A/N: You know those times when you have stuff stuck in your head and it keeps bugging you until you write it out? This is one of those times. Yeeeeah, there's an OC. This probably isn't going to be amazing, but I hope you like it if you read.

Disclaimer: Batman and DC Comics and anything Nolanverse aren't mine--because if they were, I wouldn't be going to college with the surplus of money I'd be getting.

---

To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead.

-- Bertrand Russel

I should have died that night.

He told me different, but I really should have died.

If it weren't for his uncharacteristic pang of sympathy, I would not be here.

Maybe, seeing as how things turned out, it would have been better. If he had just left me there. But for whatever reason, he didn't. He didn't just let me burn.

For whatever reason, he saved me.

I remember the entire place going up in smoke in the matter of minutes. As to why I was there in the first place, I don't really know. I think it was my cousin's birthday, Hollis. She was turning twenty-one, and there I was gallivanting around the bar like I was the one who was drinking legally for the first time. I don't remember when we got there or who we came with or even seeing my cousin at all after we first stepped in; all I can see in my mind before looking up at him through the flames was myself sitting at the bar, laughing and mock-flirting with some man gracing forty years old and downing a fifth glass of vodka. I shouldn't have done that, thinking back--maybe I would have been sober enough to have gotten myself out of there before the Scarecrow lit it up like a Roman candle.

I was shooing away the drunk guy and giggling at myself at around midnight, I guess it was, and then there were screams, lots of them, mostly from Hollis's girlfriends. Sensing the sudden eruption of panic, I started stumbling around in search of my cousin, like she would just appear and everything would be okay. I remember shouting her name, but everything goes black after that; the next thing I know, I was on the hardwood floor of the bar, feeling shoes stomping on my body as people trampled over my drunk ass to flee the burning place. I suppose I had passed out from all the smoke and from being so drunk, too drunk to even know that I was probably going to die less than a half hour from then.

But my eyes opened. I don't know how or why I decided to open my eyes when I did, but I did. And I saw him. Staring down at me with those unearthly blue eyes, the rest of his face hidden underneath that god-awful burlap sack of a mask. The Scarecrow.

I was too drunk to realize how afraid I was--or should be, of him, so I closed my eyes again. Passed out again. Didn't feel him lifting me up bridal style and carrying me into that van. Didn't feel the vehicle coming to a halt, stopping near the bridge to The Narrows.

I don't know how it did, but his voice slipped into my ears in a soft coo, waking me from my stupor with ease. "Where do you live?"

I blinked a few times, sitting up as straight as I could in the passenger's seat, looking everywhere around myself until my gaze settled on him. I gasped when I saw that the mask was absent. The darkness shielded most of his face, so it didn't make much of a difference seeing him without it, but there was no way any shadow could block out those ridiculously hypnotic blue eyes. He blinked them, his long eyelashes batting against his cheeks, sending me straight back into my stupor.

"Where do you live, Miss Timore?"

How did he know my name? I guess my face gave away the question in my head, because he pulled my purse from under his seat, pulled out the clutch, and took my driver's license out of it.

"Oh--you--I--"

"I didn't have time to Google your home address, so you'll have to navigate."

Whether this comment was sarcastic or not, I couldn't tell; my breathing was shallow and my heart was skipping beats as I stared blankly at him, feeling more totally nauseated than I had while stuck in the burning building. Questions upon questions started swimming around in my mind, overwhelming me in my still-drunken state. It was then that I realized that Hollis had been right about me being more than just a little tipsy.

And that was when I decided on the first question I'd ask. "Where's--Hollis?"

He arched an eyebrow.

"My--Hollis, my cousin--tall, skinny--blonde girl--?"

He bit on his bottom lip; his face darkened in the growing shadows. "Perhaps she's at home waiting for you."

I let out a long, drawn-out "yeah!" and settled into my seat, suppressing my urge to vomit by focusing my thoughts on Hollis. He was probably right; she was probably sitting right at home waiting for me. I drawled out directions and fell in and out of sleep as he drove me home.

