damned_institute | Day 40: Doctor's Office 3 (Dr. Kisugi) [Fourth Shift]

Even under the best circumstances, Tokito had zero trust for doctors in general. This place? Not the best circumstances. So when he was all but shoved into the doctor's office Tokito was already looking just about ready to bolt. But there were orderlies outside the door, and he had nowhere to go. Still, he kept himself pressed up against the closed door, rather than sitting down, and glared at the doctor warily.

Makiko glanced up when the door opened, watching her first patient being herded in without any change in her expression whatsoever. Even after the door closed she didn't move just yet - she merely watched the young man calmly, with perhaps just the faintest hint of a smile.

It was simple enough to taste his fears, abundant but rather unpleasantly sweet on the tip of her tongue. Even without her abilities, though, it would hardly have been simplicity itself to realize that he wasn't the most stable of individuals, not with the way he was huddled against the door like a frightened cat.

When it appeared clear that he'd not move without prompting, she finally leaned back in her chair, absently tapping her pen against the arm as she considered. "It's all right, Mr. Maeda. You can sit down. I won't bite." At least not right now. Not him.

Tokito snorted. C'mon, he hardly knew anything about much of anything, and even he knew that 'I won't bite' was pretty cheesy as reassurances went. But he seemed to be stuck in here for the time being, so Tokito inched his way over to the chair and sat down. "Don't think this means I trust you or anything." He just wanted to sit down. Because the chair looked more comfortable than standing by the door.

"That's all right; you don't have to. After all, this is only our first session together." Makiko's lips curved up in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, her pen tapping out a quiet rhythm that accompanied the soft sound the music from the CD player. He certainly was a jumpy one, wasn't he.

After a moment's consideration, though, she allowed the smile to disappear, going back to her usual neutral, almost businesslike, expression. "I'm Dr. Kisugi, and I'll be your doctor while you're here. You may not believe it, but I'm here to help you get better."

That smile really didn't help Tokito's opinion of this doctor any. At least Kou was kinda nice, in his own freaky quack kinda way. This woman... she seemed like a robot or something, one that was trying to be human but not really good at it.

When she stopped smiling it was almost a relief--at least the robot wasn't pretending not to be a robot anymore. Or something. Tokito didn't have a lot of points of reference for stuff like this that didn't come from manga and video games.

Her statement just made Tokito bristle, though. "There's nothing wrong with me." Okay, well. That wasn't true. But his hand wasn't anything the staff here seemed concerned with, or at least they'd never admitted it yet. Would this be the time?

Why did so many people react that way in this place? Everyone seemed absolutely convinced that their delusional realities were completely true and that she was the odd one.

Well, all right. There was some truth in that, given that she was entirely superior to them. But still.

Makiko suppressed the sigh of annoyance she wanted to give at this point and just quirked one brow slightly. "I'm afraid I must disagree with you, Mr. Maeda, even if just from watching your behavior since you entered my office. It only reinforces what your previous doctors have recorded."

Previous doctors. That just made Tokito's expression tighten up even more. Was this part of the charade, like "Mr. Maeda" was? Were these made-up doctors? Or was this woman really in contact with people who knew his past, who knew who he was and what he was? What his hand was? There was no way of knowing without revealing the truth about his hand, and if she didn't already know that was way too risky. So Tokito just hunched in his chair and glared. "I don't like doctors."

"I can see that." Clearly this was destined to be one of her more tedious sessions, given that Makiko practically had to coax any kind of a reaction out of him. It was always so much easier with the people who wanted to just talk about themselves, allowing her to pretend to listen as much as she pretended to care about their trivial issues.

She reached out with one hand to open the man's file, flipping through the pages almost idly until she reached the last page. Her other hand brushed lightly against the pocket of her white coat, where she kept a pair of loaded syringes in case they were needed - she could probably make him react in order to keep herself entertained, but...not now.

"Would you care to tell me why you're not fond of doctors?" she inquired, attention still ostensibly fixed on the pages before her. "I'd like to get to know you, Mr. Maeda, if I'm to help you at all."

