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quiet_tiger) wrote2011-02-07 07:53 pm
quiet_tiger) wrote2011-02-07 07:53 pm
Ficlet: Inside Looking In
Title: Inside Looking In
Author: Quiet Tiger
Universe: DCAU-ish
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Arnold Wesker, Batman, Dr. Joan Leland
Word Count: 1031
Warnings: None
Summary: Arnold enjoys his living situation, but there's so much more out there.
Note: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
batfic_contest theme "Rose Colored Glasses."
~*~
Not bad at all. Even rather homey.
Arnold Wesker picked a tiny piece of lint off his pillowcase. His bed was neatly made, the corners tucked in tightly and everything at perfect right angles. He couldn’t control much here, but he could make sure his bed looked nice.
Sometimes even that simple chore seemed beyond him.
Those were bad days.
But most of the time he really was quite content in his small room.
If he unfocused his eyes a little he could barely see the shadows from the bars over the window. And he did love that window, and the way he could almost see out of it if he stood on his tip-toes.
He had some time before he needed to go to group therapy, so he decided to work on one of his drawings. Unlike some of his neighbors, he was allowed paper and crayons, and coloring and sketching gave him something to do with his hands.
It was very important for him to keep his hands busy.
Devil’s workshop and all that.
He was even allowed a small radio, and he enjoyed listening to music while he drew. The music helped him focus.
After group therapy would be lunch, and if he recalled the schedule correctly—he had trouble remembering a lot of things—today was Salisbury steak day. It wasn’t his favorite, but he enjoyed it well enough.
Lunch would be followed by individual therapy, and that was certainly his least favorite part of the day. So many questions and they were all about him. His past, his present, where he saw himself in the future. And when there weren’t questions being asked of him, he was supposed to be the one coming up with things to discuss. He was never good at being the thinker, the one in charge. It was much easier to go with the flow.
Then more private quiet time, and there was always hope that quiet time would actually be quiet. Sometimes there was screaming, or crying, or other noises coming from the rooms around him. The noise made it hard to think. Sometimes he wondered if the pink and blue pills also made it hard to think, but they were given to him so he took them.
Exercise, dinner, time in the recreation room, and then time to go to sleep. Sometimes there were distractions around him then, too, but he did his best to shut it all out so he could rest. A full night’s sleep was important, which was why he appreciated the lights going out all night.
But even more he appreciated the little nightlights in the hallway outside his door. They were oddly comforting.
He’d be awakened in the morning, and the whole routine would start again, day after day. Sometimes it was a little dull, and certainly lonely—more lonely than he thought he could bear sometimes, though he wasn’t always sure why he felt that way—but he knew he was safe and people cared for him.
And there weren’t any voices.
For that, he was grateful.
~*~
“He shows signs of improvement, Batman, but sometimes he’s so deep in his own world that I wonder what else I can try to bring him closer to reality. I’m mostly grateful he’s been coping with the loss of Scarface as well as he has.”
Batman assessed Dr. Leland, and the lines around her eyes and mouth. Working at Arkham aged people quickly …if they lasted more than two weeks, anyway.
Leafing through Wesker’s drawings again, Batman asked, “He draws the same thing every day?”
Dr. Leland nodded. “Different outfits, different faces, different weapons, but each of these human figures in the drawings is Scarface. He doesn’t seem to think of Scarface as much as he used to, but he’s still clearly on his mind. I’m not sure if the shock therapy is what’s been working on the surface, or the medication, or if he’s actively shut him down. But he does seem to be happy.”
Murmuring in agreement, Batman turned his attention to the video of the group therapy session. Wesker sat and kept to himself, and only spoke when spoken to directly. The individual session, though… He knew he was on the spot, and he carried himself differently. The hand on which Scarface once rested twitched, as if Wesker wished he could be controlling the dummy to answer the questions and engage in discussion for him.
There was still a lot of work to do, whether Leland or Wesker knew it. But there was hope.
“Focus on the subconscious. If he’s burying Scarface, he’ll come back to the surface eventually. But if he’s eradicated from there entirely, he may never come back. Discussing Scarface openly can only be detrimental.”
Expression determined, Dr. Leland agreed, “I have hope for Arnold and his rate of improvement. There’s an excellent chance he can be rehabilitated and be able to leave this place, go back into society again. I think it will be a great thing for him to move on from Scarface and Arkham and be a contributing member once more.”
“One can hope.” Batman gave another once-over to the collection of stills from the rec room security cameras. Wesker was by himself, holding crayons, and overall just looked very content, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Batman hoped that wasn’t the case. Arkham was never a place someone should want to be. No matter how positively Wesker thought of his “stay” there, he must remember he was an inmate, not on vacation. Beyond the dingy walls was freedom.
“Good night, doctor. Thank you for the updates.” Batman found that discussing the Rogues’ progress with their doctor was helpful; he was given insight to their treatment which could then be used to improve the treatment or otherwise learn more about the villains in case they broke free again. Seeing improvement month after month gave him hope that Arkham was doing what it was there to do, and that his enemies had a chance to become useful to society again.
