Can You Introduce Me as joker?

You’d been his secretary for a while now, and had spent countless rainy days like these standing by his side in meetings where the businesspeople droned on and on and became a blurry mass of sharply dressed humanity. You had just finished one of those meetings, and blushed as you noticed Robert pushing you further under the umbrella the chauffeur was holding out for you two, walking in the rain to keep you dry.

He opened the car door for you, sliding in after you. The serious look on his face faded as he looked at you. The meeting had been particularly gruelling that day and he had every reason to be grim, but his expression was good-humoured as you huffed, trying to wick away the water from your jacket. Your stomach flipped. In the cool, dry darkness of the backseat his eyes weren’t grey, but a brilliant, bright blue, the warmth in them returning, and you could see the light rosiness of his cheeks beneath his freckles, his sweet face. His soft, petal pink lips curled into a cheeky smile, revealing a flash of his bright teeth to you. A loose, damp curl hung over his forehead as his face remained slick with rainwater. You resisted the urge to reach out and tuck the strands back into place.

Rob was always kind to you, and you had built a good rapport with him as you’d worked beside him, growing closer. You were friendly with each other. He was always annoyed about some deal or another, but he seemed to forget about it when he was with you, and he’d reveal a sort of comfortable, sweet self when you talked, though conversation was mostly strictly business.

He reached his hand out toward you, gentle as ever and almost a little apprehensive, and brushed away the tendrils of stray hair that the strong wind had ruffled out of place from your face. His knuckle grazed your cheek and you looked at him, eyes wide, feeling yourself blush. You blinked, turning away to busy yourself with reading your notes, ducking your head down to hide your flushed face. You could feel his eyes linger on you, the smile never dissipating, a chuckle leaving his lips.

-

“Shit. I didn’t realise it was so late, I’ll call my driver and get him to bring you home.” Rob said, guilt lacing his voice as he glanced at his wristwatch.

After the meeting, the two of you returned to the office to review the files of a partner who was being a particular pain in the ass. You’d initially come into his office to bring him a coffee and some files he’d requested, but as the two of you worked into the night, you and Rob pinned the blame on convenience, and you moved into his office to work next to him. He enjoyed keeping you by his side, too, but he wouldn’t mention that.

You were both sitting on the rug, the colossal amounts of paper being too much for his desk to contain. The heaping piles of notes were strewn around you on the ground, surrounding you completely.

“Let me stay. If we both work on it we’ll get it over with faster.” You protested.

His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked like he was about to insist when you caught him stifling a yawn. He leaned back, supporting himself on his arms as he crossed one leg over another. He worked too hard for his own good, and you saw him roll his head back, eyes fluttering closed.

You moved to file away some unneeded documents, but Rob beat you to it, scooping them out of your hands and carrying them for you. You smiled gratefully at him as you walked next to each other toward the shelves.

You idly ran your finger across the shelf, the organised line of books and files interrupted by a small speaker.

“We could play some music. Boost morale?” You said, a playful glint in your eye.

“Play away, maestro.” He chuckled, turning away to brew you a cup of coffee.

You swiped through your playlist as you connected your phone to the speaker, flashing a mischievous smile at Robert as you found the perfect song.

He cackled, burying his face in his hands as the first notes of Rich Girl by Hall & Oates rang out across the room.

“‘You can rely on the old man’s money’, huh?” Rob repeated the lyrics, crossing his arms as he feigned offence, his smile betraying his real reaction.

“Poetry in lyricism. Doesn’t pertain to anyone in this room, of course.” You retorted.

“Mhm.” Rob grinned. “Would you like to dance?” He said, with a dramatic wave of his hand.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You laced your hands with each other’s, his arm gently wrapping around your waist. You swayed to the music, paper fluttering beneath your feet.

“You know…” He began, sounding a little hesitant. “We should… go out for dinner sometime. I’m getting a little sick of this office.”

“Mr Fischer, you don’t pay me nearly enough to feed you.” You replied, smiling.

“I couldn’t expect you to pay for me. Couldn’t you bring a benefactor? Let me spend your boyfriend’s money?” He asked. You gazed into his eyes and he averted his stare, exhaling a little sharply. His cheeks had turned a little pink, and he seemed shy as he not-so-subtly fished for the information he was looking for.

You laughed, and his eyes betrayed an anxiety as you slid your hands away from his neck. He cleared his throat, his confidence returning as he realised you weren’t backing away, just moving your hands down to fix his askew tie.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You muttered, your fingers brushing his collar.

He beamed.

Most chores in the house have already been completed before you’ve even noticed something needs to be cleaned. Hannibal takes care of it for you, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t little things you can do

Hannibal will not let you cook. no no no. He’s worried his ‘special eating habits’ will undo all the love you have for him and you’ll run away, or worse, cease to love him at all.

Hannibal will not let you cook. no no no. He’s worried his ‘special eating habits’ will undo all the love you have for him and you’ll run away, or worse, cease to love him at all.

He lets you wash the dishes instead, snaking his arms around your waist from behind when you take too long.