"I just don't." Tokito knew his response sounded lame and defensive, but the truth was that he wasn't entirely sure why he reacted this way around doctors. He had a pretty good idea that it had something to do with his lost memories, and with his hand, but that was about all he could say for sure. And, once again, that would take the conversation into dangerous territory for him.

"They've never done anything good for me, so why should I?" That wasn't entirely true, though. But Kou was different, and he'd helped Tokito because Kubo-chan had asked him to, not because he was a doctor. Kou was almost okay if Tokito thought of him as Kubo-chan's friend only.

Makiko glanced up at him again with a slight frown, though it was more thoughtful than annoyed. The way he was acting, the taste of fears and weakness, spoke to her predator's instincts of easy prey just waiting to be pounced upon - it made her ache to rip him open and drink in those fears for real.

It wasn't worth it, she told herself. The young woman that morning had more savor than he was likely to, and the risk too great for now. Not now.

"I'm trying to do something good for you now," she replied, voice calm and face showing none of her thoughts. "Or at least, I would if you're willing to let me."

Something about this woman made Tokito really uncomfortable, but he couldn't put his finger on it at all. He'd have to just chalk it up to her being a) a doctor and b) a staff member in this crazy place. That was probably it. Right? "What, trying to tell me my life is all made-up and I'm someone else? That's just so nice of you."

"Mr. Maeda, I'm afraid that's reality." Makiko almost idly added a note in the file, scribing each character with neat precision, and continued to speak as she worked. "Something happened to you in the past, something that understandably upset you a great deal. And because you couldn't deal with that, you created your own reality."

She paused for a moment, glancing up at him briefly. "Unless you come to accept that fact, though, nothing is ever going to change. You'll go on living in fear in your fantasy. Is that what you really want?"

Tokito stood up, the chair falling over behind him, and clenched his hands into fists. He didn't move any closer to the doctor, though, keeping his sudden anger under control. "I wasn't afraid! I was with Kubo-chan and I was--" Well, what was he, exactly? Happy? Most of the time, yes. Despite everything, despite the difficult search for his past and the pain and the uncertainty and everything that was wrong with his life, Tokito had been happy with Kubo-chan. "I wasn't miserable until you people took me away from him."

Outwardly, Makiko barely reacted to his outburst; she only gave a slight sigh as she flicked a glance down toward the fallen chair. At least he wasn't making a mess, and a chair was easily righted again. "Mr. Maeda, please sit down," she ordered, returning her attention to the file once more and adding another note.

"As for your assertion that your life was somehow better with "Kubo-chan," which by the way isn't his name, I would have to disagree." She frowned slightly at the page before her and tapped the pen a couple of times before continuing to write. "Just look at the way you're acting. You've obviously never allowed yourself to recover from what happened in the past."

Tokito had been planning on sitting back down, but now that the doctor had ordered him to do so he found he didn't want to anymore. Stubbornly, and a little defensively, he crossed his arms over his chest and stayed standing where he was.

Of course they'd give Kubo-chan a fake name, too. Figured. It also helped Tokito decide for sure that 'Maeda Nao' had anything to do with his real life or name; Kubota Makoto was Kubo-chan's real name, there was no mystery there, no hidden past or amnesia to deal with, so if they said his name wasn't his name, they were probably just making shit up about Tokito, too. "What do you even care, we were fine and it's not like I'm a kid."

If he wanted to stand, he wanted to stand, and it wasn't as though Makiko cared all that much about his comfort. So long as he wasn't making a larger mess of her office, she was completely fine with it. She merely continued to write, as though he had actually obeyed and sat down.

"Clearly you weren't fine, if you ended up here," she observed, pausing long enough to point downward to indicate the hospital before she returned pen to paper again. "When you're a danger to yourself - and others - there comes a point when intervention is required." Still in the same tone of voice, even and calm as though they were merely discussing the weather, she added, "How has the pain in your hand been, these last few days?"

