AN: So my flash drive had a moment and tried to eat my work. I recovered most of it, but what little there was of this story was lost. (Like, two chapters, so could've been worse.) That's why it's taken so long-first the inspiration skipped off into the cornfields, then the story got eaten.

My attempt on Gotham-ising Crane's Year One backstory, because why not? Kitty Richardson is mine (see profile), Gordon wishes I didn't do this (sorry, Jim), and Harvey wonders what the fuck is wrong with this city. I don't know, Harvey. I do not know.

Updates on Fridays.

Jonathan Crane lies in bed, having long since given up finding a comfortable position. It's cold and he's sick and tired and the scratches on his back have settled into a dull ache. Could be worse. He could be outside, out there.

He looks at the door, wondering if Granny will be up soon. He hopes so-he'd like to go downstairs for a glass of water.

Something outside scrapes his window and he flinches, rolls over to make sure it isn't a crow. It's just the old tree.

He's glad it's Saturday. He should be back at school on Monday, but right now he's dizzy at the very thought of gym.

Tap-tap.

He rolls over in time to see his window open.

"Kitty?" Is she crazy? She must be. And wasn't that window locked? Oh, wait, no, because his room is on the third floor. If she falls out of that tree and breaks her neck, it will be her own fault. "Kitty, what are you doing here?"

"You haven't been in class for three days."

Oh.

That...that is a good reason, actually.

"I'm not dead, I'll be back on Monday."

She clambers onto his bed and sets a backpack on the floor. What is she doing? If Granny comes up here...

"You look terrible."

"Just a cold." He reaches for his glasses and sits up. "If she catches you..."

"Relax, I've had practice." He really should ask her about that one day. "Live a little."

"I'm trying to."

She laughs softly and reaches into the backpack.

"Homework, water bottle, and a granola bar because Mum hates shopping and hasn't been to the store for two days."

"How'd you get my notebook?"

"Broke into your locker." She grins at him. "Sorry you taught me that yet?"

"A little bit." What was that? An old house creaking or Granny's footstep on the stair? "Look-"

"When did you get that?"

"Get what?"

Her finger brushes his throat just below the scratch there and he shivers.

"Monday night."

"I didn't...scarf."

"Yeah." He glances at the door again. "Kitty, if she catches you up here-"

She places her finger against his lips.

"Shh. Relax."

He falls silent and leans against his pillow, straining for any sounds from downstairs.

"You're really warm." she murmurs. "Maybe you should go to the doctor."

"M'fine." He swallows a cough and pulls away from her hand. "Really, it's just a cold."

She doesn't look like she believes him, but she rocks back on her heels and looks at the door. He picks up the water bottle and drains half of it.

"She's going to kill you one of these days."

"Six months and I can move out."

"Jonathan-" There's a noise downstairs and they both freeze, whispers hanging in the air. One, two, three minutes pass before he breathes easy again. "Jonathan, what if you get really sick? Or she leaves you out there or-"

"Shh." Was that another noise? "Six months, I'll be fine."

"If you kill her first." she mutters darkly. "Don't look at me like that, it's Gotham."

"I'd get caught."

"Make it look like an accident. Is she allergic to bees or something?" He raises an eyebrow. "Only joking, love."

Swish-thud.

Oh, no.

"Here she comes."

She grabs her backpack, gives him a quick kiss on the forehead, and is gone in seconds. He closes the window, lies down, and barely remembers to take his glasses off before his doorknob begins to turn.

"Jonathan?"

He blinks and pulls away from the light.

"G-Granny? What time is it?"

"I heard voices." she snaps at him. "If that whore was up here..."

"Huh?" He swallows hard and gives her his best sleepy-confused look. "I don't..."

"Be quiet."

It takes two thorough checks of his room to satisfy her and she's angry with him for making her suspicious.

"If I catch you doing anything, boy, so help me..."

She leaves, muttering half-formed threats under her breath, and he rolls over again.

Six more months, that's all he needs.

Assuming she lets him leave.