Disclaimer: I stake no claim on DC's Batman.
Author's Note: So this is the opening to my sequel for Addiction, which I posted some years ago but uploaded a significant rewrite of last May. Although it shouldn't be impossible to follow this story without reading its prequel, I'd like to recommend that you do, purely because of references to events and developments in Becky's character.
Otherwise, I hope you enjoy...
The van's tires crunched innocently across the potholed gravel. We passed through the imposing gates that cut off Arkham Asylum from civilization. I was in the passenger seat, heartbeat drumming appropriately and gloriously fast. The collar to my suit jacket itched and my high heels felt like they were about to fall off, but I told myself it was worth it. It would all be worth it.
My eyes stared out of the windscreen, following the long, poorly kept road up to the main entrance. Three months had disappeared while planning this endeavour. I had last seen Jonathan being arrested on a rooftop not far from where I was now, and in the weeks after countless reruns of his capture on the news channels. Each one had made me ache a little more.
"Remember what I taught yer," Harley Quinn said in the seat beside me. Her appearance was the most casual I'd ever seen it. Even on Sundays she painted her face white and her lips red, but today she was in the guise of a hired driver, with loose clothes attempting to disguise her enviable physique. Harley's chipped nails tapped the wheel despondently.
She had been staying with Ivy for nearly two months, ever since her latest break-up. It was a topic I carefully avoided.
"I will," I said, a genuine smile pulling my lips apart. "Your expertise is incredible. This wouldn't be happening without you."
"Aw gee, I feel a blush comin'," Harley giggled and pulled the handbrake, stopping for yet another set of security checks. She rolled down the window and greeted the guard with a coy smile. None of them recognised that this young girl with a deliberately smudged face had already done time in the facility they protected. None of them knew I was someone to recognize, yet.
"Paperwork?" the tired security guard reached up for our right to pass. I didn't miss the way he missed looking at Harley's face.
"District health inspector, annual visit," she explained to him, slightly colder now. Her Brooklyn accent was subdued.
After flipping through the aptly forged papers, the guard waved us on and we rode steadily towards our goal. I took hold of my clipboard and resisted the urge to chew my scarlet nails.
"Yer cool, confident and in control," Harley reminded me. "I'm wantin' those shoes back, by the way."
I laughed and my nerves settled just a little. It scared me to think that those nerves weren't just caused by the impending heist. I didn't know what had happened to the Scarecrow in the months gone by. Had he given up on escape? On…me? I felt guilty for each moment his predicament had slipped my mind, even though Ivy had done well to distract me.
Back when Harley had first joined us, when she had insisted daily that life was overrated, Ivy had taken us on an excursion to terrorize a particularly despicable man. Apparently he was the CEO of a rapidly expanding industrial company, but he had turned down an action plan to make said company environmentally friendly. The simultaneous attacks of fear toxin, laughing gas and pheromones had created a highly amusing result, as well as kick-started a long and complex process that Harley called sisterly bondin'.
After that, I had frequently visited them at the oriental health store they stayed at in Chinatown, which Ivy charmed the owner of.
The van stopped one final time, jolting me back into the present. Jeremiah Arkham himself was waiting at the asylum's entrance for me. Although he looked small and slightly withered compared to the security officers either side of him, I could feel his contemptuous gaze being magnified by his frameless glasses. He and the guards began approaching the van.
"I take it yer'll be findin' a place with yer mister once this is all over," sighed Harley.
"Most likely," I nodded. "Red won't put him up, they aren't exactly friends, and going back to mine is out of the question after this."
"Well, best of luck. At first I thought yer were a strangely quiet one, but yer and Red really helped me pull through somethin' bad. And this lil' stunt is my way of sayin' thanks. Tell Scary I say hey," she shot me a devilish grin and I winked at her like she had taught me.
"I'll be in touch. You take care of yourself," my smile then frosted over as the door on my side opened. Harley quickly turned her face away. I looked directly into the rude stare of Arkham's chief psychiatrist.