Tokito tucked his right hand under his other arm, not exactly hiding it but certainly protecting it from further scrutiny. Too late, obviously, but it was instinctive more than conscious. "Fine."

That the doctor knew his hand hurt sometimes didn't mean anything. He'd had an attack a little while back, the staff had seen that. He hadn't taken his glove off, though, or let anyone see his hand. Maybe they had another "real" explanation for his hand, to go along with the "real" life they claimed he had.

Kon-El and Bart Allen. An alien and a speedster, perhaps, but underneath all that power and potential lay two teenage boys. Batman's meeting with the two had gone well, and the message he'd sent seemed to have been clear; nonetheless, something about the meeting left a bad taste in Bruce's mouth. A sense of foreboding, perhaps--a lingering doubt or suspicion about the Tim Drake who had befriended Superboy and Impulse. About his character, upbringing, and personality.

Robin.

There'd been too little time, Bruce thought darkly as his nurse joined him by his side. He'd eaten very little for lunch, and the nearly-untouched plates earned him a gently disapproving look from the nurse. Shrugging carelessly, Bruce tossed her a sheepish smile and put the food away, gaze lingering a moment too long on her professional smile before realizing what he was doing. He'd been thinking about what Clark had said this morning--not consciously, but he had. Bruce himself wasn't altogether sure what he'd expected to see this time that he hadn't seen before; there was no new information to be gleaned from the face of a woman he'd seen nearly every shift for the past few days. No new sympathy to offer or hints to take.

"Something wrong, Mr. Wayne?" The nurse asked, tone baffled. Bruce noted a new zit on her forehead and shook his head.

"I might be a little hungry," he said lightly. "Either that, or something good's got you looking brighter than yesterday."

She flushed a little. "It's nothing."

"Mm-hm."

She averted her gaze, clearing a throat a bit and adopting a more distant air. Bruce obliged her and walked the rest of the way in silence, breaking the quiet only to request a visit to the bulletin.

"I'm afraid we won't have time for that today, Mr. Wayne," the woman said, causing Bruce pause. It was the first time he'd been denied the request; Bruce wondered fleetingly just how much interest the nurses actually had in their patients' activities. The nurses watched them, sedated them, and herded them. But few of them were ever seen reading the bulletin or actively eavesdropping on conversations. He had no doubt that Landel or whoever was in charge had full access to whatever patient said and wrote (and, in worst-case scenario, thought). But as for the nurses....

...well. If anything, their lack of curiosity was at least mildly perturbing.

"Are we going somewhere?" he asked, forcibly gentling the surprise that threatened to deepen his voice.

"You've got an appointment with Dr. Makiko Kisugi," she replied. "For counseling. In case it escaped your attention, Mr. Wayne, we're here to cure you. Your family's worried and waiting, after all."

"Oh, is that so? If I didn't know better..." Bruce's lips quirked upwards again, "I'd say you were worried for me, too."

The nurse shot him a warning, but amused glance.

"Nothing more than professional interest, I assure you, Mr. Wayne. Remember--we're here to get rid of your delusions, not foster new ones."

"Pity."

The nurse mentioned that the doctor had been very busy lately, but nonetheless must have timed this session perfectly. Aside from occasional footsteps and hints of echoes, the hallway was empty when Bruce was stopped in front of Doctor's Office 3. Bruce glanced at his surroundings, feigning nervous anticipation as he opened the door to an office as plain as the hall that had led to it.

"Dr. Kee-...Kee-soogee?" Bruce mispronounced slowly. His eyes gravitated towards the dark gray chair behind the polished desk--and at the small, Asian woman sitting on it. Eyes brightening as they met hers, he waited politely to be offered a seat.

If her patient list continued to surprise her like this, Makiko would be rather glad of her transfer to the facility. Was it something about this country? The nature of the common delusions here? Although no matter how strong this "Bruce Wayne" might seem upon entering her office, it was entirely possible that he would crack under pressure: she'd yet to find someone of the male sex who didn't.