Dusting the corners of the bookshelf, only Hannibal persuades you to climb down from the ladder since “it doesn’t need to be dusted”

(Hes actually just scared you’ll fall)

Loves spending his off days with you quietly reading whilst you sit in his lap, one hand on the book and the other running through your hair

When he trusts you enough, he’ll start bringing you out.

Never to his parties, no. Nobody can know you’re with him since your disappearance, but he’ll roam the woods with you or take you somewhere nice and secluded, letting you babble away at whatever current thing you’re interested in

And yet on that evening, when she was with him, she smiled. She genuinely smiled. That evening her eyes shone as before, her voice was soft as before, that evening for the first time in a very long time, she just felt herself, she felt normal. As if for a fleeting moment, her dreams were revived once more. It was a beautiful moment, fleeting, ethereal, which like a lovely dream came and went, leaving only the reality. And even though she knew she had no reason to, Y/N felt sad, broken. How could she feel sad when she had spent a wonderful time in the company of a fantastic man? How could she feel sad when that man made plans for the future in which he included her. How could she feel sad when the future seemed bright and exciting.

Yet she knew well that just as little happiness had befallen her in the past, there was little chance that happiness would befall her in the future. After all, why should the future be any different? Why should she cling to delusional hope?

She knew these moods all too well, days like this came without warning, out of the blue. Days in which she couldn't smile, couldn't sing, couldn't pretend, and yet she did. She would go to work with a smile on her face, at work productively she would always be full of energy, always close to her colleagues, always bright, always determined and focused. Her mask fitted her face perfectly well. Long ago she had learned to answer a concerned question about her well-being with a nonchalant, "I'm fine, just tired, didn't sleep very well." Long ago she learned to disguise her anger with a smile. That in this case, there is no point in being honest, after all, people didn't care. After all, she was always alone in the end anyway.

*

"Why do you insist that you can handle all this alone?" Jonathan sat comfortably in an armchair and observed as you tried to avoid the subject through cooking, "we were making such good progress and now over the course of a day you take not two, but ten steps back and shut down completely."

"I'm not shutting down!" you denied, "there's just nothing to talk about!"

"You know I completely disagree with that. You would have to be blind not to notice how withdrawn you are."

"Hey, I didn't invite you here to give me another psychoanalysis!" you turned on your heel angrily threatening him with a spatula, "I wanted to take my mind off all this, not talk about it."

"I don't even know what you mean by all this," he pointed out calmly, "as your…"

"I thought we were no longer contracted therapist-patient agreement," you snarled.

"As your friend, I'm worried," he finished in a stern yet gentle voice.

"There's no reason! Sometimes I just have these moments, it will pass!" shifting your focus away, you angrily stirred the pot, "They come just like that, for no reason. Some trivial trigger that opens all my carefully sealed boxes and bad memories and negative emotions pour out one by one," the words flew out nervously, "I don't need therapy! I need a friend who will take my mind off all this! I can handle the rest on my own. I just need some time to lock them up again…" Jonathan's hand rested on yours stopping your frantic movements. You didn't even hear him approaching. You looked at him, into his intensive green eyes that revealed understanding and concern.

"It is no achievement to box up negative emotions and experiences and shove them deep into the back of your mind," he began as his eyes shone intensely, "the trick is to eliminate those boxes. To free the mind from pain and fear. To take control of the fear."

"Do you have any magic drug that will do that?" you smirked.

"I may have one," he replied, "but it won't work if you don't talk to me."

Jonathan turned off the gas under the pot, took both your hands and pulled you to sit with him for a moment. You knew well what he was getting at, yet you couldn't say no to those mesmerizing green eyes. In all the chaos you've been experiencing over the past few weeks, it was he who was always there when you needed him, like an anchor that held you safely to the ground. He answered every phone call, came whenever you needed him, listened, understood, and wanted to help you. Without knowing when Jonathan Crane went from being an unwanted therapist to a very wanted… "friend?".

"If you're about to say something among the lines you have to open up and trust me, you can't hold it all in because it will eat you up from the inside then spare me please," you started before he could say anything, "let's have dinner watch a movie and just have a nice time. Since you're not my therapist, in the literal sense of the word, please do what I want for once!" Jonathan merely tightened his hands on yours as if he was trying to stop your rush of thoughts.

"Y/N you need help. And even though you know this you make it much more complicated than it needs to be," the green of his eyes seemed to darken along with the tone of his voice, "It's really quite straightforward. You've got…well…" he paused as if picking the right words, "let's be honest. You've got issues. Major issues."

"I've asked you…" you tried to interrupt him, get up, walk away, serve dinner. You couldn't. His hands were clenched tightly on yours and his green eyes were hypnotizing.

"The only way we can even begin to resolve them is through therapy. Intensive therapy," he affirmed in a calm voice and added, "unless you don't want to get better?" you remained silent. "But of course you do…"

"I'm doing perfectly fine!" you attempted a confident tone.

"Do you now?" he didn't believe you, "Tell me. How can you possibly be fine after everything that happened to you?"

