A little background, I actually started this story years ago, and originally had a few chapters posted on . During some routine cleaning I stumbled across it, and after getting into Peaky Blinders, found a renewed smitten for dear Cillian Murphy. As a result, I dusted this bad boy off, changed some things around, and am getting right back into it. Set as taking place prior to Batman Begins. Hope you enjoy, I'm having a great time re-writing and adding to this one.
Disclaimer: I do not own Cillian Murphy, Christopher Nolan, or anything Batman. I do own Emma Avery. This writing is for fun, smutty, entertainment purposes only, and no profit is being made.
Emma Avery woke up to the sound of her horrid alarm. Set more in antiquated habits, she still used a large digital alarm clock rather than a cell phone, which seemed to be becoming the norm. She mused that maybe her preference was due to the way she could half-hazardly smack the snooze, or see bright red numbers display what time it was when she woke up in sleepless fits throughout the night. The caveat was waking up to that awful screeching, like a cicada on acid, walking into a fire.
The weather had just started to cool down as the life of summer slowly began to die into a beautiful array of colors, the nip in the air making it even harder for her to get out of bed. Still, Emma managed to pull herself from the warmth of the covers and begin to prepare for the day. As soon as a cup of coffee was steaming and in hand, she stood on her balcony and took in the sights and sounds of fall in the city, colorful leaves from the trees in the park nearby, the smoky smell of a fireplace burning, the old man urinating on the side of the street…well maybe not that last part.
Emma's life was routine and uneventful, and a part of her relished those qualities. Each morning she woke and performed the same choreography, get up, get coffee, stand on the balcony and drink said coffee for approximately 10 minutes, style hair, put on makeup, put on dress pants or dress in black, gray, or a combination of both, and usually a turtleneck or blouse in a solid color. Most days Emma wore a simple pair of semi rimless glasses, but when she was feeling a little bolder her contacts. Today was no exception to the gloriously predictable routine.
Another side of her, however, buried beneath the surface, yearned for some adventure or excitement. Maybe a periodic moment of truly getting to feel alive and not just destined to play the same monotonous part over and over again. Today, Emma felt a bit of this yearning, more specifically in her love life. Despite every effort to make the most of her humanity by seeking out a higher education and a profession analyzing people and coming up with new chemical formulations for a living, she was still utterly and undeniably human. Hormonal fluctuations had her particularly itching for a scratch of a man's touch, extra energy pooling into her intimate places and demanding to be addressed. As she grabbed her keys to leave, she cursed the distraction, and the way the seam of her pants seemed to be making it even worse with each step.
The car ride into work was no different than any other day, the first fifteen minutes getting out of Gotham were hell, but once she hit the outskirts of town it was smooth sailing. In no time flat, the city structures began to taper and fade away in favor of shrubbery and twisting trees. Crossing over the bridge to Arkham Island was a breeze because, let's face it, not many people were clamoring to get into that place. The road grew more and more desolate as Emma finally approached the ominous black gates. An armed guard approached her silver Honda as she obligingly pulled out and displayed a white plastic identification badge. Emma looked out onto the property as she drove in and supposed it was somewhat eerie, the dawn of day creeping up behind the gothic towers and main buildings of the asylum. Her marveling was cut short however, as she reached the parking lot at the employee entrance and noticed an unusual vehicle in the spot next to her own. A vintage Jag, though she wasn't sure of the year, black with silver detailing, it stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the cars in the staff lot, especially her humble Honda. While she had no knowledge so far of who it belonged to, she already was annoyed with him or her.
"Hmm," she thought aloud, "they must have finally filled Dr. Miller's spot."
Emma's black heels gently clip clopped against the concrete as she walked up the stairs to the grand entrance, briefcase slowly swinging at her side. She passed through the second set of tall wooden doors and quickly said good morning to the security guard and the receptionist at the front desk before scurrying through the metal detector in the main hall, and swiping her id card to gain access to the main floor. A corridor adorned with carved woodwork, baroque paintings, and busts led the way to the main offices, including Emma's own.