Still, though. Oliver yesterday and now this man? This could at least be potentially amusing, if not an opportunity for her. She'd just have to be careful.

"Mr. Wayne," she replied, voice cool and professional, expression neutral with just the slightest hint of a smile. "Please, have a seat." She had his file in front of her, and knew what that had to say about him, but there was still something to be said for the observations she could make with her own senses. "How are you feeling today?"

He smiled, sitting down without any sign of hesitation but just a hint of awkwardness--as if he seldom sat in chairs so ordinary and needed some time to adjust to a comfortable position.

"I'm feeling fine, thank you," Bruce responded with matching, distant politeness. "Better than I expected, even, considering the things I'd heard about this place."

His eyes left the doctor's as Bruce took a good look around the office, careful to keep his expression pleasantly neutral even as he noted the contents of the bookshelves. Not a thing out of place in the entire room; the closest anything (including the doctor herself) came to flesh and blood in the room were the diagrams of human anatomy on the posters. Try as Bruce did not to make any premature judgments, he'd been in the business too long to discount his instincts so easily.

At the very least, she didn't seem irritated or anxious to get rid of him. Yet. The longer this conversation lasted, the greater the chance of Bruce getting something out of it. After his encounters with the nurses and from what he'd read on the bulletin about the doctors, however, Bruce wasn't at all optimistic about his chances of learning anything useful. But even the Batman could hope.

Dr. Kisugi didn't seem the sentimental type; her voice was too cold and her expression too schooled. Judging from the books on phobias (perhaps her specialization?), she was more likely the type to join an Institution in hopes of finding more "interesting" or "paper-worthy" patients to study. Luckily, Bruce had some experience dealing with educated persons with a taste for fear. So long as he could keep her interested (but not too interested), he had a chance at making this contact last.

"Nice place," he said, returning his full attention to the doctor. "Tastefully professional. Though I suppose you're less interested in my opinion of your taste in decor and more in helping me with my problems, right, Dr.?"

"You could say that, Mr. Wayne. After all, you do have people at home who are most concerned for your welfare, and hope you recover soon." It had been rather implied in the file that strings were being pulled all around to accommodate this man, and though she didn't show it Makiko couldn't help but feel mildly disdainful of it. She herself didn't particularly care how quickly the man recovered, if he did at all - the longer he stayed, the more she could investigate his potential usefulness to her in more ways than one.

She leaned back in her chair, though her chair barely shifted all when she did, and it wasn't as though she relaxed at all in the process. His comment about the "things" he'd supposedly heard intrigued her as well, though she'd not pounce on that just at the moment. The man seemed a little too interested in the contents of her office, wary even under his veneer of politeness. Interesting.

"Since this is our first session, though, I'd like to just get to know more about you." The hint of a smile growing more pronounced for a moment before returning to the default position. "I know what's written here," she said, resting a hand atop his file, "but that doesn't tell me much about who you are, or how you see yourself." Hopefully he'd be the type willing to talk, unlike her previous patient.

It was when Dr. Kisugi's slight smile widened that Bruce felt distinctly the advantage of having retrieved and read his file. Again, all Bruce had to justify his suspicions were his gut reactions...but it seemed to him that Dr. Kisugi was different from the nurses in that she might have some hint of the Institute's actual workings. She'd made a point of pointing out to Bruce his file, saying that she had read it, while at the same time implying...

...gut reactions, Bruce thought, stopping himself automatically. For the amount of time they'd spoken to each other, he could be reading too much into each of her gestures.

Could be.