"Head up, chest forward and always keep fighting!" you smiled cockily.

"How long?"

"As long as it takes. Until I collapse."

Jonathan let go of your hands and moved away a little staring at you intently. Some part of you wanted to use this moment and run away, to break the tension that hung in the air, to get away from him as his close presence made your confidence vanish with each passing second. Despite this, you stayed. Even though his hands let go, he still had a pull on you, without saying anything, by simply being close.

"You see life as a struggle," he began after a brief reflection, "you said it yourself. Always keep fighting, until you collapse. You're an intelligent woman, tell me, is this how it supposed to be?"

"Maybe not, but we have no control over what Destiny has planned for us."

"You think everything that happened to you is destiny? Everything that has happened to you since you came to Gotham not to mention the things you stubbornly refuse to talk about. Do you really think it's destiny?"

"That's the way I see it," you began, aware that you won't be able to escape this conversation, "Destiny deals the cards of fate, looks at what he has on hand and throws it. To one Destiny gives happiness, to another wealth, to yet another fame, to someone else love, then he reaches for the cards of trauma, pain, and suffering. Destiny looks at them for a moment, then throws them to those who have already been dealt them in the past and are still standing. Throws them to them because he knows they can handle it."

"Fascinating that you talk about destiny as if it were conscious being capable of making decisions. Even more fascinating how you see and perceive the events in your life," the intense green of his eyes shone with sheer fascination, "there may be a bit of truth in what you say. I am a psychiatrist, not a philosopher. However, I dare say there is something else, equally important, that you are overlooking."

"What's that?

"Choice," one word, spoken in a low half-whisper, pierced you to the core, "your choice. The choices you make when faced with adversity. The choices you made that led you to where you are now. It wasn't Destiny that told you to come to Gotham, it was your own choice. You chose to work at Wayne Tech, you chose to sign up with me for counseling, you chose to renew contact with Harleen, you chose to drive the car off the bridge, you chose to confront Harleen at Amusement Mile, you chose every single day to get up, lift your head high, smile and keep going. Destiny, if you want to include it, may have laid out the paths of fate before you, but it was you who chose to walk them," as he spoke gazing into your eyes intensely a single tear broke free and ran down your cheek in a silvery trail. "So now I, not destiny, present you with a choice. Will you choose to continue to abuse yourself and stubbornly refuse the help I want to give you, or will you be brave enough to take the hand I extend to you and let me guide you through your fear."

"Jonathan…" your voice trembled as you tried to answer. You didn't have to. With the back of his fingers Jonathan gently wiped a tear from your cheek and gazed deeply into your eyes as if trying to reach your subconsciousness. Emotions took over you. You didn't fall apart with tears. Even though his words struck straight to your heart you did not allow yourself to cry, crying was personal, could see it. Instead, you moved closer to him, curled your legs up, and cuddled into his side as he put his arm around your shoulders. "Alright, let's do this…" you whispered into his chest, "whatever you think is right. I trust you."

"Do you now?" he asked quietly while brushing your shoulder. Snuggled into his chest, with your eyes closed, you couldn't see the satisfied smile fading over his face.

"I do…" you murmured, "I don't know why. You know very well that I'm rather cautious when it comes to people. The last time I trusted someone…." you sighed heavily, "you know…"

"Don't try to sabotage yourself justifying it with bad experiences," his low smokey voice sounded from deep within sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, "don't let fear control your actions."

"Choices…."

"Choices indeed…" his fingers moved in a soothing rhythm over your bare skin, "if you let me, I'll teach you how to control fear, how to use it and turn it into a weapon more powerful than all others. All you have to do is let me."

"Over the past weeks, you showed me more support than anyone else…" the warmth of his body was so pleasant, so soothing. Even though a part of you screamed that you shouldn't, you wanted, craved this closeness, didn't want it to vanish. "I can't remember the last time…" you paused.

"Stop that…" he whispered and wrapped his arms around you tighter, "we'll take care of all this tomorrow."

***

Tomorrow came. It came and brought with it worries and doubts. Just the previous evening everything seemed so simple and you were so determined. After the evening full of fascinating conversations about all kinds of topics and the movie you watched together, you felt wonderful. You haven't brought up the subject of therapy again, for which you were grateful to him. You didn't feel uncomfortable even though you had spent well over an hour, silently listening to the calm beating of his heart. He didn't seem bothered either. Not so long ago he had been Doctor Crane, a psychiatrist whose persistent piercing gaze made you want to run as far away as possible, now he was….

"Who?" you wondered once again as you walked down the quiet city streets. You couldn't find the right word. Somehow "friend" didn't seem like the right one. You quickly chose not to think about it any longer. Too much was going on. Too many events occurred one after another. You couldn't think about it because if you started, you would have to start thinking about everything else. "I jumped in front of the pointed gun. I met not one, not two, but five vigilantes! Harleen lost her mind. Batman promised to help her. Why was Jonathan in Arkham? Batman also asked me to trust him! I'm flying with Bruce fucking Wayne to Metropolis!" thoughts and events on which you should reflect flashed through your mind one after another. "At that rate I'm gonna lose my fucking mind by the end of the year!" You pushed them all aside. You had neither the mental strength nor the desire to process them all. "Just go with the flow," you decided.

