jacksparrowlovesme - I certainly do love the Professor. He's kind of a pathetic jerk sometimes, but you have to love bastards, right?
Vi - That's half the reason for the shift in perspectives. I love outsiders telling the story, it leaves so much to the imagination. ^_^
Sorry all if my updates slow down, I just haven't had much time to sit and edit these chapters before sending them out there, but I promise this story won't die. I shall not allow it. Spy commands it, so must it be.
Gah, I feel qualified to treat patients with all the psychology research I've been doing on pyromania in an effort to write a believable Firefly.
Chapter Three: Girls Town
**Crane**
With his broken leg he was of no use to anyone.
That much was made apparent when he was stuffed in the back room alone.
It wasn't so bad when Selina was sharing the bed with him, but now all he had was Jervis and that stinking rabbit corpse of his bringing him tea and food.
God, that rabbit was getting foul.
Sullenly reading the poetry book for the eighth time, Crane pouted a little.
He hated being lame. They should have just taken him out back and shot him like an old nag.
They took away his scythe so that he couldn't go anywhere.
You need to heal properly, Jon. Edward had said.
At least Edward had the decency to steal power from a nearby bait shop before leaving for the night to sleep in his car.
So Crane was given an old, ratty radio that was tuned in to his grandfather's music station by Ivy who smirked wickedly and walked out of the room, leaving the radio in the furthest corner where it would be one hell of a journey for Crane to make.
Fuck you, Pam.
Crane sighed heavily and set the book down.
He was beginning to feel like an old man sent to a nursing home. Rotting away in a room, bored to death and in an incredible amount of pain, people avoiding him like the plague.
He recalled how frosty Edward had been with him since his 'cat whore' remark.
Call her a whore again, Jonathan and I'll tie you up and leave you on a rooftop for the bat. Edward had said to him just hours ago.
Fuck you, Ed. The Riddler was just pissed off because he was robbed of the chance to kill Liddell himself.
The cat was a whore, she knew it, Crane knew it. There wasn't a single person in Gotham City who didn't know it.
"Video killed the radio star," he sang quietly to himself, hoping to drown out the godawful music playing on the radio.
To his great relief the brunette one wandered in, checking on him.
"Hey, you." He said.
She eyed him. "I have a name you know."
"I don't know it."
"Nina Damfino."
"I'll probably forget it." He said. "Come here."
She hesitated. "Why?"
"I'm bored. Come, sit. Tell me a few secrets."
The woman, Nina apparently, smiled crookedly. "Yeah, right. They said you'd try to trick us into giving you a means to get around."
"I won't trick you." Crane replied. "I'm just bored and lonesome."
"Sure you are." She said, moving to perch on the edge of the bed.
"Tell me, Gina, what was your childhood like?"
She laughed. "It's Nina. And you've got to be kidding me!"
"Dangerously sincere. I'm curious as to what makes a good girl like you turn bad."
She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "a lot of boys and even more booze."
"Big family? Middle child, desperate for attention from your father, low self esteem from your mother and, let me guess, one of your elderly siblings is highly successful and your younger siblings either live at home or are very close to the family?"
"How'd you know I come from a big family?"
"You're Italian-American, I'm only guessing you're Catholic. Am I right?"
"So?"
"So, seventy-one percent of all Italian-American, Catholic families have more than four children in a family. Therefore, you're probably from a big family. Tell me about your first sexual encounter, was it consensual?"
"Get bent." She said, pushing to her feet.
Crane caught her hand and tugged her back into place. "Okay, we'll skip that part. How's your relationship with your father?"
"Come on, what do you take me for?"
"A highly intelligent, under appreciated woman who's co-dependant on a father-figure type who barely notices you and who only shows interest when he needs something. Bisexual?"
"I like to be open minded to new possibilities." She replied.
"Of course you do. It's another side effect of your Catholic upbringing coupled with your need to rebel. Have you ever done drugs?"
"Not really. Pot sometimes."
Crane nodded. "Have any on you?"
The brunette laughed. "Is that what you wanted?"
"It may help pass the time." He replied.
