Jðkêr//Är†hµr x RêåÐêr ïmågïñê§ & ðñê-§hð†§

• Inmates (pt.7)

Overhead the dim lighting intensified the lead, greyness of the chipped, tiled walls.
It was as if no colour could survive in such a place. The only shocking splash of colour; the large, round panic buttons situated on the walls.

Upon reaching cell 9, she stepped cautiously up to the small, shatterproof glass window in the heavy, steel door.

Inside, Arthur was shirtless as he had a tendency to be at bedtime, not that he ever slept. The sharp contours of his shoulder blades stuck out like bony wings.
He stood statue-like with his back turned towards the door; gazing up at the tiny window set high-up in the wall.

She wondered what he might be thinking. Was he trying to picture the outside world which lay beyond it? The murky, trepidatious streets of Gotham; isolating and scary, but still offering some semblance of freedom; the likes of which he would never have again..

"A-Arthur."

He immediately spun around on his heel, his wide eyes meeting hers through the glass.

"(y/n)! How thoughtful of you to pay me a visit." The smile he reserved only for her, softened the angular features of his face. "I thought I heard your voice, but I figured I was imagining it. Either that or going crazy."

She wasn't able to muster a smile. He noticed immediately, his own smile fading as he approached the door, pressing his hand to the glass.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? Did you seriously just ask me that?"

"Is this about the whole panties-thing? Because I--"

"No Arthur, it isn't. What are you doing here?"

"Didn't you hear? I killed a bunch of people and got caught." He joked clumsily.

"That's not funny."

"It is a little funny. To me at least." He gave a shrug of his bare shoulder. "But I guess that's why I'm in here."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, so they say."

"Yeah. They say a lot of things don't they."

"Like, comedy is subjective?" She managed a weak smile at last.

"I do love how you can quote me, Doctor (l/n). It kinda makes me believe that you are a fan, regardless of you denying it."

"You know....I think you might just be right."

Without thinking she rested her forehead against the glass, Arthur immediately mirroring her position on the other side.

"Why have they put you up here, Arthur? You don't belong here."

"It's for safety reasons apparently. They're worried I might flip out or try to escape because of the trial."

Letting his words sink in, she sighed in defeat, feeling tears burn the back of her eyelids. There was no escaping this. Arthur was even more trapped than she was. Nothing could be done now; his treatment would be handed over to another therapist. He was being taken away from her -- quite possibly -- forever.