He prayed he and Dr. Leland weren’t as delusional as the people they were trying to help.
Author: Quiet Tiger
Universe: DCAU-ish
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Arnold Wesker, Batman, Dr. Joan Leland
Word Count: 1031
Warnings: None
Summary: Arnold enjoys his living situation, but there's so much more out there.
Note: For
batfic_contest theme "Rose Colored Glasses."~*~
Not bad at all. Even rather homey.
Arnold Wesker picked a tiny piece of lint off his pillowcase. His bed was neatly made, the corners tucked in tightly and everything at perfect right angles. He couldn’t control much here, but he could make sure his bed looked nice.
Sometimes even that simple chore seemed beyond him.
Those were bad days.
But most of the time he really was quite content in his small room.
If he unfocused his eyes a little he could barely see the shadows from the bars over the window. And he did love that window, and the way he could almost see out of it if he stood on his tip-toes.
He had some time before he needed to go to group therapy, so he decided to work on one of his drawings. Unlike some of his neighbors, he was allowed paper and crayons, and coloring and sketching gave him something to do with his hands.
It was very important for him to keep his hands busy.
Devil’s workshop and all that.
He was even allowed a small radio, and he enjoyed listening to music while he drew. The music helped him focus.
After group therapy would be lunch, and if he recalled the schedule correctly—he had trouble remembering a lot of things—today was Salisbury steak day. It wasn’t his favorite, but he enjoyed it well enough.
Lunch would be followed by individual therapy, and that was certainly his least favorite part of the day. So many questions and they were all about him. His past, his present, where he saw himself in the future. And when there weren’t questions being asked of him, he was supposed to be the one coming up with things to discuss. He was never good at being the thinker, the one in charge. It was much easier to go with the flow.
Then more private quiet time, and there was always hope that quiet time would actually be quiet. Sometimes there was screaming, or crying, or other noises coming from the rooms around him. The noise made it hard to think. Sometimes he wondered if the pink and blue pills also made it hard to think, but they were given to him so he took them.
Exercise, dinner, time in the recreation room, and then time to go to sleep. Sometimes there were distractions around him then, too, but he did his best to shut it all out so he could rest. A full night’s sleep was important, which was why he appreciated the lights going out all night.
But even more he appreciated the little nightlights in the hallway outside his door. They were oddly comforting.
He’d be awakened in the morning, and the whole routine would start again, day after day. Sometimes it was a little dull, and certainly lonely—more lonely than he thought he could bear sometimes, though he wasn’t always sure why he felt that way—but he knew he was safe and people cared for him.
And there weren’t any voices.
For that, he was grateful.
~*~
“He shows signs of improvement, Batman, but sometimes he’s so deep in his own world that I wonder what else I can try to bring him closer to reality. I’m mostly grateful he’s been coping with the loss of Scarface as well as he has.”
Batman assessed Dr. Leland, and the lines around her eyes and mouth. Working at Arkham aged people quickly …if they lasted more than two weeks, anyway.
Leafing through Wesker’s drawings again, Batman asked, “He draws the same thing every day?”
Dr. Leland nodded. “Different outfits, different faces, different weapons, but each of these human figures in the drawings is Scarface. He doesn’t seem to think of Scarface as much as he used to, but he’s still clearly on his mind. I’m not sure if the shock therapy is what’s been working on the surface, or the medication, or if he’s actively shut him down. But he does seem to be happy.”
Murmuring in agreement, Batman turned his attention to the video of the group therapy session. Wesker sat and kept to himself, and only spoke when spoken to directly. The individual session, though… He knew he was on the spot, and he carried himself differently. The hand on which Scarface once rested twitched, as if Wesker wished he could be controlling the dummy to answer the questions and engage in discussion for him.
There was still a lot of work to do, whether Leland or Wesker knew it. But there was hope.
“Focus on the subconscious. If he’s burying Scarface, he’ll come back to the surface eventually. But if he’s eradicated from there entirely, he may never come back. Discussing Scarface openly can only be detrimental.”
Expression determined, Dr. Leland agreed, “I have hope for Arnold and his rate of improvement. There’s an excellent chance he can be rehabilitated and be able to leave this place, go back into society again. I think it will be a great thing for him to move on from Scarface and Arkham and be a contributing member once more.”
“One can hope.” Batman gave another once-over to the collection of stills from the rec room security cameras. Wesker was by himself, holding crayons, and overall just looked very content, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Batman hoped that wasn’t the case. Arkham was never a place someone should want to be. No matter how positively Wesker thought of his “stay” there, he must remember he was an inmate, not on vacation. Beyond the dingy walls was freedom.
“Good night, doctor. Thank you for the updates.” Batman found that discussing the Rogues’ progress with their doctor was helpful; he was given insight to their treatment which could then be used to improve the treatment or otherwise learn more about the villains in case they broke free again. Seeing improvement month after month gave him hope that Arkham was doing what it was there to do, and that his enemies had a chance to become useful to society again.
He prayed he and Dr. Leland weren’t as delusional as the people they were trying to help.
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