Tsking, she shoved him hard. "You need a hobby."
Crane smirked. "I'm also injured, so careful with the shoving, Dina."
"Nina." She corrected.
Reaching up, he tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Come on, Nora. You're holding, aren't you?"
"No. Sorry."
"Well, if you're not going to be any help, then you can get the hell off my bed."
She stood up looking mildly confused.
"And change the radio station before you leave." He commanded.
Quirking a brow, she wandered over to the radio and giving him one last look, began to tune it.
She waited until it landed on Gotham's only country station and took off.
Crane scowled at the twangy radio.
Fuck you, Tina.
Firefly was lingering in the doorway, staring at Crane as the Scarecrow stared back at him.
Neither man moved or spoke.
They had been that way for two hours.
At first it was unnerving, but after a while Crane found it kind of amusing. He just sat up in bed, eyeing Firefly as Firefly eyed him.
Between them the air was filled with country music, something about a green deer, or something.
Firefly was a tallish man, not as tall as Jonathan, but then again Crane was the tallest of all the men he knew, but as he stood in the doorway, Crane could see the man filled it nicely.
Broad shoulders, muscled figure. Firefly was strength, not so much brains. Not to say he wasn't smart, many people believed that Garfield Lynns was clever enough, but that he just had a weakness for playing with fire.
Some even whispered that he saw visions in the flames, but Crane highly doubted that. It seemed implausible.
Of course, the man commanded some respect.
In the group showers at Arkham, the other prisoners gave him his space. A wide berth for Firefly.
He wasn't even sure why or how Firefly garnered so much respect.
Maybe it was little bit of fear. The man was mentored by Killer Moth, so a lot of criminals had to respect that. Of course Crane often wondered just why a man like Killer Moth would have a falling out with Firefly. There had to be something there.
Still, no one liked a poker face and wearing a helmet, Firefly was the poster boy for poker faces.
It also didn't hurt that he was a quiet sort. Kept to himself and put in solitary for most of his Arkham stay.
The man could start a fire with little to nothing, so he was carefully monitored while on the inside.
Outside, however, Crane wasn't too excited to be sharing space with the man.
Who knew what exactly triggered his little urges for heat.
Hour four into Firefly lingering just inside the door, had Crane clearing his throat and setting down the book he had been reading.
Firefly had been lingering so long in the same spot that Ivy's vines had curled around his boots, making their way up his legs.
Still he remained quietly haunting the doorframe.
Brushing a frond out of his eyes, Crane noticed that Ivy's vines had already integrated themselves in the warehouse and huffed. If the plants were invading, he was going to drag his carcass out the door, because he couldn't stand the flowery bastards. All they did was just grow and take up sunlight and space, they were lazy little fuckers.
"How can you just stand there for four hours?" He demanded.
Sniffing casually, Firefly shifted on his feet. "I was promised a hot meal."
There was a bit of an awkward pause, before Firefly went on.
"Think they forgot about me." He said.
Crane nodded. "I understand abandonment. I've been tucked away in here, out of sight, out of mind."
There was another long, awkward pause.
"I don't suppose you're holding." Crane said.
Firefly stood in the doorway silently for a moment. "Pot?"
"It helps with the migraines."
"Yeah, I know."
The Scarecrow's eyes lit up. "You have some?"
"Of course."
Crane watched as the flame from Firefly's silver lighter glimmered off the shiny black glass of his helmet.
They had blazed up and Firefly still kept the fire going between them, not at all interested in the joint Crane was now puffing on quietly.
"Fire is a beautiful thing, isn't it?" Firefly asked softly. "It can bring down empires, but the smallest breath can put it out. It's so delicate and wild."
"You're not going to burn this place to the ground, are you?" Crane inquired.
"It's too damp." Firefly replied.
That still didn't stop him from casually dropping the lighter onto the bed.
Clamping his hand quickly over the flame before it could spread, Crane scowled. "I'm really not comfortable with you sitting there anymore."
"Are you afraid, Scarecrow?"
"I'm wearing very dry burlap with some straw stuffed inside for effect. What do you think?" Crane admitted.
