a dance of doves & crows ( jonathan crane )

infatuation and idealism .

"See what, Doctor Quinzel?"

He was clearly playing stupid, almost taunting his old friend with the fact that he knew what she was talking about— How could he not? — yet would not give into her demands. Wouldn't even acknowledge her with a familiar title, slapping an invisible wall between them.

"You're glowing. Not in the good way."

"Are you calling me greasy?"

Oh, he was performing.

Doctor Crane was putting on a show, mocking Quinzel. To the blonde shrink, he must've been acting ridiculously out of character for no apparent reason. He must've looked absolutely insane, behaving such a way with that near-audible smirk, but the woman in the closet knew. He was doing it all for her, after all.

The stupid amused— adoring grin was hidden behind a steel door and Jules' bashful hand, but she still thinks he knew. She could feel him fight off his own shit-eating smirk, hiding it behind his own typical mask.

How she could tell? No idea. Perhaps they just knew each other that well.

"You're being an asshole. I can't believe you— To behave so recklessly, Jon, why on Earth would you do this—?"

"Do what?" The humor from his voice was drained, stolen entirely by whatever the fuck Harleen was talking about.

Jules was lost, very much so, eavesdropping on two old coworkers that surely knew one another more than she could even guess. She thought she knew Crane? Hell. Harleen's history must swamp hers.

"Matthew Holmes is missing. The Hammer's men are asking around about it."

It became silent the moment the words left her mouth, like the hum of the refrigerator had been stunned into silent too. You could hear a pin drop from down the fucking hallway.

Jules held her breath, as if Quinzel would be able to hear it across the room. What she was saying took a moment to digest, much longer than she would care to admit.

Missing?

"What's that have to do with me?" Crane was still effortlessly collected, still expertly holding his mask and distance from the other woman. There was hardly enough shock to be deemed appropriate. His coolness only confirmed what Jules knew to be true, deep down.

Crane did something to her ex-boyfriend. Whether he got him killed or killed Matthew himself— Jules already knew that. She felt it, the same way she felt his stupid petty intentions and his stupid shit-eating smirk.

She had more questions than answers at this point, but it hardly mattered.

Despite what she knew, what she was so sure what happened — Her hand itched to turn the doorknob, to join Crane and tell Quinzel to mind her own business.

What you don't know can't hurt you, after all. She knew that all too well.

"Jules and Holmes, obviously. You just couldn't handle the ex-boyfriend making an appearance again, could you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do— Yes you do, Crane, and you need to tell me what's going on." Harleen's accent got thicker with her anger, with her frustration directed towards the man; and Jules was sure her hands were going wild with gestures at him.

"I don't have to do anything. I feel awful about whatever happened to Matthew Holmes— I do hope he's returned home soon, safe and sound. But that has nothing to do with me, and I'm insulted that you'd jump to that conclusion because my patient briefly went out with him over a year ago. Information I'm not even sure how you got in the first place, because it's so irrelevant."