---

I saw white when I opened my eyes. Odd, I thought to myself, my ceiling isn't white. What was this room? I sat up; realizing that I'd been in a bed. How did I get there? And why wasn't it my bed?

I looked about, seeing more and more white. My vision was slightly blurry and my head dizzied as I pushed the sheets off my legs. I felt the vomit rising up in my throat and panicked; looking around for my bathroom, but didn't find it. I stood up and felt my body shaking violently; glancing at the night table by my side and taking note of the teddy bear sitting under the lamp. I didn't have a teddy bear in my room, but Hollis did.

When it occurred to me that it was Hollis's room, I remembered that she had her own bathroom as well, so I darted for it. I collapsed on the tiled floor, hurling into the toilet as I wondered why I was in my cousin's room instead of my own. I threw up for a few excruciatingly painful minutes and picked myself up, examining my face in the mirror and thinking that I definitely needed a shower. I wiped my mouth with toilet paper and stumbled out of her bedroom and down the hall towards mine. Carelessly, I flung the door open, subjecting myself to a heart attack when I saw the man who saved me entangled in my sheets.

"Lorraine!" my cousin hissed, emerging from my bathroom.

"Hollis, what--what--"

"Shh, shut up, come here--" she whispered fiercely, seizing my wrist and pulling me into my bathroom.

"God, you smell like puke," she said to me as she shut the door, wrinkling her nose.

"I just threw up," I told her obviously, pulling my shirt off. "I'm getting in the shower."

I stepped behind the curtain and stripped myself of my garments, tossing them over the rail as Hollis started on a roll.

"He brought you here around one in the morning," she explained, squeaking. "You were drunk off your ass, Rain. The only reason I didn't slam the door in his face was because he had you in his arms."

"Why would you do that?" I asked, squeezing shampoo in my palm and rubbing it into my dark, wet locks.

Hollis scoffed; I could tell she was wide-eyed and open-mouthed as she hissed, "Rainy, do you know who that is? He's--he's Jonathan Crane, that crazy doctor who broke out of Arkham a few weeks ago! The Scarecrow!"

I rolled my eyes as I rinsed the vanilla shampoo out of my hair. "Yeah, so? He saved me, didn't he? You didn't have to let him sleep here, genius--"

"He asked if I'd like a dose of that toxin instead," she grunted. "So yeah, I kinda had to let him stay."

"So what's the big deal?"

"The big deal," Hollis began glumly, "is that we have a psychotic criminal mastermind sleeping in your bed. Now what do you suppose we do about that?"

I sighed and scrubbed my limbs with body wash as I answered, "Wait til he leaves. Nothing else we can do."

"Maybe you didn't hear me," Hollis started quietly, edging closer to the curtain, "but I did say that he's a criminal, and you did see him sleeping right there--aren't you even the slightest bit freaked out by that?"

I laughed, the suds vanishing from my body thanks to the water. I grabbed the towel that hung on the wall and started drying myself off. "Freaked out by a scarecrow? Come on Hollis, I thought you turned twenty-one, not twelve."

"Are you still drunk?" she squealed, eyeballing me as I stepped out of the shower in my towel, my head and face still wet. "I don't care if he dresses up like a teddy bear; he's still a psycho and I don't want him in my house!"

"So that's why he's sleeping in my bed and I woke up in yours?" I asked smugly, wringing the water out of my hair.

Hollis glared at me underneath heavily made up eyes and scoffed. "Whatever Rain, you can deal with it now--I have to go to work."

"Sourpuss," I said playfully, winking at her.

"I hope he scares the shit out of you with that god-awful mask, you ass," she snapped, flinging open the door to find the doctor standing in front of it, sleepy-eyed and half naked.

"Oh!"

"Oh shit--"

The doctor visibly swallowed and backed up from the door; he obviously hadn't expected to meet two women on the other side of it, especially not one wrapped only in a towel. Hollis's eyes darted back and forth between him and myself, then she scampered out of the room, leaving me standing awkwardly in front of the supposed criminal.