It was good of her to remind Bruce of the file. Remembering the contents of the profile he'd taken from the file room that second night with Flash, Bruce was grateful now that he'd taken the time to sort through the similarities and differences between his real and "real" lives. As he'd suspected from that first conversation with his nurse, the life fabricated for him was nearly identical to the one he knew. All the highlights were there: his parents' death, Dick, Tim...even Andrea, despite her different name. The Joker, too--under his original name. The one obvious change in his life was the lack of Alfred and the changing of his father's name. "Thomas and Martha Wayne" and been changed to "Victor and Martha Wayne" while an uncle named "Thomas Wayne" adopted Bruce after age eight. Disturbing discrepancy in his family's history aside, Bruce had actually been surprised initially at the number of names that were familiar to him in his file: Selina's, Dick's, Tim's...even Susan's first name, though the way Ivy had made her, she'd never really had a last name of her own. In fact, many individuals with secret identities (Wally, Cole, and no doubt others) seemed to keep their actual names; Bruce made a mental note to warn Wally and the others about that later on as a possible identifier for those seeking metas or costumed heroes.

What was most worrying about the file was the detailed information it contained about his "mood swings" and "multiple identities." It would be difficult to convince Dr. Kisugi that he was merely an "irresponsible billionaire playboy with anger management issues" so long as she knew about the "other sides" of Bruce's personality. On the other hand, the fact that she did know so much about "him" could also work to his advantage in terms of keeping her engaged. So long as she thought she knew what she was dealing with and could see through him while he was "lying," she might lower her guard. Bruce would be fine as long as he acted exactly according to what the file said about him with particular attention paid to not revealing any information that wasn't explicitly stated in his history.

Easier said than done. But he was practiced, in some ways.

"How I see myself?" Bruce asked, expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Pausing, he adopted a more thoughtful expression as he considered the question, seemingly distracted from her face.

"...hard question. A few weeks ago, I might've been able to give you a definitive answer. Now, though...I guess I've grown a little wary of my own perceptions."

He smiled again, looking back at her apologetically.

"Do you mind if I think on it a bit? I'll get back to you if I think of something, but for the meantime...how about something easier?"

His answer didn't quite seem to mesh with what Makiko could sense, which again only made her more curious. Still, though, she herself was masquerading as an ordinary doctor at the moment, so best not to draw too much attention to herself at the moment. There'd been enough for that already for one day.

"Easier, Mr. Wayne?" she echoed, one brow quirking slightly in question. "We're here to talk about you, and how best to help you to recover. If you aren't even aware of who 'you' are, then where should we start?"

The file had claimed he had multiple identities, a diagnosis which she considered with more than a hint of doubt: no matter what people claimed it was still quite rare. And running into two people with alternate personalities, especially in such a short time, would be pushing the bounds of credibility for her.

"I'm well aware of 'who I am,'" Bruce answered, "Just not 'how I see myself.'" Dr. Kisugi certainly wasn't wasting any time--not that Bruce had expected smalltalk. Even if "making the patient comfortable" was usually one of a doctor's top priorities.

"I mean, until awhile ago, I was pretty sure I was just like most other guys. Not in the size of my paycheck or anything," Bruce amended quickly, "but in the things that mattered. I've a loyal family, a job I believe in...even a wife, finally, after all these years."

He thought only briefly of how ironic it was that "Susan Wayne," a woman who'd been featured only briefly in his life due to a criminal's "get rich" scheme and pheromones, could wind up as any sort of noteworthy detail in his "history."

Bruce lowered his eyes only briefly before refocusing them on Dr. Kisugi, expression sincere--almost baffled.

"I'm just...not sure, exactly. Where it all went wrong."

"Are you not." It could have been a question, though the inflection Makiko put on it made it a statement, and a rather dubious one at that. Her gaze remained fixed upon the man, expression unchanging, as she absently began tapping her pen against the arm of her chair. "You've had several traumatic incidents through the course of your...rather eventful life, after all. Beginning with the deaths of your parents."

Without looking away, she reached out to riffle the pages of the file with her free hand. The man was clearly not an idiot, not with the kind of education he'd had, not with what she sensed from him, and yet he persisted in playing with her. "I see that at that time you did receive help, but it seems your problems only persisted, growing worse with each subsequent incident."

