The Good Doctor (Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow)

VII.

As time slipped by on the asylum, things morphed rapidly.

Once Doctor Crane's project was fully underway, progress took on a life of it's own.

It was altogether so much more than he could have imagined.

Astrid resisted at first, fighting like a feral cat against the injections the second and third time, but with enough coaching, he found that she could be brought around in slow increments.

It was by no means an easy feat to convince the terrified young girl that she could control the fear. The very concept seemed alien to her when she was emersed in the horrifying dream world the serum created for her.

Through the flames, however, she eventually discovered that she could still hear faintly Crane's voice - calm and clinical even in the midst of the chaos - and that it grew more clear as she focused more sharply.

Once she realized that she could redefine the terror that plagued her, the unwillingness to participate slowly deteriorated.

Some part of her, the part which was so deeply afraid, truly began to see the therapy as help. If she could harness her anger to tame her fears, she could do anything.

She began offering up her arm for the injections, laying still rather than thrashing about like a wounded animal, and keeping her vitals level by sheet strength of mind.

It was so much more and happened so much more quickly than Jonathan had even allowed himself to dream. He had accomplished in five weeks what he had hoped to do in eight.

Whatever strength dwelled within her was not a separate thing as he had once hypothesized or as it was with Scarecrow, but quickly enough before his eyes, the timid thing that had been hauled into his office was changing into something more.

Something even he couldn't have predicted.

-

"I want you to make it stronger. Can you do that?" she asked boldly, worrying her lip with her teeth.

Her physical appearance had changed for the worse; the circles beneath her eyes had darkened, made worse by the stark pale hue that weeks away from sunlight had lent her skin.

Neither party was particularly impacted by it; with no mirrors in her cell, Astrid had little idea what she looked like anymore and Jonathan was not preoccupied with such trivial things. It was only to be expected,
time spent in a windowless room having a way of doing that to a person.

He was caught unprepared by the request, a portion of him perfectly delighted by her eagerness. Still, he remained wary.

"And why would I do that?" he asked curiously, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her expression. It was never a far removed possibility that such a request may have been a power play.

"I've beaten this level," she spoke metaphorically, her fingertips twitching of their own accord. "It's not a challenge, anymore."

"Astrid, you've made great strides in your control. Amazing, even," he tossed her the rare compliment, "but I would hardly say you've overcome it completely."

Astrid grimaced, a frustrated pout overtaking her lips; however knowledgeable the doctor was, she was certain he was wrong.

She could walk through the flames without so much as a scream, now. She could watch as the house and everything in it burned to ash and rubble before her without even batting an eyelash.

She was so close to figuring out how to walk through the front door in the visions.

"I can't make any progress sitting still," she insisted temperamentally. "How am I ever supposed to get stronger if we just keep doing the same thing, time and time again?"

Though his face betrayed no such emotion, Jonathan was inwardly beaming with pride as his subject's tenacity and fervor for improvement.

He accredited himself with every ounce of determination she was then showing him, feeling a real sense of accomplishment in the monster he had created.

Like Doctor Frankenstein, he had shaped a living, breathing creature from the mere scraps of a person, stronger than ever those shreds of flesh were before his help.

"You aren't ready, yet," he told her gently, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Yet being the operative word. Big things are on the horizon."

She had not noticed until that moment the gradual decline into a repertoire that they had been building over the five weeks since her therapy had begun. He was no longer the cold, clinical figure he had walked in as, having developed some warmth and casual demeanor over time.

She had not noticed herself changing, either. She could not pinpoint when it had occurred, but she had somehow come to see their therapy sessions as help rather than mindless torture.

It may not have been a pleasan method of training, but it was effective; he was making her stronger.

For someone so tired of being weak and reliant, there was no greater gift.

"Fine," she conceded to his expertise with a sigh. "If not now, then when?"

"Patience is a virtue," he chided her, "albeit one I'm not particularly fond of. You've two sessions remaining this week, today not withstanding. Provided all three go optimally, I will consider modifying the dosage. Fair enough?"

It wasn't an ideal arrangement or much of a compromise, but Astrid knew arguing was futile.

She nodded and rolled up her sleeve, flexing her fist open and closed so as to ready her veins.

"In the meantime, let's get on with this, okay?" she insisted, impatient to get down to business. One dose out of the way was closer to the challenge she had come to desperately crave.

He smiled a reserved smile down at her, all too happy to oblige the request.

✖ ✖ ✖

A short-ish chapter, but I had to get back into the groove of having a second to sit down and write. Also, this is merely meant to show the change in Astrid's attitude as we get to the big twist, next chapter. ;)

Please let me know what you thought! I love hearing from you guys.