That evening the city was supremely quiet, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Gotham was somehow hearing you and adapting to you. As if it was whispering "let it go…", as if it was tempting "take what I give you…". A gentle wind swept over your face bringing a pleasant autumn chill, the empty streets murmured with the quiet hum of life giving rhythm to your steps. And yet, despite the all-pervading calm and gentleness, an eerie feeling kept returning time and again. A strange tingling in the back of your neck as you changed direction, a feeling of tension as you turned down a side street, everywhere you looked there was peacefulness, yet you felt uneasy. Stealthily glancing over your shoulder, you tried to spot movement, in vain. Friend or foe? Safety or danger? You briefly clenched your hand on the tiny bat-shaped transmitter hidden deep in your pocket. Would he really show up? If you pressed a small button, if you were in real danger, would he save you? How long would it be before he jumped off one of the roofs, before the shadow of his flowing cape covered the light of the setting moon? Or was he already here? Maybe that tingling sensation on the back of your neck was his own watchful eyes following your every move? Or maybe it was just a delusional hope. A fantasy of a Dark Knight who would save you from danger.

You let the transmitter out of your hand and sped up your step. Friend or foe one thing was certain, in Gotham the shadows had eyes, watchful eyes, peering at you from hiding, tracking your every move, your every step…watching over you. You smiled to yourself and decided to accept the new feeling. It felt good.

*

Jonathan anxiously counted down the minutes until Y/N's arrival, minutes that seemed to pass unbearably slowly. He counted down each one of them as he listened for footsteps on the stairs, eagerly anticipating the sound of a soft knock on the door, looking forward to the moment when she would finally appear here in his office. For here came the opportunity he had been waiting for for a very long time, which came to him on its own, reluctantly asking for help, offering his complete trust in return, and he could take advantage of it. For weeks he had been working to convince her to finally trust him, for her to give herself to him, to surrender her mind to his control, and it seemed to him that today was the day. Exhilaration pulsed through his veins as he once again inspected the tiny pressurized container attached to the oxygen mask, the small vials that were about to be filled with blood, the strap fastenings he might need, as well as the cream-colored envelope discreetly tucked aside. The envelope intended as a reward if she was good, if she obeyed him, a temptation of sorts. For he knew full well that in order to maintain a good relationship with Y/N, he had to preserve a perfect balance. He wanted her to trust him, he wanted to reveal the darkest depths of her mind, he wanted to explore her fear, he wanted to take it away from her, use it and exploit it. But the dance between nightmare and dream, between care and torture was a delicate art requiring careful movements. In the end, he didn't want to break her, on the contrary, he wanted to fix her. Liberate her. And perhaps in the process satisfy his own desires.

A quiet knock finally sounded, and before he had time to answer, Y/N entered his office. She was smiling as always, but doubt lingered in her eyes, fear already nestled beneath the surface of seeming fearlessness. "Good…" he decided, "now all that needs to be done is to amplify it."

"You're here, finally," he greeted her with a hug, "I was worried that you would change your mind and not come," empathy, she expected empathy and care, so that's what he had to give her.

"I'll be honest if it had been anyone else but you I would probably have told him to go fuck himself," she sassed with a grin letting him take off her jacket, "what's all of this?!" observant as ever, she hadn't even had a chance to enter the office properly and had already noticed the changes in her surroundings.

"I had to make some adjustments," he kept his tone of voice calm and controlled. Although he wanted with all his heart to push her onto the bed and let his desires finally take over, he knew he couldn't. It was a dance. "We talked about it. I used the word intensive therapy for a reason," he surrounded her with his arm gently urging her to come inside. He was so close, he couldn't let her back out now.

"That looks creepy…" she looked at the bed, at the prepared empty vials, at the leather straps hanging loosely at its sides, fear clearly affected her face, "I don't know if that's such a good idea…."

"But I do," he tried to discreetly tug her closer, " we've talked about this. I understand your hesitation, but it's the only way."

"When we talked about this I thought you meant stronger drugs and conversations from which you would not let me escape, no…" she frowned, "whatever the fuck this is!"

He was losing her. Instead of following the impulse he decided to operate cautiously, decided that he wanted not only to satisfy his desires but also to really help her, and now he was losing her. The more he steered her toward the bed the more she resisted, the more he pressed the more she retreated. He couldn't let her go. Thinking little, he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him, forcing her to sit down with him. He sat close, very close, the scent of jasmine dawned on him as her hair waved with a sudden movement. He took hold of her other hand, as if accidentally brushing her exposed knee in the process, and looked deeply into her eyes. She liked it, he knew it and used it.

