The dream haunted Emma through the entire drive to work, it had been so vivid she could have sworn it was real. Glancing at the passing landscape, she kept trying to shake it out of her head, but it kept creeping back in. It just…it felt so…real. Granted, it had seemed like ages since the last time she felt the touch of a man, surely she thought, this was just a sign she needed to tear herself away from work for awhile and actually get laid.

Her thoughts went back to Crane and she contemplated if perhaps she had been a bit too quick to judge him. While he seemed to have some misogynistic tendencies, he did have a great wealth of information from his time as a Professor, in addition to his great many published works, even if she didn't agree with all of his assumptions. Emma supposed he had taken the time to seek her out and apologize to her, so perhaps they got off on the wrong foot and it was worth trying to make some sort of amends. Who knew, if she could look past some of his arrogance, he may even prove to be a valuable ally and resource.

The day started off pretty much the same as the day before. Emma went to her office, checked messages, and after about an hour realized she was going to need some coffee if she was ever going to get through the morning. The dark circles under her eyes from the tumultuous night of sleep made her look somewhat like a racoon, and the makeup wasn't doing a stellar job of hiding it. She took her cup back to her desk, had a few sips, and then took a patient file to look over in the library.

The library was conveniently located in the mansion with most of the staff offices. One had to weave through a few corridors before reaching a set of ornately carved double doors at the entrance. The facility was stocked; not only were there rows upon rows of some of the best reference books available, but also files from every case to ever enter through the facility. With the file under her arm, she walked to a nearby desk and sat down. Tired head resting on one of her hands, she flipped through the stapled pages in between sips of coffee. It was one of her patients, Kevin Johnson. He had a particularly horrific case of anxiety and depression. After a winning combination of both psychotherapy and medication, she had managed to get him into safe territory. Still, she wanted to review over his file and see if she could manage to give him the last push he needed to get out of this place and make it on his own. Light footsteps echoed off of the high ceilings from one of the guards. The guard on duty today was Bill, a portly fellow with graying hair and a bald spot on the back of his head that his hat only half covered up. Bill had been on the staff at Arkham now for at least 30 years, and his face showed it. Emma couldn't imagine how anyone could stand being in this place for that long, dealing with the breakouts. At the end though, she supposed money was money, and when you were in need of it you were willing to put up with a lot to get it.

"Good morning Doctor Avery. Everything going well?"

"Just fine Bill thank you," she looked up and smiled at the guard as he passed. A mere moment had passed in the quiet solitude of the nearly vacant library when Emma saw someone enter the room out of her peripheral vision. She knew it was Crane before narrowing her vision to confirm it, and reluctantly decided she ought to be friendly as a result of her mental dialogue this morning on the way in.

"Good morning Doctor Crane. Are you feeling more comfortable here yet?" He smiled slightly as he gazed up at the ceiling.

"I've felt comfortable here the moment I walked in the doors…" he said dreamily.

"Listen…" she went on in a soft and somewhat smooth voice.

"…Jonathan" He interjected, hands in his pockets, coming closer.

"Yes, Jonathan. I apologize for my rashness yesterday, I've been a bit…on edge lately. As I'm sure you know, as a fellow researcher, it can be quite frustrating when you just can't seem to find what you need"

"Hmmm. Frustrated, from the research. Sure." He chuckled lightly. Emma felt the tightness of anger creep up again, here she was stooping to reach out to him, new to the facility, and he was making arrogant jokes at her expense.

"Is something funny?"

"My, my doctor, you look horrible. Did you have a rough night?" He cocked his eyebrow and chuckled some more. She slammed the file shut.

"Yesterday, you asked me to elaborate on my opinion of your article." The chuckling stopped and his brows furrowed. His jaw muscles bulged out as he clenched his teeth.

"And?"

"And, I think you are naïve because you left out an entire piece to the puzzle. You focus only on external stimuli and fail to address the internal factors at play."

"Perhaps, but external factors trigger a greater response…" he said matter-of-factly.

"Are you so sure? Why don't you talk to someone with PTSD. Their fear is no longer in front of their face, but burned into their memories. Take this case." She held the file as she stood up.

"This patient was so afraid of his dead father's abuse that he was willing to try to end his life to make the fear go away. We all fear something Crane. Even if we can't see it."

"Well, I've done trials of my own. While I haven't had a clear success yet, I'm willing to bet I could make a believer out of you. Someday." He pressed his lips together. Her eyes went directly towards those beautiful, plump lips. The lips that haunted her dreams and that she wished would shut the hell up. His handsomeness just added to the annoyance.

"Speaking of trials Ms. Avery"

"Doctor" She corrected with clenched teeth, closing her eyes in irritation.

"Of course" Crane said mockingly.

"Your trials, how have they been going? You haven't made any of your case files public yet."

"I like to keep my work confidential until I have FACTS Doctor Crane." Emma looked up and stared him right in his bright blue beautiful eyes…she got lost for a second, they were so clear…flashes jumped in her head from her dream, his hands, his lips, his kiss…

"Emma, Emma…EMMA!"

"What?" she shook her head for a second

"Are you alright, your eyes started glazing over for a second."

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine! Here" Emma picked up a reference book on PTSD and slammed it against his chest

"Maybe you could learn something. Unless…you're too AFRAID of being wrong." Once again she left him bewildered, stomping back to her office, hands shaking with anger. Why is he affecting me like this? He wasn't the first arrogant doctor she had met, and was certain he wouldn't be the last, but something was different, got up under her skin. She walked into her office and closed the door behind, collapsing into her chair and slamming her head down on the large stained oak desk.

Emma came home exhausted after another late night in the lab. She rifled through her mail as she opened the door to her apartment, noting nothing exciting: bills, some journals she had subscribed to, and a wedding invitation from her cousin. Quickly kicking off her shoes, she shrugged her jacket and set it on one of the kitchen table chairs. After flipping on the television, she opened up the refrigerator and scouted out some leftovers, which were promptly heated up in the microwave and taken to eat on the couch.

The space was somewhat humble, a standard kitchenette set to the side with adequate counterspace, a small area for a high top breakfast table, and an attached living area with enough space for a couch, lounge chair, and television. A balcony with a tremendous view from the 13th floor dwelling was just off the living area, essentially a giant window looking out to the Gotham skyline. Emma's bedroom was down a small hallway, with a linen closet, laundry area, and a standard sized bathroom. It was high enough up that she didn't have to worry about the sounds of the city at all times of the night, but a good enough location where one could still enjoy view.

Once dinner was done and cleaned up, Emma treated herself to a hot bubble bath, enjoying the way the hot water soothed her muscles after a long day hunched over the lab bench. Once she dried off, her hair was hastily tied back and she threw on a pair of comfortable flannel pajama pants and a long sleeve shirt. But, even though the day was coming to an end, she couldn't help but find herself ready to work again. For this reason, she kept a notebook on her nightstand to jot any notes or ideas for her projects or cases.

Snuggling into the covers she reached over to grab for it, only to find it suspiciously missing.

"That can't be right, I never move it," she muttered to herself. Becoming somewhat frantic, she began to look under the bed, in the closet, in the kitchen, on the couch, searching every inch for a sign of the notebook. It was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, she remembered a few times when the old battered notebook was shoved into her briefcase, and assumed if it was obviously nowhere in the apartment, it must be back in her office somewhere. At this point, she was far too tired to worry much, and decided she would settle for writing on a spare notepad and then going to bed.