"Hello, Ms. Goshawk," he said as I stepped from the van. The gravel felt dangerous under four inch heels, but my professional stance wouldn't have said so. Behind me, I heard Harley roll away. She would be parking the vehicle outside of my escape route, just off the island, and then she'd make her way back to Ivy's hideout.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Arkham," I forced myself to offer a handshake. My tongue strained against a stutter.
Cool, confident, in control.
I had been born the opposite.
"Your visit is a pleasure," Arkham said, in a tone that implied I was little more than a pesky mosquito. We began our walk to the double doors, the guards drifting idly at our shoulders.
"I certainly hope it will be," I sniffed. "I am sure you've heard that the standards have been significantly adjusted since my department's last visit."
"At Arkham, we aim to offer a secure, recuperating environment for all our patients," the head psychiatrist intoned.
My visit was tedious and long-winded and the amount of paperwork I had to fill out didn't improve my mood. It felt like I had to flash my fake ID before each door. I was sure I only saw the parts of the asylum that Jeremiah had hastily rearranged for my visit. Before I could check out the patient's treatment, I had to inspect every other facility, some of which made my stomach turn over.
There was only one person I really wanted to see here.
Jeremiah's persistent explanations did well to undermine my authority, but each step I took knocked it back into me. Harley's suggestion of a navy suit with red heels may have been exceedingly uncomfortable, but at least I didn't come off as a timid schoolgirl.
"I believe it's mandatory for me to inspect at least one of your high-level security patients. Of my own selection," I pointed out coolly.
With an almost inaudible sigh, Jeremiah pulled out a miniature tablet from his white lab coat and showed me the screen. His stylus flicked lazily through what was no doubt his list of favourite patients.
"Jonathan Crane?" I suggested, seeing the name flash up.
"To block B, then," said Arkham. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to see-"
"I'm most sure, doctor," I interrupted.
Hesitant and grumbling, the head psychiatrist led me on.
I tried to get my pulse to match our pace, but I couldn't keep it under control. Three months I had waited for this. It had been tough, trying to carry on Jonathan's research without his guidance. The general public had heard of Nightmare since her and Scarecrow's attack on the asylum. They had also heard, after Jonathan's incarceration, of the second attack on the psychiatrist Dr. Kellerman, the terrorizing of Crane's current therapist and of the numerous others who had attempted to dissect his thoughts during his previous confinements.
I just hoped all my efforts weren't going to be in vain.
I wrestled down the grin as the cell door loomed ahead. Already I could see the nervous glances that passed between the guards. My impromptu inspection would no doubt uncover things the asylum staff had wanted to gloss over.
The next stage of my plan was going to be a piece of cake.
A guard slid open the window in the cell's door.
"There's a health inspector coming in," the man announced gruffly to the patient inside.
"I am surprised he got so far without declaring this place deficient," a familiarly scathing voice replied.
I bit my lip expectantly.
Arkham's own electronic key opened the cell door, revealing a badly lit and altogether dismal space that was barely furnished. Or even large enough to be furnished.
Despite the straitjacket that restrained him, Jonathan was leant against the wall in what was probably meant to be an intimidating manner. I found it endearing. To say he looked thinner would've been a lie. It wouldn't have been possible.
The expression on Jonathan's face bordered on bewilderment. The malicious intent vanished from his startling blue eyes.
"The security for this area is appalling," I told Arkham hotly. "Do you think an electronic key is an appropriate method of protection?"
"This is the master key," Arkham tried to point out. "There are guards posted outside each door to the hallway. We ensure this block has no blind spots in the internal cameras and you're welcome to view the footage-"
"In your warm, mold-free surveillance room?" I asked. "Yes, that would be lovely, wouldn't it?" Then I lifted a foot and brought it down on the cell bed's rusted metal frame. The kick was more powerful than it looked. It snapped the beam holding up the sorry excuse for a mattress. Harley had taught me more than just false confidence over the last three months. "Far better than this room, no doubt."
Arkham looked like he was about to vomit indignation.
"Destruction of asylum property-"
"Would never have occurred if this asylum had been aptly equipped," I finished for him. "I want you to move this patient immediately."
