So basically, I've fallen absolutely head-over-heels in love with this ship, so here's my first fic about them, ok? If you take the time to read this, please, PLEASE leave me a really quick review, I'd love to know what you think of my work. (Especially when I start writing smutty chapters - I promise I will this time - I'll need all the assurance that I'm not doing as horrendously as I think that I can get!) Just so you know, I've altered some of the scenes from the movie to make this fic work. Hope that's ok.
Rated M for sexual content, language and the mention/use of drugs.
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One
"And now," said Judge Faden resignedly into his microphone, pausing momentarily to briefly scan the notes on his desk. "May I ask Dr. Jonathan Crane, PhD, the director of the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, to take his place in the witness box?"
Rachel Dawes rolled her eyes and fought hard to suppress a disbelieving, humourless laugh – over the last week, Crane had been called to testify at the hearings of several of the crime lord Carmine Falcone's paid lackeys, and on each and every occasion so far his 'professional opinion' had quickly led to the jury deciding that a slap on the wrist and a spell in the asylum would be the best method of rehabilitation. And at that moment, as the lithe figure of the good doctor took his seat in the stand, Rachel would have bet every cent she owned that today's outcome would be no different. She sat back in her chair beside Carl Finch, Gotham's district attorney, and glared forward, her jaw set, her stomach churning in anger over the fact that the city's justice system had fallen so far in such a short space of time. The judges and juries and even the criminals of Gotham used to have at least something of an understanding of what was ethical, but now, social standing and personal finances meant everything, and the concept of justice, of impartiality, of integrity, had been warped and distorted so much that it was almost impossible to distinguish an allegedly honest man from the hordes of felons that prowled the streets. The man on trial today was Victor Zsasz – having already been found guilty of numerous counts of armed robbery and murder, Zsasz had been returned to downtown Gotham's courthouse to await sentencing.
His time of reckoning had come. "How do you feel about Mr Zsasz's current psychological condition, Dr. Crane?" asked Faden, lowering his gaze to the man in the witness box.
Leaning forward toward the microphone, Crane began his speech in the same polite, rehearsed manner he had adopted during the last two hearings. His piercing blue eyes, remarkable even from across the courtroom, caught Rachel's for a brief moment before glancing back up toward the judge. "In my opinion, Mr Zsasz is as much danger to himself as he is to others, and that prison is probably not the best environment for his rehabilitation," he said, his voice silky smooth.
Unable to control herself, Rachel was forced to disguise a sceptical laugh as a cough. Crane turned his head sharply in her direction, his gaze not angry as she had expected but inquisitive, and for a moment, her breath hitched in her throat. The expression on his striking face, in those ice cold eyes, caught her completely with her guard down and, try as she might, Rachel suddenly found it impossible to look away from him. Judge Faden was speaking again, presumably performing the traditional advisory ritual for the benefit of the jury, but for the first time since the beginning of her stint as assistant district attorney, she could safely say that she had tuned out her surroundings entirely. The courtroom faded to black and white, and all that remained in vivid, kaleidoscopic colour was herself and Dr. Jonathan Crane. His stare presented a challenge; it asked questions, demanded answers, sent a shock across her skin that she had never experienced before. For several seconds – although, to Rachel, it felt as though hours had passed – their gazes never left one another. Then Judge Faden's gavel came down on his desk. Crane turned his head back to the judge but kept his eyes on her.
"Mr Zsasz will be moved to Arkham Asylum's high-security unit immediately," he clarified, glancing at Rachel and raising his eyebrows. She blushed. Had she seen the silent confrontation that had taken place between herself and Crane? Faden removed his reading spectacles and tapped the gavel on the desk once more. "Court dismissed."
She noticed Finch relax in his chair and turn toward her out of the corner of her eye, but her attention was focused elsewhere – she watched Dr. Crane as he ran an elegant, long-fingered hand through his dark curls, gathered himself quickly and strode out of the courtroom, his path inches from where Rachel sat, stirring tendrils of her hair as he went. Consciously or not, Rachel inhaled, taking in the faint, lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne that Crane carried with him. She found herself holding her breath in an attempt to commit the smell to memory.
"No surprises there, then," murmured Finch. Embarrassed by the stupidity of her actions, Rachel exhaled sharply as she turned to him, ridding herself of the scent that continued to play around her nostrils.
"I can't believe that just happened," she stated plainly, not entirely sure herself which event in particular she was referring to. She shook her head. "All I'd like to know is how much Falcone's paying Crane to serve as his walking get-out-of-jail-free card." They stood and tucked their chairs back underneath the desk. Sighing, Rachel followed Finch as he led the way back toward the atrium.