"Erm--"

"Uh--" was all I could mutter, clutching the fabric at my front. "I'll--I'll be out in a minute."

---

"I didn't think you'd still be here." I sat across from him at the small round table in the kitchen, eyeing him as I sipped coffee.

"I didn't expect to sleep for so long." Crane stirred the tea and kept his eyes locked on his steaming mug as he spoke. "I planned on leaving before either you or your cousin awoke."

"You weren't going to say goodbye?" I regretted asking as soon as I did. I sounded much like one of the bubble-headed teens from my class.

"I didn't think you'd care," he answered honestly, "having been drunk and all. I figured you wouldn't have remembered that I saved you."

"I would have," I insisted defensively, trying to bring his gaze up. "Eventually. I remembered as soon as I woke up that you brought me here."

He lifted his eyebrows and smirked slightly. Obviously he didn't believe that. I scoffed inwardly.

"Thank you," I offered, hoping that this phrase would draw his gaze.

It did.

He smirked more plainly, blinking those thick eyelashes as he muttered, "You're welcome."

I couldn't help the smile that stretched upon my lips as I breathed in through my nostrils and blinked back at him. However, remembering the questions that had been floating around my head from the night before caused it to fade as quickly as it came.

"You didn't have to do it, you know."

"I know."

A pause. I thought he'd explain himself, but my assumption was clearly wrong. I furrowed my brow in slight frustration and took another sip from my mug, watching as he did the same.

"If you're wondering why I did it," he said, after smacking his lips, "I cannot answer that."

"Why not?" I asked lightly, disappointed.

He drew in a breath and removed the glasses he'd been wearing. "Because. I don't have a reason."

I giggled slightly, placing my elbows on the table. "You just randomly rescued someone you didn't know from a building that you set on fire."

"That would appear to be the case, Miss Timore."

"I wouldn't expect a criminal to have the heart to do something like that," I joked, hoping he wouldn't be offended. The smug look on his face told me that he wasn't easily bothered.

"I'm certain that my heart has no say in the things I do."

"Really?" I inquired, interested. "So, you're not one to listen to your heart."

"I don't see why I would," he said back sensibly, "it doesn't speak to me."

"You're not very imaginative, are you?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't take it as an insult.

"You aren't very practical, are you?" he threw back, sipping his tea.

I blushed slightly and cursed at myself inwardly for it. I was never very easily embarrassed, because I never really cared what others thought of me, but somehow, I cared what he thought, this criminal sitting across from me. I cared about what he thought a lot.

"So what does your heart tell you?" he asked, his voice slow and soothing, like the honey mixed into his tea. "Since you apparently listen to yours."

I arched an eyebrow, unsure of whether he was making fun of me or attempting to psycho-analyze me. Probably both. Either way, I wanted to give him an impressive answer--or rather, one that would make me seem intelligent enough for his taste. I drummed my fingers along the sides of my mug as I mused.

"I guess," I started, feeling foolish, "it depends on what's going on."

"I see." He fixated his gaze on a spot on the wall as he sipped again. He set the mug down and put his glasses back on. "Is it telling you anything right now?"

He was definitely trying to psycho-analyze me. I felt a quiver in my spine as I shifted in my seat, grasping my mug as if I were grasping onto my dear life. I looked from his face to the table and chewed on my bottom lip as he stared on, awaiting an answer.

"It's--I'm--erm--"

He blinked once, very slowly, as if he knew I was losing myself in his eyes; as if he knew I was completely hypnotized by their sky-blue hue. I felt my breathing steadily becoming erratic as I found myself locked with his gaze.

"It's telling me," I started, my voice abnormally high, "that I want to see you again."

His chest rose and fell quickly and he then leaned over the table to say, "With or without the mask?"

---

A/N: "Timore" is an Italian word for fear, dread, awe, and fright.

This is an intended oneshot, but if reviewers want me to continue this, I gladly will.