This is the re-written chapter!

A/N: OK, so I've never written a Batman/Dark Knight fanfic before, and it's been ages since I've written anything so I'm sorry if this blows. Haha. Please read and review. If you feel the need to flame, you can just give me something constructive instead of negative.

And in my best behavior

I am really just like him.

Look beneath the floor boards,

For the secrets I have hid.

"John Wayne Gacy, Jr". –Sufjan Stevens

-Prologue-

I can remember the smell. It was a strange, salty, slightly sweet smell.
Everything around me was soft. The floor was soft, the walls, and most likely the roof too. But I couldn't see the roof. It was too dark in here. And I couldn't touch the walls, or feel the floor with my fingertips.

There was nothing for me to touch, because I couldn't move my hands.

I could see shadows, however. Many shadows were there. The ones that hid in the corners of my eyes, so I couldn't see them clearly as they slithered by me in the darkness. I felt my skin crawling, alive. Like there were thousands of little worms all over me, squirming.

He was there, pulling at me.

I didn't know his name, or why he chose me. But he did.

Something shifted next to me. A person, a man, a banshee and a figure; it was him. His hand snaked its way onto my shoulder, pulling me to him. I struggled against him, unable to speak. Everything felt like it was in slow motion, like the final gun shot in a movie.

I thrashed against him in my jacket, in a panic. I couldn't see his face, no, I never saw his face. He was a shadow of macabre demise, all over me.

My screams were wasted, and I could feel my throat ache from them, but they remained silent. Only his voice was heard now.

"Moira, Moira, Moira." He sang, stroking my cheek with one, calloused finger. I held my eyes closed tight, trying not to pay attention to the way his hands felt on my face.

"Did you really think you could rid your memories of me that easily?"

---------------------

I jerked awake, screaming out loud, sweat beaded on my forehead. Frustrated, I pulled on my hair, and then threw the fluffy duvet off me. Frantically, I looked at the clock. It was 4:15am, but I had to call him or I wouldn't get back to sleep. With shaky hands, I grabbed my phone off its cradle.

Pressing speed dial, the line began to ring. My brows were furrowed, and tears ran down my face in distress as I waited for him to answer.

"Uh…" I heard him say, sounds of fabric and things clanking on the other side, "Just one second."

I could tell he dropped the phone.

"Hello?" Bruce greeted, his voice heavy with sleep. Oh gosh, he sounded sexy right now. I smiled a little.

"Hi honey," I whispered, my voice quivering because I was still a little shook up over my bad dream.

"Moira," He breathed, "What's wrong? Is everything alright?" He suddenly sounded very alert.

I sighed heavily, putting my hand over my eyes as I flicked on the light of my nightstand. I could see the light through the slits of my fingers, and it burned a little.

"Yes, everything's okay. I just…I just needed to hear your voice." I told him, leaning back onto my pillow and pulling the blanket back onto my body. Bruce's voice always calmed me, no matter what happened.

"Did you have another bad dream?" He asked, his voice filled with concern and sympathy.

I hadn't told him what they were about. They've been happening for several weeks now, getting progressively worse. I had this convicting feeling, saying not to tell Bruce what happened in my night terrors. Saying that it wasn't for him to know, that he would think I was crazy.

"Yeah, this was the worst of them all. I don't know what to do about it" I lamented, lazily slamming my fist into the mattress.

"I'm sorry. I wish you would just tell me so maybe we could find out what's triggering them." His voice sounded slightly agitated. I know it bugged him that I felt like I couldn't trust him. I told him that wasn't the reason, but he still felt that way.

"Bruce…" I called, my voice growing smaller as I was lulled slowly back into sleep. "Speak to me. I don't care what you talk about; just help me take my mind off things for a bit."

He sighed into the phone, obviously exhausted as well. A tinge of regret ran through me, for making him stay up with me this late, or early, in this case.

"Did I ever tell you about the time when I tried to fly?" He questioned, obviously picking whatever came to his mind first.

"Only vaguely, but tell me again?" I asked, and then leaned over to shut the light off. I pulled the covers up to my neck and closed my eyes. "Please." I concentrated on Bruce's smooth voice.

"The year after my parents were killed, I had been acting strangely. Alfred came home one day, to find me out on the backyard grass, with my arm broken. I jumped from the second story window at Wayne Manor." He said with a somber chuckle, "I wasn't the smartest kid."

"Didn't sound like it" I said, jokingly. "Did you have a cape or something?"

"No" He replied, laughing. "I think I used an umbrella, actually."

I smiled. Bruce must have been a cute kid.

"Too bad Batman wasn't around then, eh?" I joked, "You could have asked to borrow his cape."

For a second the other line went silent. I thought that perhaps I had said something wrong.

"Bruce?" I called, seeing if he was still there or if I had lost the connection.

"Yeah" His voice called back, suddenly very quiet, his mind somewhere else.

"Too bad."