/
Jonathan Crane tore his taunting eyes away from the district attorney's lovely assistant just in time to hear the judge announce the verdict on Zsasz's sentence. And of course, as could have been predicted, he was set to become yet another inmate at Arkham rather than Blackgate Penitentiary Prison. Some would have said that the two were very similar with only one subtle difference separating them: in the jail, the detention cells were specifically designed to protect a prisoner from those around them. At Arkham, it was to protect inmates from themselves. He had been drawn to the asylum in the first place by his increasing fascination with the human mind and its little quirks and complexities – after passing his final exams with flying colours and gaining his doctorate and PhD, his qualifications, quick judgement and uncanny ability to understand his patients with great ease were what had carried him easily up through the ranks at Arkham. In his position as director, he had unrestricted access to any documents or case files he needed or wanted to see, not to mention his own personal laboratory in which he was free to experiment after hours, a perk which had come in particularly handy over the last few months.
As a faithful and trusted doctor, the jury and the judge had simply been unable to deny Jonathan's opinion on where Zsasz should serve his custodial sentence. Of course, if they had, if the thug had been sent down to rot at Blackgate, he would not have batted an eyelid. Falcone and his men were being paid for their part in his drug smuggling operation – by taking advantage of his position at Arkham to help relieve Falcone's lackeys of jail time, he was doing a favour for a friend with access to high places. While it may be somewhat relevant to his own interests in the long-term, it was not entirely necessary.
Jonathan gave Rachel Dawes another fleeting look, this time unintentionally, as she stared up at the judge who promptly concluded the hearing. It amused him to know that she was clearly the only one in the courtroom with any sense of morality, any basic human instinct whatsoever – how on earth did the jury not realise that, for the third time that week, an offender was going to be sent to an peaceful padded cell for mollycoddling rather than to the prison he clearly deserved to perish in? No one had interceded, nor had they interfered. But Rachel... well, there was a spark of life in her that Jonathan had not been forced to face for a while in Gotham. The way she had audibly scoffed upon hearing his opinion showed grit to say the least. She was an intelligent woman; her body language, dubiously raised eyebrows and lack of concentration during the hearing went some way to prove that at least she knew what was going on. She was clearly aware of the connections he had forged with some dangerous people, yet she had allowed her defiance to manifest itself without a second thought. She showed no fear, while the rest of the city's people were riddled with it. It was part of their psyche, unconditional, unchanging. But it will change, a voice in the back of his mind thought meekly as he picked up his briefcase and rose from his seat. The terrified people of Gotham are going to have to face their fears very soon, whether they want to or not.
"Dr Crane?" came the unmistakable voice of the audacious assistant district attorney as Jonathan made his way toward the heavy front doors of Gotham's courthouse through the atrium. The wide hall was bright and airy, bustling with people in powdered wigs and robes, coming to and from various courtrooms and hearings. But still, he was able to pick out Rachel's voice through the cacophony. He stopped walking and turned around, cocking his head and she caught up with him.
"Miss Dawes," he greeted her, nodding politely before continuing dismissively on his way out of the building. Rachel followed him, to his surprise, shoving strands of her long hair back out of her face with her hands. He heard her exhale sharply, exasperatedly, and stopped, looking at her with wide eyes. Up close, for the first time since they had met at another hearing several days previously, he noticed a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose, not obvious against her tanned skin. He fought a smile as he observed this little quirk and returned his gaze to her eyes, chocolate brown, bright and fervent with misguided determination.
"Do you really think a man that butchers people for the mob doesn't belong in jail?" she asked, not accusingly, her voice probing. It reminded him of the godforsaken newspaper reporters that often hung around the asylum asking for information on his more high-profile patients.
He sighed slowly. "I would hardly have testified to that otherwise, would I, Miss Dawes?" His voice dripped with condescension, and he ignored the bizarre twitch he felt in the pit of his stomach when he was met with her affronted expression. He turned on his heel and managed another three paces in the direction of the exit before she spoke to him again.
"This is the third of Falcone's thugs you've had declared insane and moved into your asylum," she said, her voice strong, dashing forward with as much grace as she could clearly manage and blocking his way out. She stared into his face searchingly for a moment, and her jaw fell slack.
"Well, the work offered by organised crime must have an attraction to the insane," he told her, poker face firmly in place. His eyes bore into hers and she took a step closer to him, their faces now only inches apart. Rachel's lips pressed together into a hard line.
"Or the corrupt," she said, her voice soft but as challenging as it could be. How dare she! He had to admit, despite her evidently fiery nature, he was shocked she would make such a blatant insinuation to his face. He had to admire her passion, but a laugh at Rachel's tenacity was threatening to surface, so without a second glance Jonathan turned and walked around her, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes and noticing her superior exiting the men's bathroom as he went.
