a dance of doves & crows ( jonathan crane )

the monomaniac and the misanthrope .

No - it was all about the intention. That was where he hesitated. His own honesty and disregard for the rest of the world.

What was his intention in getting rid of Matthew Holmes with little regard for the consequences of his actions? How does he say it in a way that doesn't sound completely and utterly insane, even to a madwoman? To him - Oh, to him - It was clear.

The idea of him forcing his way back into your life, parasitically leeching off of your fire, your soul and everything that has consumed the past year of my life was revolting. Beyond that, there wasn't a word for it. It was keeping me up at night, consumed my every thought and made me afraid. Every single time I thought of you even looking in his direction I wanted to vomit. He wasn't allowed back into your life, he wasn't allowed to ruin what we have. That is why I did what I did.

Jules had driven him off some sort of edge, made him no better than some pathetic fool he used to look down on. Scarecrow offered no advice, no quips or even an observation. Perhaps he was in the exact same spot as Jon was. Driven mad with. . . what, exactly? Obsession? Possession?

"Doctor Crane?"

Jules pushed a little - prodding for an actual response from her therapist, who seemed completely and utterly transfixed from his depressing, pollution filled view from his window. After another pause, he removed his hands from his trouser pockets, looking up at the ceiling for help. He didn't know why, there was nothing and no one up there to help.

"You murdered him." She repeated without a single trace of fear or anger.

Could it be - instead, there was admiration instead? He could not tell if he were making things up, if his own state were influencing the situation at hand.

He exhaled, slow and tired, before his head dropped and he finally turned to face her.

She was comfortable in her designated sofa - one that he hated being filled by anyone else - relaxed into it like she were seconds away from kicking her legs up onto his desk and attempting to take a nap. Freedom, even when being imprisoned. Her expression was flat, a typical thing for Jules as she struggled with expressions. It was uncontrolled, always at one extreme or the other.

Still, he's searching for something along the details of her face. A twitch of her plump lips, a flare of nostrils. Nothing. She only stared through light lashes, gray eyes fixed on his face.

Not his suit, or his shoes. His face, like in turn she was trying to study him too. She wasn't turning away from him, she wasn't uncomfortable by his presence. She had struggled so much with eye contact. He considered it a milestone.

Crane also decided he would rather spend eternity playing this game than ever leave his office again.

It felt far too pure for the both of them, as if they were both just possessed by better people. Healthier people, who knew what they were doing. Something that he might've scoffed and mocked, if it involved literally anyone other than her.

"Jonathan," It's the first time she had ever addressed him by his first name, despite trying so hard to learn it all those months ago upon their first meeting. Another blessing, the use of Jonathan as opposed to Crane or Doctor, an open door he couldn't understand. She was being so kind with him, finding a vulnerability even he did not.

But by god, was it amazing. He didn't care if she could exploit this entire event or not - the consequences of his actions no longer mattered, same as that night with Holmes. He knew, deep down, she wouldn't do anything to hurt him anyways.

Her pronunciation of his name — she still had a southern, Louisiana drawl to her words and his name was not exempt — knocked the air out of his lungs, and she hadn't even finished her sentence. His lips parted uselessly, staring down at her through his glasses.