"I won't let you back down," he lowered his tone of voice and she trembled slightly, "we talked, we tried to talk. It doesn't work and you know it. There are topics, areas of your life you don't want to talk about. You stubbornly refuse to do so. There are also ones you claim you don't remember," for a moment she tried to slip away from him but he wouldn't let her. He could see that she felt uncomfortable. He could see that she wanted to escape. He was too close to let her do that. He only tightened his hands over hers forcing her to look at him. "Listen to me! If you can't make the choice yourself, I'll do it for you. If you don't care about your own well-being, the fact that I care will have to be enough!"

"Just give me a moment alright? Is not that easy."

"I know you're scared. And rightly so. I won't lie to you, it won't be a pleasant experience. But I promise you that I will guide you through your fears and nightmares. I will take your fear from you, and free you from it," that was his plan, "do you trust me?"

She nodded. Even though he saw fear and uncertainty in her eyes, he would not give her the opportunity to object. He got to know her, he understood her, and he was sure that this was what she desired. Although she presented herself as strong and independent, in reality she wanted to trust him, wanted to be subject to him, wanted for someone to take control, to take the decision out of her hands.

"Alright…" he smiled dimly, "then take off your dress," he instructed, "we need to connect the heart monitor."

It was a pleasure to watch her succumb to him. As she freed her hands from his, she pulled off her shoes, then her tights, and finally unzipped her dress and let the black material slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor. He didn't look away, but neither did she ask him to.

"What now?" she asked, standing in front of him in the silk chemise. To his surprise, he saw no shame in her eyes, only quiet determination. She felt safe with him. His plan was working.

"Lie down comfortably and try to relax," he instructed, standing up and turning on the oxygen pump.

"What are these straps for?" she asked, musing apprehensively on the loose pieces of leather hanging on the sides of the bed.

"I do not know what your reaction will be," he explained, "it is for your safety."

"My reaction to what?"

"We'll start with a small dose," he adjusted the valve altering the flow, "we'll increase it if necessary."

"Dose of what?" she asked, "you won't give me pills as usual?"

"The time for pills has passed. You can take them at home to balance your anxiety," he put a hand on her shoulder and forced her to lie down. "No more questions. Now it's my turn," he put the oxygen mask to her face and smiled, "breathe….breathe deep. Let it into your system. Let it take control of you. Let me see your fear."

*

You ran. You ran forward. You ran blindly. You didn't look back. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your lungs were burning with fire, and yet you ran. Your bare feet echoed on the cold white floor, blood pulsed in your ears, your head spun, yet you didn't stop. You kept running.

"Stop her!!!" you heard from afar.

Steps. In the distance, behind you. Heavy. Threatening. Quick. They ran after you. They were chasing you.

"Don't let her get away!!!"

Your muscles were burning but you didn't stop. They were getting closer.

"What do you see?" a low throaty voice ripped through the surroundings, louder than anything else, coming out of nowhere and everywhere at once, "tell me what you see!" he ordered. The voice caused you pain. Intrusive. It wanted to invade the reality around you. "Tell me!" it demanded. You pressed your hands tighter to your ears.

"I can't… Can't answer him. I must not…"

The footsteps came closer. Kneeling on the floor, you pressed your hands with all your strength and yet you could hear the clang of metal, the click of safety pins being unlocked, heavy gasps, the clatter of chains.

"There she is!!! Stop her!!!"

You struggled to get back up, supporting your hands on your knees. They were getting closer. You had to get up, you had to move. You had to run.

"Tell me what you see!" the voice demanded once again.

"No!!!" you shouted desperately breaking through the sound of heavy boots, through your own heartbeat, through the intruding voice. You smashed the white tiles on the walls, smashed the floor under your knees, smashed the light, time and space.

Nothingness.

Endless darkness.

Emptiness.

"What are you afraid of?" the same grave voice came from the void, "tell me your fears. What are you running away from? Where are you running to?"

You fell. Into nothingness, between time and space, between fear and desire. You were falling into the abyss of nightmares.

"There is no way out of here…"

You closed your eyes. Darkness enveloped you, blissful darkness, silence.

"I can't…I won't…"

"Oh now, don't be so stubborn. I'll take it from you whether you let me or not."

"No, you won't!"

You opened your eyes. The void was gone. You found your feet resting on the ground again. Confused for a moment, you looked around at your surroundings.

"It can't be...no…"

The dark brown rug under your feet bore the marks of your shoes. Mud, grit, dust, ginger cat hair. You should vacuum it, but there was no time for that. Yellow warm light brightened the hallway, the hallway you knew so well. The brown old-fashioned wainscoting on the wall, the light brown furniture, the big mirror that, although it had fallen off the wall several times, never shattered. You took a few steps, carefully, reluctantly and the smell struck your senses, a smell you hated. Sweat, the sour stench of acid, the stuffiness of an unventilated apartment, the stench of death.

"Where are you?" the voice asked, "who will you see when you enter the next room? A dying father? Or perhaps a mother? Is that what you are afraid of? Of death? Oh, how cliche."

"I'm not afraid of death," you growled answering him for the first time.

"Then what haunts you? Sickness? Pain? Loss? Who left you? Abandonment issues? Did you look after someone? Who did you let down?"