She paused a moment after that, with just a faint smile. "Although perhaps one could blame your confusion on these 'other personalities' you allegedly have."

Allegedly.

What directness there'd been in Bruce's expression was quietly replaced by intense inscrutability.

So the doctor had finally taken the bait. Or, more accurately, had finally acted upon the openings Bruce had given her, though in a way that was partially unexpected. It didn't take a psychologist to figure out that Bruce Wayne was lying when he said that he didn't know what exactly his problem was; after all, his file did contain more of his life outside of "billionaire Brucie's" existence than he would've liked. The incredulity in Dr. Kisugi's voice was thus only natural, as was the mentioning of his parents' death.

What Bruce hadn't expected, however, was the word "allegedly." Dr. Kisugi's dismissal of the file at the beginning of their session had not been entirely symbolic, then, but the pause and smile she'd given were. Kisugi was doubting openly that Bruce Wayne suffered from MPD. No, not merely doubt--she didn't seem to believe it at all.

Bruce stayed silent, watching the doctor and keeping his mind as blank as his expression. Or, at least, attempting to. He was beginning to see where this conversation was going. Somewhere darker and more difficult than he'd initially expected (hoped for?), but so long as he remembered his objective, it was nothing he couldn't handle.

It had to be.

"...my problems are my responsibility," he said finally. His eyes never left hers.

"I wouldn't pin their origin on any 'others'--or even memories."

Makiko shook her head slowly, though her gaze never wavered. For a moment it seemed her smile widened just a touch, though not in a friendly fashion; it was brief enough to be easily missed, but she doubted he would. A hit, there. Good.

There were several cracks just waiting to be struck, but she intended to be careful with this one. He'd be back next week, and then she could perhaps try more at this point, but today? Today was just laying the groundwork. Feeling him out, so to speak, to find from which angle the right pressure would produce results. And now to try another.

"For the moment, Mr. Wayne, your problems are also partially my responsibility," she observed. "So their causes, as well as their results, are very much in my interest to determine. After all, fears don't simply spring forth full-grown. And with the patterns of behavior you've exhibited over years, I'm curious as to why you only realized a few weeks ago that you needed to re-evaluate your perceptions of reality."

Bruce shrugged.

"As the old saying goes," he said, voice light despite the subject matter. "You don't go to jail for committing a crime, doctor. You go to jail for getting caught."

He smiled--an ironic, self-deprecating smile.

"And so I've been caught."

"And it never occurred to you before to question this?" There was still a continued sense that he - he - was trying to play with her somehow, and that more than anything irritated Makiko. None of that showed outwardly, of course, though her idle pen-tapping took on a more complicated rhythm.

She glanced away briefly, as though she needed to refer back to the file sitting open on her desk, but was quick to return her attention to the patient seated across from her. "Considering the instabilities you've displayed over the years, Mr. Wayne, I'm surprised that anyone considered it safe to leave children in your care. Or perhaps the welfare of those boys wasn't enough to "catch" your attention."

The smile disappeared, but the expression in his eyes did not change. There was no doubt in Bruce's mind that she was deliberately trying to provoke him now--wanted to see some sort of reaction. Nowhere in the file was it said that Bruce Wayne abused his wards--only that his personality made him difficult to live with. Strictly speaking, there was nothing Bruce Wayne had to feel guilty about: he'd provided Dick Grayson and Timothy Drake with all the resources they needed to function in society without taking away their independence. Of course, material comforts weren't the only things they'd needed, but some things Bruce would never be able to give back to them. Their families, for one. So he'd stopped trying.

"Dick and Tim are responsible enough to know what's best for themselves," he said simply.

"And in terms of 'safety'...well. Thomas always says that I'm never home long enough to make a difference. Guess it just turned out to be a good thing."

"Of course." The syncopated tapping came to an abrupt halt, and Makiko leaned forward a little as she flipped pages in the file. She read over a few lines with lips pursed slightly in thought, observing in an almost absent tone, "You always know best, I'm certain. And you thought about nothing but the welfare of those boys, which is why you thought that sort of environment would be best for them."

