As Eliza goes on and makes her intentions for the meeting clear, Jonathan’s stoicism begins to melt into an expression of displeasure that he is, evidently, less concerned with hiding. Perhaps now it isn’t shame as much as frustration. He, too, removes his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, leaving them on the table so he can go on to massage his temples. All things considered, though, he knows that if he protests, he’ll be met with more objection than he can reasonably deal with.
Lindsay, watching Jonathan, swallows a mouthful of hot, dry air. She assumes he’s still upset about whatever it was that set him off on her in the first place and shrinks under the shame of it.
Slouching into her chair, Lindsay folds her arms over her chest defensively.
“I’m...” She glances at Jonathan, “Not sure that’s a good idea. I’ve been trying to be better lately and I think --”
“Stop.” Jonathan’s voice is gruff, but clear. Lindsay bites down on her tongue and flinches. He resumes: “You didn’t do anything wrong. You have to know the chemical you’re going to use. You need to understand what it can do to a person. You need to be able to experiment on yourself to escape from Arkham when the time comes, and you need to be able to handle it when the Bat turns the toxin against you, because he will. He always does.”
Lindsay hesitates for a moment, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. She hides the action of composing herself behind the gesture of straightening her glasses -- something she learned from him. For a while, she remains silent, gestating what had been said.
Finally, she regards Eliza again.
“So... what did you see? What happened?”
Maybe if it’s worse than what she saw, she can take some comfort. Maybe if it isn’t as bad, she’ll know there's something inside of her that’s intrinsically broken.
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