An unknown force pushed you toward the bedroom, a bedroom that you remembered all too well.

"You must face your fear," the voice pressed, "show me your fear."

"Fuck you!"

You turned around sharply and pushed with all your strength against the thrusting force. It resisted. It wanted to push you deeper into the nightmare. You clenched your teeth, dug your heels into the floor and, straining all your muscles, broke through the force. You grabbed the door handle and fell out into the hallway. A hallway that should have been in colors of gray and green. And yet, once again you got blinded by the white.

*

"You resist, not good…" Jonathan watched as she winced and thrashed on the bed. Fear, pain, despair painting on her face. Although her eyes were wide open, she could not see him, she was too far gone. She stared into space in terror as tears ran from her open eyes. "Beautiful…" he wiped a tear from her cheek and pressed it to his lips. The bitter saltiness tingled pleasantly on his lips. He was ecstatic. Fear was delightful but she needed a little more. He opened the valve and pressed the mask to her face again.

"Give me your fear."

*

Whiteness surrounded you again. Cold, raw, menacing. The white light illuminated your face, hurting your eyes, blinding you, hiding everything beyond.

"I don't understand why you tried to escape," someone's voice came from the shadows, "after all, you signed yourself up for this. Why would you want to escape now. We want to help you."

They wanted to hurt you. You knew it. You yanked hard but someone's hands held you down.

*

Jonathan ran his hand over her exposed shoulders, over the blemished pulsing veins that seemed to shimmer green against the glistening skin. Slowly, as if he wanted to memorize and learn each and every one of them. He secured the leather strap on both wrists then led his hands slowly up. He paused at the hollow of her hand, gently wet it with a cotton swab soaked in alcohol, then pierced the vein with a small needle. Red blood rushed in a rapid flow, through the plastic tube, straight into a bag attached next to the bed. She moaned as the tears ran down her cheeks again. But he did not stop. He ran his hand higher. Over her neck, over her delicate skin, over her inflamed cheeks then stopped for a moment staring into her wide-open terrified eyes only to follow the trail of sweat down with his fingers and stop his hand on her firm breast, listen to the pounding of her desperately beating heart.

*

"Give in."

"There is no way out," you tried to struggle but couldn't. An unknown force tied your arms and legs, you couldn't move, "when we're done with you you'll thank us. You will be stronger than ever. Nothing will stop you. You will be my greatest creation."

"I am no one's creation! I am myself!" you shouted fiercely.

"Not anymore," the man replied but you couldn't see his face, the light blinded you mercilessly, "the moment you signed the papers you became our property. My property! I can do whatever I like with you. Notch, cut, test, modify until I deem you finished. Until I consider my work finished."

"I won't let you!"

"And what will you do!" a sneer tore the silence, "You have no power here! You belong to me! My…"

"My property."

"No…" you wept.

"Give me your fear."

"No!"

"Stop resisting. Why are you fighting with me. Let go. Let me take it from you. Show me…."

You closed your eyes and when you opened them again the reality around you changed once more. The cool sun brightened the blue sky, and the singing of birds, the smell of fresh grass and blooming flowers brought the first signs of an awakening spring. The smell of flowers…

Lilies…

The world took shape. The ground trembled and parted, and marble and granite emerged from between the bushes and grasses. One by one they shot to the surface of the earth, bringing with them the smell of earth, of loss, of emptiness. In the distance, candles flickered under two spreading yew trees, with a bright twinkling glow. They called out to you.

"Who lies there?" a voice broke through the chirping of birds, "Why don't you go over there? What are you afraid of?"

"I don't want to."

"Who have you lost? Who has abandoned you?"

Staring still at the flickering candlelight, you took two steps back. The light came closer.

"You have to look. You have to show me."

"I won't…" you whispered in a trembling voice.

"You have no power here. You belong to me. You will do as I say."

"No, I won't..."

"Why are you resisting? Why do you refuse? Don't you know that the path of freedom leads through pain and fear?" the voice seems to have softened, as if to urge you to submission, "Let me help you. I can set you free. Free you from dread and fear. Take it away from you. You will never be afraid again. Never again will you feel that feeling that paralyzes your body and mind taking control of you," he tempted.

"We need to feel fear," you replied finding the remnants of confidence within you, "fear is essential. Fear is a natural part of human existence, without it we would be broken, defective."

"Don't resist…"

"It's not an achievement to get rid of fear, to stop feeling it," you raised your head high, "it's not admirable," you took a confident step forward, toward the tombstone, toward the flickering candles, "it's not inspiring," you sped up, "it's nothing to be fucking proud of!"

"You're wrong…"

"The real power is to take control of your fear!" you could see the shimmering golden letters against the marble gray, "to know it, understand it, and control it! Not to get rid of it! Not to let it control you! True strength is to fight despite fear! To fight along with fear! To never give up! Always keep fighting!"

"You're wrong. I will prove it to you. Give me your fear."

Before your eyes could read the golden inscription on the marble stone you turned sharply and with burning fierceness threw into space.