"Very well," the head psychiatrist said stiffly. He turned out of the room and the guard's eyes followed him. I took the opportunity to glance at Jonathan. He raised a dark eyebrow, intrigued. I wanted desperately to hold him, to sort out his quite frankly messy hair, but for now I confined myself to an impassive wink.
"Move it, Crane," one of the guards said, forgetting that I was meant to assess the patient's treatment as well as the functionality of the actual building. "I mean, er…"
"All is forgiven, Stanton," the Scarecrow smiled nastily. "I am in a good mood today."
I pursued Arkham into the corridor and then the two guards that had escorted us flanked Jonathan. They were both a head taller than him, but neither appeared to find that a comfort.
"The only available cells of more recent renovation are in block F, on the ground floor," Arkham announced, as though the short walk would put me off.
"It's nice to know you have some," I replied, fighting the urge to say I know. Red had mesmerized a new surveillance officer earlier in the week, shortly after doing the same to the man who had forged my documents. I had the current whereabouts of over half of Gotham's most dangerous criminals on my phone.
Once in block F, I took my time inspecting one or two other cells before making my decision.
"Are you certain?" the head psychiatrist inquired, looking around at the scratch marks crowded on the walls. "This one is scheduled for restoration soon. Its last patient was most unstable."
Its last patient had been Victor Zsasz, who had recently disappeared through means unknown to Arkham's staff. How they weren't aware of the hidden passageway was beyond me. Clearly Jeremiah wasn't as sharp as his double first psychiatric degrees made out.
"Despite the interesting décor, this room just scrapes past basic requirements," I folded my arms. One guard then made for the door with Arkham, but my work wasn't done. "I'd also like to ask D- Mr. Crane some questions." My announcement was diminished by my slight falter. No one seemed to notice, but inside I was cursing.
"Very well then, Ms. Goshawk. Both guards will be-"
"Waiting outside," I insisted. "I wouldn't want the patient's opinion to be influenced in any way."
Thoroughly disliking what I was suggesting, Arkham tried to get his way one last time before giving up.
The door shut with a metallic clang. When the ringing faded, all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat.
"Finally," a relieved voice breathed in my ear.
"I couldn't get here any sooner," I apologized, turning to kiss him as though we had only been separated yesterday.
"I should be glad you could get here at all," Jonathan said.
"Did you think I wasn't coming?"
"I had my doubts," he admitted, but then his wicked smile returned. "So what are those questions you wanted to ask me, Ms. Goshawk?"
"Are you ready to escape?" I grinned.
"Am I ever," he rolled his eyes.
I tore off the straitjacket and then began hunting for the entrance to Zsasz's secret passageway. It wasn't where Harley predicted it would be.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I illuminated the path before us as Jonathan sealed our escape route. The architects had once laid down a concrete floor, but it was marked and dirty and treacherous. My heels clicked loudly in the gloomy, dripping darkness.
"It took ten hours of practice to walk in these things," I told Jonathan. "Kicking a metal bed frame apart took four."
"Sounds like you have kept busy while I was away," his tone was indecipherable.
"Busy planning your rescue," I reminded him.
The further we walked down the passage, the more it smelt like mold. My phone's flashlight was only so bright and I started dreading meeting someone down here. Whoever they were, they wouldn't be pleasant.
Whether he noticed a hitch in my breathing, or a stumble in my walk, I didn't know, but Jonathan was suddenly beside me, long fingers enveloping my shoulder.
"If my prediction is correct, it is unlikely to be much further," he said, not feeling the need to whisper in such a place. I figured being immune to all fear had its advantages. "Remember Zsasz would not have had a flashlight."
I sighed loudly, because of course he was right. I told myself that we were the scariest things down here. I always told myself that when insecurity wormed its way into my brain.
Sure enough, the path sloped upwards to a peeling blue door. Then we were inside a disused warehouse near the docks. The air was chilly but not unbearable.
