I disclaim.

"Well I'm so above you
And it's fine to see
But I came to love you anyway
So you tore my heart out
And I don't mind bleeding
Any old time to keep me waiting
Waiting, waiting,"

-Lonely Boy, The Black Keys

The car door slammed, bumping against his knee painfully. They could have at least waited until he'd gotten in. Dr. Crane shifted and winced, his arms pulling uncomfortably in the handcuffs and a sharp pain growing in his stomach. He'd attempted to surprise Batman with a new, supposedly more potent gas. Unfortunately, the surprise had been on him when the vigilante had turned the spray on Crane himself. Yet again. He'd had but a moment of panicked fumbling to apply the antidote. Which, of course, he hadn't fully developed and still had many annoying aftereffects. One of which caused a dismaying amount of nausea. But it wouldn't be a full day without the entire process seemingly tripling in discomfort, no thanks to some left over results of the gas.

Crane attempted to slouch forward to ease some of the pressure, his arms pulling together tightly behind his back. A grimace left his face with a scowl. Briefly glancing to his left, he did a double take.

"What the hell is this?" he hissed to the cop, who was just getting into the front passenger seat. The fact that they had another person in the back seat with him, that they failed to fear him enough they would actually put someone else in the vehicle, was an insult of the highest.

The kid across the seat glared at him, worriedly. Crane disregarded him, the tension in his body causing the tendons in his neck to bulge out.

The cop's tubby friend in the driver's seat responded instead. "Just sit tight, Avery. He can't do anything to you."

"Don't you ignore me, donuts," Crane said, baring his teeth. He tried to compose himself, but it was becoming increasingly harder. "Get the brat out of here."

When the only response was the rev of the engine, he rocked back and give the rear of the seat in front of him a good few kicks, growling indignantly. He immediately regretted it, as it provoked the discomfort in his stomach and he spent the next few moments bent over. He did his best to conceal his pain, but it was a lost cause. There were still some of the effects of the gas coursing through him. It felt like every nerve was vibrating, which did nothing for his queasiness. He could feel the stupid kid's eyes on him. Groaning quietly when the car made a sharp turn, he looked up through his bangs at the other passenger.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to stare?" he huffed, seething. Not only had the kid witnessed his childish temper tantrum earlier, Crane was now subject to having those two headlights glaring at him. And it had to be at this godforsaken moment. Tilting his head forward to hide his face, Crane took a deep, silent breath to compose himself. Then he took another. He slowly, carefully sat upright again, hands hidden behind his back, flipping his hair from his eyes. With a superior air, he turned his gaze to the kid, finding the other undaunted, still staring from beneath his cap.

Goddamn it, Crane was trembling. There must be some other effect of the gas, or the antitoxin. Or both combined. This is what he got for going out, half cocked, with some made from scratch antidote that he'd barely bothered to test. The drug business was doing alright, even if things had diminished a little recently, he should have left well enough alone. At least until he'd gottten his feet under him once again.

He would not admit to going out tonight for some weak attempt of revenge on the now apparently felonious vigilante. Even if it had, regrettably, taken him three months to get out of Arkham.

"Why the extra cargo?" Crane asked the officers, blinking cooly and turning to face them. He felt a little steadier now. The doctor was in.

There was no answer.

"Well," he began. "I suppose you could have just picked him up before you plucked me out of the big, bad bat's clutches." He wet his lips, suddenly regarding the boy next to him. His shoulders shifted subtly. "Or there could be some more nefarious plot afoot. What do you think?"

"That you're talking out of your ass," came the reply. Low voice, but decidedly not male.

"Rather touchy, aren't we? And," he said, placing the other under scrutiny. "Female."

She watched him carefully. Ah, yes, her chin, while it could be mistaken for an adolescent boy's in this light, was most decidedly a woman's.

"Please, no need to feel embarrassed," he jeered as he shifted his arms again. "We all have our own callings in life, whether it be psychiatrist or lady of the evening. I-"

She gave a yelp of disgust, but the cop in the front passenger must have been expecting something. Before she could even start toward Crane, he gave a loud, threatening shout and she stilled, glowering. But, he noticed, less at the policeman than at herself.

"Knock that shit off! I don't want you to give him any openings. Goddamn, suicidal…" The cop turned back around. So they did still fear the Scarecrow.

"Very touchy," Crane said, smoothly. He smiled pleasantly, a bit of dried blood from his earlier tussle cracking above his lips. The girl scooted closer to the door. Leaning his head back, he tried to slide his weight to somewhere more comfortable. His stomach gurgled and he grimaced again. "Bad day?"

"Extremely," she bit out, scowling at her shoes with pursed lips.

Bit of a temper, he thought. He watched the girl across the seat. "What are you being taken in for?"

As if ignoring him would make him go away, she turned her gaze out the window.

"Well?"

"Theft," she muttered, staring resolutely at the glass. She was visibly reigning in her emotions.

