Disclaimer: I own nothing but my O.C.'s

The fluorescent lights in the break room had always bothered her; there they hung from the ceiling, never failing to make a dark and dreary day that much gloomier or a bad headache that much worse. The beams the bulbs emitted held no color, no warmth, offering no sense of comfort or tranquility - only a dull, washed out light source by which the hospital staff could read their papers and pour their coffee. Fortunately, it had been a slow day that day - well, slower than usual, anyway - the hospital was always fairly busy; the sick and dying were never in short supply, especially in a large, violent city such as Gotham, but it hadn't been bad, in fact she found that she had the break room entirely to herself on this occasion.

With barely enough energy to pick up her feet, she managed to pull herself across the room before collapsing dramatically onto the large, teal sofa that was situated in the far corner near the "Window-Wall", as she had heard it referred to. It wasn't an inaccurate description, she supposed, though it made a small part of her cringe inside whenever she would overhear any of the other nurses calling it that. Pushing her small, pale hand gently up the side of her face, she stopped only to knead her fingertips into the soft skin at her temple for a moment before continuing to entangle her digits into the mess of crimson hair that sat atop of her head. Regardless of the reduced traffic in the hospital, it had cstill been an agonisingly long day for her - a long year, in fact, if one were inclined to ask - and she was more than ready to go home, longing to be able to lock herself away from the world if only for a little while. She allowed her large, blue eyes to roam across the bland, cream colored walls that surrounded her before turning them to the window, gazing out over the streets of Gotham - it wasn't much of a view, the city beyond being largely obstructed by numerous massive buildings, but for just one second she saw a ray of sunlight peak out from behind the thick, dark clouds and she smiled to herself.

"Ey, Mara - scootch over, will ya?" A young man's voice called, forcing her back to reality.

"Yeah, no problem," she muttered, cursing under her breath when the ring she wore snagged on a bit of hair as she moved her hands down, pushing her palms into the cushions beneath her and pulling her body inwards so that she sat, curled up at the far end of the sofa.

The man - Murphey was his name, if one were inclined to care - plopped down unceremoniously as he mumbled a sort of "Thank you" before reaching for the remote on the glass coffee table in front them. He was an awkward duck, Murphey, and even though it was pretty standard to call co-workers by their last name, there was something about the way that he said hers that irked her. It wasn't a problem with pronunciation, it was just that it sounded so ugly coming off of his tongue, like he was merely making a noise rather than addressing a human being.

The television clicked on, immediately displaying the local news station - a blonde woman was speaking into the camera about something, but Mara had since slipped back into her own world, zoning out completely until she heard Murphey let out an unamused laugh.

"Can you believe this shit?" He asked, motioning with the remote towards the T.V.

"Huh? No - What?" She stuttered, unable to find any words.

Turning her eyes to see what Murphey was referring to, she instantly felt her stomach lurch as her heart dropped from her chest, the small string of words floating across the screen seemingly burned into her retinas.

"No," the word was almost inaudible as it fell from her lips.

"Unbelievable, just unbelievable. Someone's gettin' canned for this, for sure," He continued, not bothering to look at his coworker.

"Yeah, for sure," She replied weakly, merely parroting his words as she delved deep into thought as how best to proceed.

"Work'll probably pick up though," Murphey teased dryly as he leaned back, getting into a more comfortable position as he draped his arm over the back of the couch.

Mara nodded and managed to squeak out some sort of half-hearted reason to excuse herself, jumping to her feet and making an exit perhaps a little too eagerly. She soon found herself in her car, eyelids pressed together tightly as she inhaled deeply. She needed to steady her breathing, she needed to calm down and think, think like her damn life depended on it because after all, considering the news, it very well might. This was easier said than done, however, as she found that while her eyes were open she could not stop them from darting about, suddenly very aware of all of the potential hiding places and shadowy spots where someone could easily conceal themselves - yet when her eyes were closed, all that she could see were those four simple words that had been scrawled across the television screen:

Arkham Inmates at Large

The floor was a cold, beautiful marble and the walls were adorned with what even a fool could distinguish as - if nothing else - expensive works of art. This was somebody's home and they had certainly spent a lot of money creating this atmosphere for themselves; as much as Abbie desperately wanted to feel at peace with her surroundings, especially considering where she had come from, she felt no more at ease where she stood than she had in her cell. The gas seemed to have had a bit stronger of an impact on her than what it had on the others, as she could hardly remember the introductions that had been made earlier. All that she knew for certain was that she and a few of her fellow inmates had been abducted and brought to this place and that a strange man proposed...something? She didn't quite know for sure, but she was fairly confident that she did not care to be apart of it, though she knew that she was not really in the position to decline.

While the others were exploring their new surroundings and playing with artifacts that likely should not have been touched, Abbie sat quietly on the floor, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window before her, absently twisting the ring she wore on her finger as she watched the people below going about their lives - she thought that perhaps, if she were very lucky, she might catch a glimpse of her. Abbie wondered what she was doing, how she was doing, and then her mind began to wander…

"Oww - Shit!" One of the boys yipped.

Abbie cast her brown eyes towards the source of the disturbance to find that the stringy brunette she knew to be Arnold Dobkins had evidently sliced the side of his hand while giddily pilfering through a box of junk.

She smiled inwardly,"Serves him right, the fuckin' creep."

The petite woman had not made any friends during her time at Arkham, she was content enough to simply fly under the radar and remain unbothered, but Arnold really got under her skin. She reasoned that it was because she knew what he really was, but then again, she knew what they all were yet none of the other inmates seemed to vex her quite like he did. Maybe it was because to the uninformed observer he would appear to be quite harmless, maybe even nice…

Abbie cracked a slight grin as a piercing, almost manic laugh ripped through the Penthouse - her smile wasn't in response to the noise, but rather to the idea that had formed in her head as a result of the combined occurrences. She watched as Arnold pushed the pad of his thumb into his wound to slow the bleeding as the source of the laughter, which she knew without looking was the red-head, seemed to fade into the background, and all the while she couldn't help but to think"This gang could use a good nurse…"

A/N: First fic in a long time, so I hoped you liked it - please feel free to leave a review! Thanks for reading!