Clarice sighed and rolled over on the standard uncomfortable cot-bed in her cell. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself and curled up into a semi-ball.
Sometimes she wonders what her life would have been like if she'd refused to help Jonathan when he needed her.
Then she gets set on a trail of what ifs.
What if this, what if that, what does it matter?
Thinking about all of the what ifs only made her sad.
"Ready for your session, 'Rice?" Clarice lifted her head and nodded.
"Hey, Boles," She said. He nodded to her and waited until she was at the door before he unlocked the door and went through all of the standard security procedures.
He led her down the halls for a few minutes.
"Hey, Boles?" She looked up at him.
"Yeah?" He asked, his voice gruff. He was always rough and obnoxious when they were in public, even when they had dated, before her life had turned into a mess.
"Do you ever think that sometimes-" Clarice cut herself off. "Never mind, it's stupid." She could feel the grip he had on her arm soften a bit as he glanced down at her.
"That sometimes this is all just a dream, or a nightmare, and that you'll wake up any minute now?" He said, whispering so only she could hear.
"Sometimes, yeah," Clarice said.
"Me too."
The rest of the trip passed in silence before they arrived at their destination.
Boles uncuffed Clarice before he left the room without the doctor having to say anything.
Clarice looked down at her hands and picked at her nails while the doctor looked over a couple of notes.
The doctor cleared her throat and looked up at Clarice with a smile.
"Clarice, how are you doing today?" She asked.
Clarice looked up at the doctor, a slight grimace on her face.
"Honestly doctor?" Clarice asked. The doctor nodded encouragingly. "I don't know."
After a few more sessions with Reaper, the doctor had decided that Clarice had some sort of depressive disorder. They gave her an odd cocktail of pills that could be taken for both her hypersomnia and depression, but honestly, Clarice felt like they didn't work. She felt worse.
Eventually the other inmates, the doctors, the nurses – hell, even the guards – would begin to talk about Scarecrow's sad little sidekick. About how she only seemed to be rotting in Arkham and that nothing was helping her. Not pills, not therapy, nothing they could give her was helping.
Clarice was back in her cell after another session with the doctor. She was back in her bed, curled up with her blanket, staring at the ceiling tiles.
She could hear the other inmates whispering about her, about how she was much, much different.
She wasn't the rambunctious, playful, sassy, mothering Reaper they'd come to know.
She was...sad. All the time.
She didn't even feel like leaving Arkham.
Some days it just wasn't worth chewing through the restraints.
Hell, even if she did, eventually she'd end up back here, anyway.
Shuffle Shuffle
What was that?
Shuffle Shuffle
One of the ceiling tiles was moving.
Clarice stared at it as it moved ever so slowly.
Finally it had been moved completely, showing a costumed Jonathan Crane hiding in the ceiling.
"What are you doing here?" Clarice asked. Jonathan raised an eyebrow.
"I'm breaking you out of Arkham, Clarice," He said.
"Why?"
"Firstly, I am your boss. Secondly, You're," Jonathan's face gained a slightly red tinge. "my only friend," He muttered quietly. Clarice smiled slightly and stood on her bed.
"Alright. Let's get out of here," Clarice said. Jonathan smiled and reached down to pull her up.
Some days it just wasn't worth chewing through the restraints because someone would come and undo them for you.
A/N: So, Scarecrow may or may not seem ooc, but that's just because I've posted this without the whole background chapters that would happen in the multi-chapter fic I'm working on about Jonathan and his friend Clarice Shawe. In my mind, she's one of the only people who knows about what has actually happened to Jonathan throughout his life. But yeah, sorry if he seems waaay out there. And there's allusions to something between Boles and Clarice, yup.