"Mr Finch," he addressed him. Finch looked up and took a step forward, opening his mouth to greet him. Jonathan cut him off before he had the opportunity. "I think you should check with Miss Dawes here..." He glanced back at Rachel, his expression mocking. Her eyes searched his face. Did he imagine that she shook her head in astonishment? "... just what implications your office has authorised her to make... if any." And with that, a fake brief smile in place, he nodded his goodbye to Finch and left the courthouse without another word to Rachel.
As soon as he stepped out into the muted afternoon sunlight and began his walk toward the Narrows, he lit a cigarette and pulled out his phone. Dialling the number he had memorised, the number that only a select handful of people had ever been given, he pulled in a lungful of smoke and held the phone to his ear. Falcone picked up on the second ring.
"What can I do for you, Dr. Crane?" Falcone drawled, his stateside lilting accent particularly evident over the phone.
"I'm sure you've already been notified, but in case you haven't, Zsasz's on his way to Arkham," he said, exhaling a long funnel of smoke. "Now no more freebies. I can't risk anyone finding out about what's going on."
"No fair, doc. You know what we agreed," said Falcone acidly. "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. I'm bringing in the shipments."
"In return for payment," Jonathan clarified, taking a short drag off his cigarette. "I'm not an idiot, Mr. Falcone. I know you're not intimidated by me, or anyone..." He lowered his voice and glanced around, but the street he was idly walking along was empty. Ducking into an alley, he leant against a brick wall and flicked his cigarette ash onto the ground. "But when my employer arrives..."
"He's coming to Gotham?" demanded Falcone after a pause, his voice suddenly laced with concern.
"He certainly is," he confirmed disdainfully, smirking at the Falcone's evident panic. He continued walking, the road signs signalling Arkham Asylum coming thick and fast now. As far as the general public knew, the network of the mysterious Ra's Al Ghul was far-reaching and impenetrable, with countless levels and ranks that left the crime lord able to constantly avoid getting his hands dirty. His imminent arrival in Gotham would be sure to keep Falcone malleable, like putty in Jonathan's hands. "And I don't think he's going to be too pleased to hear that you've endangered our entire operation just to get your thugs out of a little jail time," he finished before inhaling once more.
Falcone didn't answer for a moment. "Dr. Crane," he began, a smile in his voice. "Why the sudden concern? You haven't had a problem with testifying on behalf of my men until now. Has someone got you spooked?"
Jonathan refused to show any sign of weakness. He sighed. "There's a girl at the DA's office that seems to have worked out a little more than she should," he told him, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall of a brick building as he walked. He thought back to half an hour ago when he had caught the eye of the effervescent Miss Dawes, her face stark with incredulity but not an ounce of fear. She had seemed entirely at ease with the situation – despite the outcome she had clearly not desired but had in some way anticipated – and her body language had not betrayed her. Thugs, crime lords and convicts did not intimidate the young assistant district attorney, but Jonathan could not help but wonder what did. Nobody was exempt from fear, not even the infallible, Little-Miss-Perfect Rachel Dawes. How many skeletons could be lurking in her closet? What was it that kept her awake at night, tossing and turning, warding off nightmares, waking her with a blood-curdling scream when it reached its horrifying peak?
Falcone laughed, a harsh, unnerving sound. "Why would that be an issue? We'll buy her off," he said plainly, a tapping that sounded like a pen on a desk resonating from the other end of the phone.
"Not this one," he assured him jadedly, immediately guessing what Falcone's next course of action would be.
"Idealist, huh?" Falcone chuckled blackly once. "Well... there's an answer to that too."
Of course.
"I don't want to know," said Jonathan, resisting the urge to roll his eyes apathetically as he climbed the front steps of the asylum that he had devoted his life and work to since his graduation.
"Yes, you do," muttered Falcone, then the line went dead.
Violence, he had learnt, was Carmine Falcone's number one solution to every problem that he faced, second only to giant corporate payouts of laundered money. But Jonathan knew Rachel's silence would not be bought – with her strong will, fixation with justice and vivacious personality, there was no way that she would accept payment in return for keeping her head down and allowing a few more of Falcone's lackeys to avoid incarceration. He almost sighed as he strode through the front doors of the asylum and headed down the main corridor toward the elevator. Such a waste, he thought idly. It was refreshing to find somebody so daring, so bold, so fearless, in a city where it was a challenge to simply make it home after work or go to the nearest corner store without becoming a victim of some sort of crime. For the second time that day, he found himself musing over what Rachel could possibly be afraid of as he turned his key in the elevator and felt the metal box carry him below the surface of the ground.
He'd have to make a point to ask her before she was killed.
/
So guys, what do you think so far? Interested? Love it? Hate it? Either way, I would be truly grateful if you were to leave me a review. Long or short, I don't mind, anything will be brilliant! Chapter two should be up soon. The proper AU stuff is on its way, I promise! Not to mention the juicy bits too! ;) Just bear with me, and remember, reviews are what motivate me to write!