Coffee. The thought popped into her head after depositing her personal items, and continuing to note how totally off this entire day felt so far. Figuring perhaps some additional fuel would get things moving in the right direction, she grabbed her black steel Contigo before heading to the staff breakroom, the bitter rich smell of cheap coffee already permeating through the air. The breakroom also featured deep red hues and intricate woodwork, but rather than a desk it had a small carved wood table and chairs, in addition to a sink, refrigerator, and of course a coffee maker. As she entered, Emma was surprised to see a man she didn't recognize wearing a crisp black suit with dark slightly curling hair shaking the last couple drops out of the pot into a curved black mug. He suddenly realized she was there and turned around. Wow. Emma was mesmerized by his eyes, the bluest eyes she could ever recall seeing, and for longer than a moment she inadvertently was staring at him in what was becoming awkward.
"Terrific, we're out of coffee you mind making another batch?" The stranger broke the silence, sounding annoyed as he offered the empty pot her direction, and the look on his face clearly matched. Emma paused for a moment perplexed by his question, finally putting the pieces together as she realized he was expecting her to make coffee for him. Her blood started to boil, and she mused to herself what kind of gall this man had. He shook the empty pot at her in impatience and raised his eyebrows in annoyance.
"Helllllo? Are you awake Miss? We need another batch." Just who did this asshole think he was, she thought to herself, crossing her arms and taking a wide stance.
"It's Doctor. Doctor Avery." So, it appeared this guy was fulfilling the stereotype of arrogant prick disorder, a side effect of most PhDs and anyone else who spent more than four years in college without having failed a class. Emma has seen her fair share of them, but nonetheless was always infuriated when she had to deal with one. He looked her over for a second, considering her in his head. He narrowed his eyes slightly before raising his eyebrows in surprise.
"E.S. Avery? I've read your work. I always imagined you…well…as a man" He chuckled a little to himself, only making himself appear all the more arrogant.
"Most men do." Emma gave him a side, polite-but-still-shit-eating smile.
"And who might you be? I'm assuming you're here to replace Dr. Miller?"
"You assume correctly, I'm Dr. Jonathan Crane." She'd heard the name before, but it took her a second to place where. In her head, she recalled a few articles she had read, they were interesting and well thought out, but completely in opposition to her own thoughts on the subject matter.
"Dr. Crane. Hm. I read your piece in the Journal of Experimental Psychology on the influence of fear in psychosis."
"Oh yes, what did you think?" He gave a proud grin and waited for a response, like a dog waiting for a bone, unfortunately for him, he would have to deal with disappointment.
"Honestly, I found it presumptuous and naïve." His smile faded, and Emma laughed inside of her head at having effectively shoved him off of the high horse he came riding in on. He clenched his jaw.
"Would you care to elaborate?" Having taken the power position in the conversation, Emma decided to keep playing the game and milk it, looking down at her watch, and then back up to offer the most condescending smile she could muster.
"Sadly Dr. Crane I have an 8:00 appointment, although I would love to discuss the topic further with you later. I'm sure you can find my office, it's the door that says 'Head of Psychiatric Research' on it." He was so flustered he just stood with his mouth open like it was expecting to spit out a witty remark that just wouldn't come. Emma walked away with a big smile on her face, reveling in winning her first of what would surely be many battles. It was however very disappointing that Dr. Miller, who had been a very beloved colleague and resource, was replaced by this big bag of dicks. It was equally disappointing that she still had no coffee.
The rest of the day wasn't as eventful, and somehow Emma was able to avoid another encounter with the new Doctor. She spent the morning meeting with administration members and patients, and the other half in the lab. Arkham's lab facilities were located in a segregated and quiet area of the West Wing, and while she enjoyed helping her patients, or at least feeling like she was, days like today where her head felt all over the place, she preferred the solitude and logical routine in the lab. It was quiet, formulaic, and it gave her a little room for creativity.
The lack of windows, however, made it very easy to lose track of time, and as she typed a few notes into her laptop, she realized it was already 7:00 in the evening. With only one last test left to do, she decided to continue, adding a few grams of lithium to a flask and gentling swirling it.
"Working late are we Doctor?" a voice came from behind her, and gasping in surprise, Emma dropped the test tube she had still been holding, sending it shattering onto the gray coated floor.