She allowed that to trail off with what was almost a questioning note at the end as she added a small note in the margin of the file, still without apparently paying attention to her patient's reaction. Though she might not be looking at him, though, her other senses remained quite alert to what results her prodding might elicit.

You always know best, I'm certain. You thought about nothing but the welfare of those boys...

It was beginning to take effort to remind himself that none of this was personal--just another game to the doctor before him, the superficially delicate woman who seemed to delight in every twist of his frown, every suggestion of his pain. Bruce no longer cared whether he was reading too much into her questions: he'd met with enough psychologists to know the difference between professional interest and personal gratification. It was increasingly difficult to defend her actions against the Batman in Bruce's mind; the line about "knowing best" made Bruce think briefly of the telepaths in the Institute until he realized that it was simply a generic jibe at a controlling personality.

Generic. Not personal. General. She could've probably said the same thing to any father with aspirations for his children; it would've hurt the same. Not that Bruce would call himself a father necessarily, or even compare himself to just 'any other parental figure.' The stakes in his life were different, after all, and no matter what he did--

...he'd made a choice, long ago. Seldom did a day go by without him remembering it. Ever since Domestic Bliss had left Gotham City in the shape of Andrea Beaumont, Bruce Wayne'd vowed never to forget that first, original promise. Years had gone by, and his resolve had been tested, but while wards left and things changed that promise alone had never faded. Never left, never abandoned him, never failed to strengthen with each loss and obstacle along the way. He was prepared to give up everything for the sake for that promise, and there'd never been any doubt in Bruce's mind that some day he would...

As for the other things...

...yes. Yes, Bruce did think of them. Often. Too often. Things like Christmases without the Joker, Friday nights spent at home in front of the television. Listening to a Robin's voice not in the heat of battle but following the conquest of a fictional game. Dick's (still) easy smiles, Tim's gleeful punchlines, Barbara and the lists of pop culture references she sometimes insisted Bruce memorize. Coffee with Jim and the costume, Alfred dusting his hands off after handcuffing his latest would-be kidnappers...Talia in Paris with summer rain. And then those increasingly rare moments between missions where no one was really doing anything except maybe sitting in chairs in the Batcave, tending old (and new) wounds and forgetting to think about what came tomorrow.

Happiness.

And the darkness.

.......Bruce smiled, the physical gesture bringing with it an automatic mental blankness as he concentrated on thinking of nothing at all but the curve of Dr. Kisugi's lips and her cold, watching eyes.

"Oh, I wouldn't say I thought about nothing but their welfare," Bruce said, a slight suggestive tone leaving little doubt as to what that "something other than the boys' welfare" could be.

"And obviously I don't know best. I've just been lucky enough to be blessed with two kids who've grown up splendidly despite everything else."

The man was fascinating in several ways, but at the same time....

Makiko couldn't help but be reminded of her last patient at the hospital in Japan. The Miyashita girl, the one who could be a rare case of an authentic multiple personality. The one who had no fears to be sensed at all, who lived in a harsh reality where enemies of the world were to be killed with no hesitation and no remorse.

This Bruce Wayne was not entirely the same, of course, but it seemed he was striving to be so - though with a streak of idealism that could present a fatal flaw. It allowed for fears and doubts to enter his psyche, after all, cracks where she could very well strike if she were of a mind. If the benefits would outweigh the risks.

That, at this point, she wasn't certain would be the case. Not until she had a stronger power base. Not until her abilities grew, gave her the proper opportunity. But still, the man would bear watching.

"Is that so," she murmured, attention ostensibly turning to the file as she flipped to the end and began adding notes in a neat, precise hand. "Luck won't be entering the equation in this case, though, Mr. Wayne. You have a difficult path ahead of yourself, but if you've decided you're willing to try, I'm sure there's nothing to fear."

Day 40: Doctor's Office 3 (Dr. Kisugi) [Fourth Shift]

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