A/N: This is my second Batman fic, I haven't updated my other one in a really long time because of college and writers' block. I definitely have ideas for this story, and I hope with summer coming soon, I can update more often.

Rating: M for violence, language, and sexual content.

Disclaimer: I own no characters from the Batman franchise. Dahlia, Lana and other OC characters are mine.

Enjoy :)

"Is that the last one?" Dahlia asked, looking up at Lana as she struggled to slide an overstuffed cardboard box towards her. Lana gave up with a deep sigh, walking over to the living room and plopping down on the wooden floor next to her best friend.

"Yeah, and unless you take out some of your useless crap, I'm not bringing it any closer."

"Useless crap? I don't think so," She crawled towards the box, looking to see what was inside. "I'm pretty sure half of this stuff is yours too."

"I didn't keep all of my college papers and books, Dolly. You're the packrat here."

Dahlia rolled her eyes, and began taking out several worn folders and binders to set on the floor. Within a few minutes, she was sitting next to a pile of college work that nearly towered over her. She bit her lip, maybe Lana was right… She reached for the folder at the top, examining the outside of it.

"You really don't need any of this," Lana took the folder out of her hand, shaking her head as she began to flip through random pages. "Essays…poorly written notes…drawings of stick figures…" Lana smirked, and then froze.

"Wh-what?" Dahlia asked, confusion written across her face.

"Dolly. Oh my god. The love letter you wrote to Bobby Hamilton during freshman year? I thought you threw this away!"

Dahlia's face flushed a deep red as Lana sprang to her feet, dramatically reading each verse of the poem.

"As I gaze at you from a distance, my heart can't help but to skip a few beats. I find it difficult to approach you, but I know that I that want to. Oh Bobby, please understand—"

"Lana, stop it!" Dahlia shouted, standing up. "We both know I was really stupid then, give it back!" She tried to take the paper from Lana's hand, but she only skipped to the opposite direction of the living room, the love letter clutched tightly against her chest.

"You're the one who kept it! I could've swore I saw you flush this down the toilet…" She looked down at it again. "There's no doubt in my mind that we should be together. Bobby Hamilton, please be min—"

Dahlia snatched the page with surprising swiftness, causing Lana to drop the folder she was holding. Papers flew everywhere, and Dahlia ripped the letter into tiny pieces, causing even more of a mess on the floor.

"Now it's gone." She gave herself a little smile, wiping her hands together as if she just took out the garbage. Lana rolled her eyes, sighing when she looked down at the scattered pieces of loose-leaf paper.

"It may be gone, but now we have more shit to clean up."

Dahlia shrugged, a nonchalant look on her face. Having to pick up hundreds of old papers sprawled across their living room floor was better than listening to Lana bring up embarrassing memories of her past love life that she'd repressed for years. She hated thinking about her freshman year of college; she was a naïve girl who knew too much about the city for her own good and thought the world revolved around her. Looking back now, it was as if she were a completely different person. Hell, she was a different person then.

She dropped down to the floor again, balling up paper and making a pile out of them. "Happy now? Now go get a trash bag."

Lana gave her best friend an exasperated sigh, but smiled nonetheless as she walked to the kitchen. "I hate to admit it, but I think you're right," Dahlia called, briefly but half-heartedly skimming through each paper before she crumbled it into a little ball. "I don't need any of this."

"You're actually admitting that you're wrong? That's a change." She sat down next to Dahlia, throwing trash in the bag with a huge smirk on her face. Dahlia merely rolled her eyes before looking down at the random piece of paper in her hand.

"Don't make me regret it—"

Lana looked to Dahlia, who'd frozen in midsentence. "D-Dolly?" Worry was clearly evident in her voice as she stared in concern at her best friend. Dahlia was as still as a statue, eyes wide as she looked down at the paper she was gripping in her hands. She was holding onto it so tightly, Lana was afraid that she might rip it.

"Dolly? What's wrong?" She said nothing; Lana was starting to get scared. She looked down at the paper as well, straining her eyes to examine the faded text and images.

It was a newspaper article from a year ago. The headline read, "MANHUNT FOR SADISTIC PSYCHIATRIST CONTINUES ON"

A picture of a man with strikingly blue eyes stared back at her. She flinched; he looked so lifeless, so unemotional. She would consider him attractive if it weren't for how…evil he looked. His messy, pushed back hair and sharp jawline couldn't even pull her in. And those were her weaknesses.

Was this the man Dahlia was looking at? It had to be; the entire article was about him. Fragments of sentences such as, "known for his unorthodox treatment of criminals" and "disappeared during Gotham fear gas outbreak" stood out to her.