I grinned as I imagined Arkham's face back at the asylum. He had undoubtedly opened the door to Zsasz's cell by now and discovered our disappearing act.
My heist had been successful. Jonathan was free.
"Is there a plan from here or should I take over?" he asked.
"I've got this," I said. "Harley should've left the van nearby."
"Harley?" Jonathan seemed surprised. "Harley Quinn? I assumed Poison Ivy was working with you."
"They both say hi. Well, actually, Red said something less polite. We've been a bit of a trio these past few months," I informed him.
"I see," he said reservedly.
I wasn't sure what he had expected me to say and I didn't have time to recount everything that had happened in his absence. The docks weren't a peaceful place and I wanted to be away from them as soon as possible.
We left the warehouse and not a hundred yards away was the van that had dropped me off at the asylum.
Harley was nowhere to be seen, but the van doors were unlocked and the keys were in the ignition.
"Now it's your turn," I said to Jonathan as he climbed in the driver's side. I slipped my feet from Harley's shoes. "Pick a road and drive."
The engine grumbled as it woke up, but we still had half a tank to get us wherever we needed to go. Jonathan seemed to have an idea, taking us away from the embankment and into the shadier part of the city.
"And I didn't even need Catwoman's help," I muttered triumphantly, as I stared at the passing streetlamps. The sun had sunk into a puddle of its own murk while we had been in the secret passageway. "I tried to get in touch with her first, but she never replied," I explained.
"Maybe you should fill me in on your activities over the past three months," Jonathan suggested.
I sat back and unbuttoned my suit jacket, telling him how I'd been staying between mine and Ivy's, after she had taken in Harley, and how we had assaulted that contemptible CEO. He was especially intrigued when I told him about the research I had carried out on blending Ivy's pheromones with fear dust. It was a continuation of what he'd formulated for the Penguin, as the result had been a more substantial form of mind control. My next plan had been to turn it into a solution.
Jonathan gave an appreciative laugh after I mentioned my experiment on his latest therapist.
"I did wonder why she resigned so suddenly. I was halfway through a mind game with her myself," he said. "Did you get any further on synthesizing a toxin for shared hallucinations?"
"I…uh, I was dedicated to developing the fear dust, if I'm honest," my eyes were fixed intently on the road and the scant few cars that passed us.
My tongue held the strange aftertaste of a lie.
Synthesizing any form of fear toxin was a struggle for me, and not just because of its complexity. Even though Ivy had healed my body after I'd abused it last year, and given me a resistance to it, I knew I couldn't handle putting it back in my system. I wanted to. Sometimes the temptation hit me when I least expected it. But if I crossed that line, if I experimented with sharing hallucinations myself, I wouldn't be able to stop.
For some reason, I couldn't say that to Jonathan's face.
Suddenly, the van braked and my heart leapt. A pair of headlights swerved close to our windscreen.
"My mistake," Jonathan murmured as the other driver carried on down the adjacent road. "Was he indicating?"
"Are you OK?" I asked bluntly.
"It...it is hard to tell. I doubt the drugs from my last treatment have stopped working yet," he confessed.
"Hell, I should've thought of that," I shook my ahead apologetically. "I should drive-"
"It is not that much further," argued Jonathan, starting to move again. I clenched my teeth shut and hoped we didn't encounter any more drivers. "Where is all this research you did, by the way?"
I jerked my thumb to the back of the van.
"Red and I went back for everything you had at your old lab," I said, not mentioning how all my essential possessions were back there too. "Sorry I couldn't drop in for a visit."
"I am surprised you went back to Arkham after nearly being arrested," he said.
"Did you think I'd just leave everything behind?" I asked resentfully.
My ears felt the sandbags of silence.
"Yes," he said quietly. The van stopped. "I thought there would be nothing to stop you returning to your old life."
He didn't look me in the eye as he spoke.
"What old life?" I laughed harshly. "I have nothing to go back to, Jonathan. This is my life."
I took his face in my hands and kissed him hard.
A/N: Drop me a review if you want to put a smile on someone's face. I'm open to all criticism.
And thank you for reading!