"You cannot have my fear!!!"

*

She woke up. She blinked, and her conscious gaze returned to her eyes. The fear was gone, what remained was exhaustion and confusion. He knelt down beside her bed and began to undo the straps. He said nothing. The blood bag had long been hidden. The toxin pump turned off. He only left a small vial of blood in plain sight, a check of hormone levels, as he planned to explain later. He freed her one hand, then the other, and helped her up.

"Are you okay?" he asked caringly, at least that's what he hoped.

"I am…" she replied and the same fierceness lit up in her eyes, "what happened?"

"You had a strong reaction, I had to tie you up so you wouldn't hurt yourself," he explained taking her hand and gently massaging her wrist. "I would like you to tell me all about what you saw. You were crying and screaming. I can only imagine what you might have experienced."

"My biggest nightmares…" she whispered staring into his eyes. There was something different about her, something changed. All traces of fear and anxiety were gone, in her eyes burned strength and anger.

"Tell me about it," he insisted.

"Not now, not today," she refused then looked at him again, "I don't want to be alone today. Can I sleep at your place?"

"Of course, Whatever you need."

Two hours later she fell asleep peacefully cuddled in his arms.

***

The night was deep and dark when you suddenly woke up. The nightmares that just a few hours ago you saw with your waking eyes now returned in your sleep, more intense than before. Even though there was no voice demanding for you to give your fear to him, even though there was no force pushing you deeper into the nightmare, you were more afraid than before. In the dream, you wandered over the marble monument with the golden letters once again, but this time you took the time to read them. You fell to your knees and pain tore at your heart, tore at your soul, tears ran uncontrollably down your cheeks and then you woke up. Your fevered mind could not register reality for a moment. The dark bedroom did not look like yours, the bedding did not smell like yours, and the pillow on which your head rested rose up and down in a calm rhythm. Jonathan was lying on his back with one arm embracing your shoulder as he slept deeply. You looked at him for a moment, at the sharp features of his face, at the defined jawline shaved smooth, at his dark brown hair, at the firm muscles hidden beneath his plain black t-shirt. So calm, so handsome, so caring and yet….

It only took a moment for your thoughts to start slipping away. A few hours of sleep cleared away the initial exhaustion, bringing new strength, new restlessness, and anger. When you asked him a few hours ago if you could sleep at his place you didn't think much. You didn't question your actions, you didn't question your choices, you didn't wonder, you simply didn't want to be alone. But when the shock wore off, when the terror passed away when you regained some of your strength you discovered that you wanted to be anywhere but here. This was not right.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, you slipped out of his embrace and off his bed. Quietly you dressed, tied up your messy hair, threw your jacket over your shoulders and walked out into the dark cool night, leaving only a short note on the kitchen table.

I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you up. I'll be in touch.

The cold night air awakened your face and your thoughts. Even though the watch on your phone indicated three o'clock in the morning the city was awake, after all, Gotham never slept. Someone was always going somewhere, someone was always coming back from somewhere, someone was always just wandering the night streets. You didn't care. You had only one thought in your head.

The first stop turned out to be a 24-hour store. A pack of cigarettes and two cups of coffee, one white and the other black were all you bought. You ignored the taunts of the guy behind you, ignored the slimy smile of the cashier, you paid and walked away with a confident pace.

The white corridor. A hospital gown. Escape. Soldiers.

You lit a cigarette. Thick biting smoke filled your lungs making you slightly dizzy. It had been years since you had last smoked, yet that night you decided to forgive yourself for this little stumble. You walked ahead.

Family home. Dirty rug. The smell of sweat, acid, the smell of….

You inhaled deeply, ignoring the burning sensation in your throat. You closed your eyes as if to push the images away from your mind. You did not slow your step.

The blinding light. Helplessness. Lack of control. Pain.

Gotham Bay loomed in the distance. The breach in the bridge's railings, still unrepaired, was becoming more and more visible. But this time you headed in the opposite direction, towards the tall building overlooking the place. Carefully, wary of spilling your coffee, you climbed the closed fire escape stairs and made your way up.

Cemetery. Marble gravestone. The smell of lilies.

You choked on smoke as you climbed another floor. You weren't particularly athletic, and the old habit didn't help in getting up to the roof. You pushed away another thought focusing on your breathing and conquering the last steps. Finally, Gotham appeared to your eyes in its majestic beauty, twinkling with a million lights, like an endless ocean of stars in a black sky. You sighed in awe, lit another cigarette and pressed the tiny transmitter hidden deep in your pocket.

Time passed. Minutes, tens of minutes, you couldn't tell, you didn't care. You stared at the glow of flickering lights on the horizon, listened to the quiet whisper of the city, letting the breeze from the bay sweep over your face, taking your cares and worries with it. Before doubt had time to invade your mind, the air suddenly changed, as if electrified, when the soft sound of a falling cloak announced his arrival.

"You came…" you whispered without looking at him.

"You called," a low murmur brought a pleasant shiver down your spine. "Are you alright?"