"What does he have to do with Dolly?" Lana thought nervously, remembering how chaotic Gotham University was during the outbreak. The entire school was on lockdown for two weeks.

"Dolly," She said slowly. "Who is this guy?"

"Jonathan," She said more to herself rather than Lana. Nonetheless, it took her off guard; Lana hadn't expected her to actually reply.

"Who's Jonathan? Do you know him?"

She didn't respond. Lana looked down at the article again. "Dr. Jonathan Crane," She whispered. "He was a psychiatrist at Arkham? Is that why you're so fascinated with him?" Lana's mind was racing; Dahlia graduated with a degree in psychology, maybe Dr. Crane was her professor during college? Or her role model? Lana quickly dismissed the thoughts; the man was clearly insane, and if he was a professor at GU, she was positive she would've heard about him on campus, especially with the kind of reputation the article said he has.

"Who is he?" Lana reached out to wrap an arm around Dahlia's shoulders. "You can tell me."

"Can we just drop this, Lana? Please."

"But—"

Dahlia looked at her for the first time, her expression unreadable. Lana dropped her arm, leaning away from her.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Th-that's fine."

Dahlia stood to her feet, the article still in her grip. She walked to her room for a few minutes. When she came back out, her hands were empty.

"So," Lana broke the uncomfortable silence. "You want to finish unpacking or call it quits for the rest of the day?"

Dahlia sat down on the couch with a sigh. "Later. I'm going to be busy tonight."

"Busy doing what? We just graduated, we have no jobs and last I checked, you decided to stop partying until we were fully settled into the apartment."

"Actually, I do have a job. I just got it."

"You do not have a job already!" Lana shouted, perking up. "How?!"

"Let's just say I know a few people.." She gave Lana a small smile.

"Where's it at? How did you get it?"

"Its a bar downtown called the Crescent Moon. I've met the owner a few times before, so I asked him if he had any openings."

"Oh," She sank down. "I thought you meant a real job."

"This is a real job!"

"A real job that we actually went to school to get, Ms. Psych Major. Not a second rate job that some sixteen year old dropout could do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dahlia asked bitterly. Lana's stomach dropped when she caught sight of how offended she looked.

"Nothing, but—"

"Are you implying that I have the intelligence of a sixteen year old dropout? Thanks."

"No, I didn't mean that at all, I swear."

Dahlia had gone silent again, her head turned towards the direction of the open window. Lana mentally sighed. She didn't hate many things about herself, but her tendency to take her mouth too far was one of them.

What she hated more, however, was how personally Dahlia took it.

"This Crescent Moon place," Lana began awkwardly. "Its nice?"

"Mhmm."

"Have I ever been there before?"

Dahlia scoffed. "Nope."

Lana had to struggle to keep herself from groaning in frustration. Damn Dahlia and her stubbornness! She bit her lip, trying to think of something that would get her talking again.

"Good pay?"

"Pretty good, actually."

"How much?"

"It, uh…it depends on what the night's like."

Lana sighed. She was going to hate herself for this.

"Do you think, maybe…there's a spot open for me?"

Dahlia turned to face her. Success!

"Well, Sal, the guy who owns it, did say he was looking for two or three more people. Are you serious?"

"Of course." She nodded with the biggest, fakest smile she could twist on her face. Dahlia started smiling back, but quickly stopped and narrowed her eyes.

"You're not too good for it, are you?"

Lana had to clench her fists to prevent herself from lunging at Dahlia. Her tone was really rubbing her the wrong way.

"Its always good to try something new." She said lamely, hoping her face wasn't betraying her real thoughts.

"…I guess I can try to talk to Sal. He likes me, after all." She rolled her eyes.

"Thanks—"

"Wait, I know!" She shot up from the couch. "Come with me when I go tonight, you can talk to him then!"

"To-tonight?" Lana asked nervously. She was hoping for a few extra days to find a new job so she could back out with some dignity. "I'm not sure…"

"Please, Lana?" Dahlia pulled her to her feet, her wide blue eyes pleading. "I'm really nervous, and it'll be better if you're there."

Lana almost frowned; what could be so nerve-wracking about a bar job? Thinking about it wasn't making her feel any better either. Nonetheless, she nodded, giving into her best friend's puppy dog eyes.

"Okay, okay, I'll go."

"Great!"

Dahlia wrapped her arms around Lana in a tight hug, her mood suddenly higher than ever. Lana couldn't help but to wonder if this was the kind of positive news she needed to hear after being reminded of "Jonathan" again.

"What does he have to do with her?" The question never left her mind.