This is my first time doing a Jonathan Crane/Talia al Ghul story, given there are NONE in this fandom, and I'm literally in love with the Dark Knight trilogy, plus a huge fangirl of Cillian Murphy's Scarecrow. :D I have always wondered what it would be like to do a story about him and Talia al Ghul, daughter of his employer Ra's al Ghul, even give it a twist with "Hellraiser", a movie I have been obsessed with as a child. So, as a start, this story begins before "Batman Begins" and then will proceed some way into the movie before "The Dark Knight", but ignores "Rises" completely. Should be fun for a first time attempting Crane/Talia. :D The story is even named after "The Hellbound Heart", which is a novel by Clive Barker, and the inspiration for "Hellraiser" which was also directed by Barker.

Disclaimer: I own none of Batman or Hellraiser, which is mixed with the storyline.

Chapter One

Meeting

This was no place for her, but at the same time, she felt it was her duty to be here. Her sole purpose in life was to end corruption; that was how her father trained her early on. She absolutely loathed the criminal underworld feasting like the rats in the streets on the best parts. She would continue her destiny - even forge herself a new one - while vowing never to get her hands filthy again with blood.

Her father had called her a disgrace, called her unworthy of an heir to his line, and for that, she left at age eighteen, not long after her one true friend had been forced to leave her because he was a painful reminder of the past. She'd been born in the same place he had, hardened by agony and suffering as he had been, and he'd protected her all her life, which had planted the seed of envy in her father. Her friend and protector's presence had been an ugly reminder of the loss of the love of his life, her mother. She hated her father ever since coming under his wing after escaping the hell her mother died in. Her prowess and abilities heightened, but so was her anger and rage at those who would harm innocent people for their own selfish ends. She would do the same, but not allow herself be caught and taken by police for questioning. Who would ever think that a young woman who recently relocated from an exotic country on the other side of the ocean and joined Wayne Enterprises - which was the heritage of the man who was currently training under her father - was picking up kicks in the street with thugs? Some would call it defense, but she personally called it justice.

Talia al Ghul - Miranda Tate to the world - was eighteen years old when she left her father, the great Ra's al Ghul, and the League of Shadows to live quietly in the very city he planned to destroy. This city was a haven for injustice, but it was the honorable way for her to be here. Ra's al Ghul would not give up without a fight, and it would be a matter of time once he was done training with this Wayne character, the orphaned son of a philanthropic doctor and his wife who were murdered in front of their own child. In a way, she sympathized because she lost a mother, but long ago she never let her emotions get the best of her.

However, she did the one night she found herself meeting the man who changed her life.

She had enough money to get herself a smaller apartment given you never start out that large in life; the higher the rise, the farther the fall. At least she found it in her to make it feel like home, with hanging rattan lamps and vases from Middle Eastern culture, to the bed sprawled with a design looking like it came from Japan, for the "rising sun" pattern bore lush bamboo. Paradise was a rarity for anyone, for that matter. She had been lavished with it in the monastery, to "make up for lost times", but it was wrong. Here she made her way into the world, blending with the rest of society so she could climb up and help the city when she could.

Wayne Enterprises let her into the science department with Mr. Lucius Fox. He was a good man who knew the late Thomas Wayne well, and Talia had liked him at first sight. She knew from basic instinct that they would be good friends and colleagues, but Mr. Earle who actually was in charge was another story altogether. He'd convinced her that a "lovely girl like yourself should need more than less"; she wasn't a fool to not think that he didn't want something from under the desk. Talia refused, stating that she didn't sleep with men to get what she wanted. In fact, she'd done that enough under her father's order. Sacrifices for the greater good, and that counted his own daughter. She'd felt like a whore; she liked to think that he did this to her because she looked so much like her mother, but they never discussed her after she died.

Tonight was Friday night, and she was free to roam the streets. She was in a black silk blouse and jeans when she strolled in like royalty, getting some men's eyes on her. She was used to this by now. Ignoring them all, she sat down at the bar and called for a Smirnoff, the bartender winking at her, not bothering to ask for her age. She looked old enough to be twenty-two years old instead of eighteen. However, she sensed another coming to join her.

"How about I buy you the drink, baby?" She could smell the beer on his breath. Talia shifted away when he leaned in and tried to kiss her.

"No thank you," she said politely, moving to slip off her stool, but his hand was on her arm and pulling her his way.

"Now that's not polite, little lady," the big man drawled. "When I see something, I want it, and I get it, do you understand? Now show me some respect and let me buy you a drink."

"I believe she specifically said no thank you," a new voice said coldly.

Talia found herself staring at a pair of glacier blue eyes in a gracefully carved, angelic face framed by wavy dark hair, those eyes framed with a slim pair of glasses tinting maniacally as they eyed the man with his hand on her. This one was nowhere near her bother's height and size, but those eyes seemed to freeze the bigger one on the spot. It impressed her. Who was this man who came to her side when she didn't really need it?

"Excuse me, little man, but I don't believe I was talking to you."

The other, younger man with the spectacles took a couple steps forward and put his face into the other's, sniffing in disgust. "But I am talking to you, and once again, if you don't take your hands off of her, I will make you."

