hold his hands in a comforting grip. It was strange how one simple gesture could bring his racing heartbeat to a calm steadiness, as the warmth of her skin seeped through his palms.

"I want you to be there," she resumed, feeling the tightness in his hands release, "I won't force you to come but I really want you to."

His lips parted to speak but no words came out.

How could he say no to her at that very moment? With her hands holding his and her brown eyes looking at him, piercing right through his soul, he couldn't possibly refuse.

He looked down at their entwined hands then back at her expectant features. Taking a deep breath, he made a decision which he felt he might regret later.

"Alright, I will go with you," he agreed at last, retrieving his hands from her soothing grip, "but on one condition."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically though a smile had broken out on her face the second he gave in, "What condition?"

"We will come here to celebrate afterward," he remarked, "my treat."

"Really, Doctor Crane, you don't have to," she laughed and he felt that tightness in his chest again, as if he was treading on a thin line and should be very cautious.

"That's my condition. I will go with you only if you accept."

She thought about it but then nodded, a beautiful smile gracing her features, "Fine. We will come here to celebrate after the event."

***