"I'm sorry Doctor, did I frighten you?" the voice seemed to purr into her ear. She turned around, regaining composure to meet the eyes of the pompous former professor himself, Dr. Crane.
"No, just startled me." She grabbed a Chem-wipe from the lab bench and bent down to clean the shards of broken test tube from the floor.
"What are you working on, that's so important to stay overtime?" He crossed his arms and leaned casually against the wall, furrowing his eyebrows as if to study her.
"A mild sedative, combined with an antidepressant. My goal is to allow the patient to fall into a sweet dreamlike state to calm them from intense episodes." Emma spoke proudly, pleased with her diligent work, as she continued to clean up the mess and finish up on her second flask.
"Interesting…" Crane mused next to her. She finished cleaning up the pieces and distributed them into the nearby trashcan, catching a glimpse down the hallway exposed by the door Crane had opened at one of the few windows the floor had, cursing to herself that it was already pitch black. While most would likely find a mental asylum to be a frightening place at all hours, Emma was really only bothered by it in the night hours, when even through the bright lights in the yards, one couldn't be certain someone wasn't following behind. She entered in a few last notes and slammed her laptop shut, quickly gathering her belongings into a black leather shoulder bag.
"Interesting, but still not perfected. Hence the overtime. I really have to run though Crane." He seemingly blocked her path, so she had no choice but to brush up against him to get through, a chill running through her body at the contact, more so when she felt his hand grab her by the arm.
"Emma." It seemed he had taken the effort to learn her actual name, and she looked up to the ceiling with mild annoyance, taking a short breath before turning to oblige him with a response. His hand loosened and he cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I apologize for my behavior this morning." She could still see his face in the sterile fluorescent lighting. He was lying. He was being nice because he wanted something, there wasn't an iota of a sign of genuine remorse. Emma always had a gift for reading people, it was part of her motivation to go into psychology, and his insincerity made her question what his motives were.
"You don't have to lie, but thanks for offering. And I'd prefer it if you called me Doctor Avery," She spun on her heels with one hand in her lab coat, the other gripping her bag, and walked out of the room.
"Goodnight Doctor Crane!" She shouted as she went through the hallway. Yeah. Goodnight indeed.
As Emma went to her car again, she saw his perfect Jag. He would have a car like that. One word: overcompensating. The better question, she thought, was how in the hell could he afford a car like that anyway? It had to be vintage, and in that condition? Bruce Wayne maybe, but not a psychiatrist. She shook her head and got into her car, driving away and never looking back.
Emma woke up in the dark, and couldn't move. She begged her legs to start working but they wouldn't budge an inch. Her arms, however, would at least allow her to crawl slowly. Hands caressing the cold, gray, rubbery smooth floor. Laughing echoed all around and she furiously tried to crawl faster. A hand grabbed her and flipped her over onto her back, a knee on either side of her torso holding her in place.
It was Crane. She knew it was Crane. His smell was distinct: a combination of rich piney wood and a hint of his black leather desk chair. Warm air tickled her right ear, followed by a sudden delicate flick of wet warmth from his tongue.
"Tell me, DOCTOR, what is it that YOU fear?" His words were loud and deep, drenched with sarcasm. She tried to scream but his mouth was suddenly on her own, like he was trying to breathe her into him, his tongue firm, yet soft, probing her mouth. His hand started at her cheek, and slowly it ran down the rest of her body until it stopped between her legs. Everything felt like it was on fire and coherent thought no longer came to her enough to try to escape. Silently, she wished his hand would work down further where she was desperate to be touched.
"I think…" he stopped everything.
"you fear…" his mouth was at hers again
"RELEASE" he bit her bottom lip hard and she screamed.
Emma woke up in bed suddenly and looked at the clock. 6 AM. Her chest was heaving up and down and her skin and pajamas were damp with sweat. It was time to get up anyway, so she opted to turn off her alarm and head to the bathroom, body still aroused, overall flush with the faint feeling of moisture between her legs.
She rubbed her face a few times to try and snap out of it, but noticed a smear of red on her hand and immediately looked up in the mirror to see where it was coming from.
"Huh" she mused out loud. Her lower lip was bleeding.