"Of what?" he asked. There was a faint clicking noise.

"Of nothing, I was arrested," she said, crossly, turning to him. She looked away apprehensively when she remembered who she was talking to.

He gave an easy smirk, leaning slightly toward her. "Come on."

"Something that didn't belong to me." Her mouth quirked humorlessly.

Crane raised his brows, turning to look out the window, bored if she wasn't going to play.

"I'm sure it was worth it," he said, mockingly. Or began to say before the impact.

Crane threw himself to the floor of the car before the crash, hands, the girl noticed, somehow free of restraints. The car spun dangerously and she was thrown to the side, the seatbelt cutting into her skin. There was another collision and the car stopped. Her head connected with the window as she was flung the other way. Bright lights popped before her eyes. She was vaguely aware of a groaning sound, though she was unsure if it was coming from Crane or her own mouth. Or was it from one of the policemen? Soon there were shouts, then a sequence of gunfire and a few more shouts. Something was ringing in her head and it was hard to focus her thoughts. She felt like there was something she needed to remember. Suddenly, her door was thrown open and this time she was certain it was herself that was groaning, as she hung out of the car by her seatbelt. Someone undid it, pulling her out before she could fall. She was roughly put on her feet, yanked upright before she could keel over. Her head spun. What was she forgetting?

"Aneta!"

Oh.

"We have been looking all over for you," came a deep voice, accented mildly.

"Marcovic," she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut to dispel some of her dizziness. When she opened them again she was just as lightheaded. "Sorry, I got caught up."

"Well, you need to be not caught up. I send you on a simple errand, a favor, and what do I receive in return?" The tall Chechen stared expectantly at her. The men behind him were looking around warily, guns held tight. Their new boss was getting more and more reckless, she thought to herself. They had to be only just within the Narrows. To initiate a drive-by this close to the South Main bridge, was beyond foolhardy. Marcovic was getting cockier the longer his reign went on. Especially now that he controlled both Maroni's and the Chechen's districts. How he expected this would work out, she didn't know.

She shook her head; he didn't want her to answer anyway. He stepped forward, allowing him to look her closely in the face.

"I receive a mess. Look at this." He gestured to the crumpled car behind him. "Look at what I do for you, moya semʹya. Even after you disappoint me. I hope you are thankful."

He smiled a warm smile that failed to reach his eyes. She obediently nodded her head, unable to do more than that without swaying unsteadily.

"Good. Now," he said, looking over at a still form on the ground. "What shall we do with him, do you think?"

"That's Crane," she said as her mind provided the information. "Is he dead?"

Marcovic stalked toward the prone doctor.

"You know," he began, ignoring her. "This man really takes his time when supplying his drugs. And they are always-" He hand waved at his head. "-fiddling with my customers minds! I wonder if they would be better if he were... under management."

She frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I think Dr. Crane will be coming with us." Rubbing the beginnings of stubble on his cheek, he signaled two of his thugs forward to pick the man up.

"Mar- Marcovic, you really don't expect he'll do as you say?" she asked, incredulously. The man holding her arm began to tug her toward a waiting car. She half fell into the seat, her hands still handcuffed behind her back. Marcovic got in next to her.

"Oh, but he will, of course. We can be persuasive." He looked at her and considered her as if anew. "Aneta, in the University, you studied Science."

"I-" She swallowed, her mouth dry. "Barely."

"You sell yourself short. You did well Nika said."

Silently cursing her aunt's motormouth, she searched for a purchase, gaping stupidly. Her head was reeling and she felt a hint of nausea.

He nodded his head. "Yes. Yes, that is a good idea. You will help Dr. Crane. You will watch him and learn what he shows you. Soon, we will not need Dr. Crane." He smiled at her, patting her shoulder. "We will have you."

"Crane won't teach me anything. He may be forced into doing what you say, but he's not an idiot. He'll see what we're doing, Marcovic. He'll want to keep himself alive and he'll know not to give away any important information." It was futile, though. And she knew it.

"We shall just have to be very persuasive, then. Think of it as trade for not succeeding in your errand," he replied, rubbing his face again. "I am in need a shave."

So she had no choice. Refusing, or attempting to shirk off his orders, would end in pain and she'd been down that road enough for one night, her earlier fight still stinging on her cheek. If anything she should appreciate the command. For one, it meant Marcovic could see her sticking around long term, and while she'd prefer the opposite, she'd rather leave on her own conditions. And second… well, she'd worry about the second later. She was sure she'd be able to tolerate Crane. Positive, in fact.

I think I need a towel. I don't know when I'll learn my lesson. Have a bad habit of starting and not finishing. If you like it or have any constructive criticism, I'd probably die of feels.

I'm going to go slink back into my hole now. Thanks for reading!

edit: Tried to fix it up a bit. Working on the next chapter made me feel completely ashamed of my writing in this. It's not much improved, but better. More editing before the end, no doubt.