"I honestly don't know…" you answered when Batman stood next to you. He didn't look at you, instead he gazed into space as you did. "I brought you coffee," you smiled innocently handing him a cup, "black cos you seem to me like the type who despise cream and sugar. I'm afraid it's gotten a little cold by now."

"What are you doing on the roof in the middle of the night?" he asked, accepting the paper cup from you.

"I'm thinking…"

"On the roof?"

"I suppose you do that quite often," you smirked, "and no wonder. Gotham is so beautiful from up high. So peaceful."

"That's true…" he agreed quietly and added after a moment, "when I gave you the transmitter, I was clear that it was so you could call me if you were in danger."

"Do you define danger only as a state of physical threat?" you asked glancing at him, "I honestly didn't think you would show up."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know…" you took a sip of coffee, "judging by your appearance you probably have more important things on your mind," you pointed out the dirt on his face and his suit.

"I gave you a transmitter for a reason."

"I know…" you whispered.

You both were silent, staring at the ocean of lights and stars. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye trying to read his reactions but he only calmly sipped his coffee. He waited. Perhaps initially angry that you had called him for seemingly no reason, he now seemed to understand that the reason was hidden deep inside you, that he was the one you wanted to talk to.

"Do you ever get scared, Batman?" you finally asked but seeing his surprised look you added, "you do what you do, putting yourself out there in danger, do you ever get scared?" your eyes met like so many times before and once again he seemed to be weighing the words in his mind, thinking over what to answer.

"All the time…" he replied after a brief reflection.

"How do you do that? How do you do what you do? How do you prevent fear from taking control of you?" the questions came one after another, " back then when you pulled me out of the water…." you searched for the right words, "I was a complete stranger to you. And yet you pulled me out of the sinking car. Why?"

"And why did you jump in front of the gun that Harley was aiming at Robin?" the question came from deep inside.

"Because it was the right thing to do," you answered almost immediately, "but this is different. It was an impulse! I was reacting to the situation!

"If you were to do it again?"

"I would do exactly the same thing!" you replied with confidence, "but you do it every night! You knowingly put yourself in danger…" you took a step forward closing the distance between you and looked into the eyes hidden beneath the mask, "tell me why, please. I need this."

Tension hung in the air. Standing just a step away from him, you were sure he saw the quiet despair in your eyes, the simmering questions, the traces of fading fear. You were sure he saw it all as you did, a shadow of worry flitting across his stoic face, a flash of blue in the black of his eyes when his mask fell a little as he spoke in a low husky tone.

"Because I made promises," he began, "because I swore that I would do my best to protect those who could not protect themselves. That no…" he hesitated. The mask broke for a moment, revealing the man hidden beneath it, a man who had feelings, a man who hid pain, who was afraid. "Because I swore," he finished.

"And yet you say you feel fear."

"I do," he admitted, "so do you…"

"Hey, I climbed up on the roof to talk to the Dark Knight!" you chuckled "fear becomes a relative term!" however, you became serious upon seeing his stern eyes. "I'm sorry. It was stupid…" you reached into your pocket and pulled out your cigarettes. You lit one, inhaled the smoke and closed your eyes relishing the feeling. "I don't usually smoke," you explained, "I quit years ago. Its just...today I decided that I could forgive myself for this bit of weakness."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"You're right…" you continued your previous thought ignoring his question, "I do feel scared. But not because of what has happened since I arrived in Gotham. I'm not afraid of the Joker, let alone Harley…" you paused acknowledging the name you used as you spoke of her, "no…. that's not what I'm afraid of. My fears…they came here with me. Even though I was hoping to leave them behind."

"The past has a habit of following us wherever we go…"

"Someone recently told me to let go of my fears, to give them up…" images broke into your mind again, "if someone told you that they could take away your fear," you turned to him again, "take it away from you, make you never feel fear again, would you let them?"

Once again silence fell between the two of you. Yet this time Batman was not analyzing his answer but your question. So strange, and yet so sincere.

"I wouldn't…" he finally replied, "Giving away your fear to someone, even if it was possible, would mean giving away the force that motivates you to action. Fear, if you let it, can be a paralyzing force, can be the thing that sabotages your every move, your every plan. But if you take control of it, it can become one of the strongest forces driving your actions. It's all a matter of choice."

"Choice…" you repeated quietly.

"It always comes down to the choices we make. Do we let it control us, or do we control it. I wouldn't give my choice to someone else. "

"Neither would I….neither would I…"

***

~~TBC~~

***

Author note: The choices were made... right? I'm very curious to see your reaction, hope you will enjoy it? Enjoy it's such a bad word here. But I've decided to focus heavily on Crane this chapter, and I wasn't exactly planning to exactly that route, but that is where the story lead. I don't usually question it. I allow the story to lead me, not the other way around. Next chapter will be much lighter in tone, but I can't help it, I do like my dark stories. Anyways, as always, thank you for all your responses! I tagged those who asked to be tagged. Sorry for not replying, it is truly a mirricle that this chapter came to be today. I had a busy two weeks. At the end, as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.