The muscled man laughed as though being told a joke. "Well, how about I make you leave this way?" To demonstrate, he raised his fist and struck a blow to the smaller male's face, sending him to the ground, and Talia's energy burst when she brought her knee up to his most vulnerable spot. He fell forward, groaning in pain. He tried to swing another punch at her, but she dodged it, choosing to swing her leg up and clock him in the jaw, where he fell backwards and onto his back. Knowing he was down, Talia spat at him before hurrying over to the other man who was just picking up his glasses after checking to make sure they weren't broken. She helped him stand because she felt it was her concern even if it wasn't. And the man objected. "I'm fine. I don't need your help."

"Excuse me," she returned, looking into his eyes again, which were her color if icier, "but I took care of that brute, so at least let me -" She stopped when she saw his left cheek reddening, sure to leave a bruise. "Oh. That will need an ice pack." Another abnormality was his nose bleeding. "Let's go to my apartment so I can give it to you." He snorted when he looked down at her face but didn't object again; he said nothing more to her when she took him into her Mustang and drove them back, far away from this downtown district. She didn't really care about the silence between them, but what could they talk about when they didn't even know each other? And she was bringing him back to her home only to help his swelling face - which was so beautiful. Not masculine, but very ethereal. His cheeks were high and almost feminine, and Talia found herself looking briefly at his lips which she tried not to stare at. They were soft and full. How could he be male like this? She deliberated this until they came to her home and she parked the car.

"Wait here." Talia gestured him to sit on the loveseat while she went to the kitchen and grabbed a sandwich bag, putting some ice cubes in from the freezer and returning to her guest's side, handing it to him. "There," she said softly, watching him remove his glasses and showing a less intimidating person altogether. Now she could strike up conversation. "What's your name? My name is Miranda Tate."

He lowered the pack to his lap. She noted that he wore a pressed dark suit and tie, his shirt crisp white, showing the hint of a sweater vest. She assumed he must be important of some sort. "Jonathan Crane," he said finally. "Head doctor of the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane."

Ah, yes, the administration for locking up the mentally insane criminals if deemed unfit for prison sentence. Keeping them off the streets even though more came every day. Talia helped with the donations every day to keep it that way as well as to simply give the asylum more fundings - she had never actually met its director, much less heard the name. Even if she considered it, she'd never thought he would be so... "Miss Tate?" His voice brought her attention back from staring at his lips, which moved so gracefully and let loose words spoken with hypnotic suave. She'd known many intriguing men in her life, but Dr. Crane fascinated her utterly.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's very late, and would you like a lift back home?"

He shook his head and stood, taking the ice pack with him. "I thank you, but no. I don't live far," he answered. Nodding to her, he was out the door. She watched him go and went for the window as soon as the door closed. Crane was striding the sidewalk away from the complex. Talia knew he was lying when he said he didn't live far; Arkham Asylum was in the Narrows, on the other side of the bridge. Housing the most ridden filth and crime than main Gotham. A man like him was simply asking for trouble - and living in it, wallowing in it.

~o~

It didn't take long for him to track down the man who tried to come onto Miss Tate, whom Jonathan Crane had no idea why he had to step in to save in the first place. He wasn't the heroic type, nor was he what everyone would call a "good man" if they knew about what he was up to in the basement of his own asylum. He wouldn't label himself anything by any means; if he wanted something, he went for it. He didn't care any longer what anyone thought of him. However, he was prepared for drastic means if anyone tried to take what belonged to him.

Dr. Crane smiled behind his burlap mask he kept on him at all times, gazing down at the writhing beast, screaming and crying for mercy like his other subjects to date. This was his personal brand of justice if the system itself was corrupt on all levels. No one would have done anything about it had something terrible happened to her and it had been reported to the police, so he took care of it himself.

He still didn't know why he decided to rescue the girl. But the moment she walked through the door - he'd seen her before, but it had been outside the bar - he wondered why she was even here. Her name was Miranda Tate, and he was determined to learn about her, after tonight. He wanted to know what she feared - she bore a strong shell, but even the strongest person feared something - and whatever secrets she might be hiding. She seemed so powerful, so mysterious...and something worth exploring.

"Please," the insolent pig on the ground before him cried, reaching up to him and clawing through air. "Please, make it stop! Get them off of me!"

Crane laughed, his voice coming out as a rattling rasp through the speakers. "And what exactly is the matter? The doctor is here to help you," he crooned, leaning down now and brushing his knuckles against the man's brow, making him flinch.

"The chains - the chains - they're suffocating me! They won't let me go!"

Crane let loose another laugh; it was indeed laughable. Chains shackled you, prevented you from what and who you loved most. His own world had tried to do that to him as a young boy, until he broke free from them and the ones who tried to bind him with them. They thought they could destroy him, but his inner strength had thus grown and became all too easy to ignore. "It's no less than you deserve," he sneered down at the man, standing then and pulling the sleeve of his jacket over the canister strapped to his wrist. He'd given him a large enough dose to drive ten of his side of the species mad; it would be a matter of time before he succumbed to death from his fear. It was no less than he deserved for disrespecting a young woman and punching him in the face. He would be sporting a bruise on his cheek, and people would wonder where he got it, but he would not give them the satisfaction. He would pay them for their silence and no questions asked.