Paraphilia
Warnings: Implied kidnapping and Crane generally being a creeper.
As she came to, her foggy mind perceived first the angry pelting of rain, beating bedlam upon the asylum windows somewhere maddeningly out of sight. The stale air stifled her. This darkened room could have been a tomb. Only the faint sound of bubbling and an occasional eruption of the clack-clack-clacking of metal instruments on glass let her know that she was surely not alone. Once beneath the clangor she thought she had heard a soft chuckle. Minutes grew into hours as she tried desperately to remain still in her uncomfortable bonds, amidst the prickle of fear that crept insolently down her neck, filling her chest with heaviness before settling deep in the pit of her stomach. But when at last she scented the tell-tale caustic stench of the Scarecrow's latest batch of toxin, she found that she could not suppress a shudder. After one last tinkling of glass the bubbling ceased. She steeled herself for the worst but still started violently when his cold, hard hand seized her bare neck.
"I'm sorry for giving you a fright," whispered a silky voice, somewhere just behind her ear.
Panicking in earnest now, she began struggling wildly against the leather strapping her so surely to the metal table.
"Now, now," came his newly feverish voice, "You can't leave here without taking your medicine."
She heard a syringe cap pop off and land unceremoniously on the stone floor.
"I know you've been reading my notes about my special concoction. Well," he pulled her neck sharply to the side, "I've made some just for you."
Without warning, the needle plunged into the compliant flesh of her neck with deadly purpose. Soon after, a dingy light sprang into life overhead, so that she had a second's view of the crumbling walls as well as the frenzied stare of her tormentor before the room began to melt. Now her breath came in long, ragged draughts not unlike that of the exultant figure hovering over her. She felt his every breath whisper across her cheek before her reeling mind transfigured it into a new horror. Spiders crawling a trail down to underneath her shirt collar. Dirty fingernails scratching the length of her face. The flutter of a crow's wing promising a fury of claws. When the rain's assault against the windows became a deafening chorus of damned voices, she finally cried aloud, long and harsh.
"Yes," he moaned covetously. "Give it up to me."
A/N: I realize this is probably OOC for Nolanverse Crane but I'm finding him a bit difficult to write because he didn't get enough screen time in Batman Begins. I'm much better versed in the comics. I guess we'll see what happens with TDKR but I can't see it opening weekend...
Please do review if you're so inclined. I'm thinking of making a series of one-shots.