Firefly tilted his head. "Fire doesn't hurt for long. It burns your nerve endings and you don't feel it after a while. If you stay in a fire long enough, you begin to feel cold. And you crave the heat, but by that point you're pretty much dead. It's the kindest death there is. Warm, comforting, bright. If you look hard enough, you can see the smile of God in the flames."
"You know fire is an interesting fixation. Freud would say your fascination with fire is because of lack of warmth in your childhood. Of course he'd also make the comparison of flames to your burning desire for…" Crane trailed off at Firefly's titled helmet.
The man quietly, simply pushed to his feet and walked off, back into the main room.
Puffing on the joint, Crane smirked. "Not only a God of Fear, but a Master of Clearing Rooms."
It was near three in the morning and Crane was still up, thumbing through the journal he found at the side of the bed and nursing the last of the joint.
As he flipped the waterlogged pages of the journal, he sang under his breath along with the music on the radio.
No one was awake at three in the morning, but he was a night owl.
"Now the revenue man wanted granddaddy bad," he muttered, marking a note in the side of the journal entry with the half chewed pen that had been tucked inside the book. He was analyzing the entries, an old habit that he couldn't shake from his psychologist days at the asylum. "He headed up the holler with everything he had."
Can't understand why mommy and daddy forgot about her. He wrote. Severe drug dependency and a submissive personality controlled by her dealer. Own the keys to her heart and you can drive her anywhere.
Glancing up he noticed Selina Kyle leaning on the Riddler's cane in the doorway.
He didn't like that poisonous glint in her eye.
"Steve Earle fan?" She asked.
"Not really, first song I recognized on this station though. What do you want?"
"I want to know why you're so eager to get rid of me."
Crane closed the journal and set it aside, moving his splinted leg to stretch across the bed, preventing her from joining him. "I can't recall ever actively trying to get rid of you."
"I mean tonight, out there. What was that about?"
"Well him and my uncle tore that engine down," he went on singing, stamping out the roache. There wasn't much left to it anyways.
Catwoman moved across the room with a determined limp. She roughly shoved his leg aside in order to lean down over him. "What the hell is your problem with me? Whenever you get the chance, you have to be at my throat."
Gritting his teeth from her brutal treatment of his leg, Crane glowered at her. "In case you haven't noticed, cat. I do that to everyone. I'm not a real people person." He tilted his chin. "You shouldn't take things so personally."
"Bullshit!"
"Is there something I can help you with, Miss Kyle?" He asked in his best condescending psycho-analyst tone. "Are you upset about something?"
She looked away calmly. "No. I just wanted to pick a fight."
Crane smirked darkly. "That's my girl, always looking for a fight." He carefully shifted his leg back to his side of the bed and pat it invitingly. "Hop up here and we can fight as long as you want."
"Well, when you invite a girl in, it takes away all the fun of fighting." She pointed out, easing onto the bed beside him, setting the question mark cane against the wall on her side of the bed.
They fell silent.
"I don't think Eddie should go after Ra's al Ghul." She said. "The man's too much for him to handle."
"You can't tell the Riddler 'no', Selina. He's not wired that way." Crane turned his head sharply to watch her on his right. "So, what's with the power struggle between you and the girls? Is it about Edward or is it about your pride?"
"How come you don't have anyone in your life, Jon? Aren't you lonely?"
The Scarecrow scowled at his brown boots, the right one was wedged on from the swelling of his broken leg, so he kept the left one on as well. "The older a man gets, the more he comes to the realization that the human being is a trashy mammal."
Beside him Selina chuckled softly. "Trashy?"
"Low class. No class."
"And you think all people are trash?" She inquired. "Even me?"
"Especially you."
A sharp clawed hand gripped his pride roughly.
"Take it back." She whispered.
Crane shifted, trying to escape the wrath of the cat.
"Please?" She purred.
"Never." He snarled.
She twisted her grip ever so and he squeaked in protest.
"I'm beginning to think you enjoy being beaten up by me." She said, still seated calmly on her side of the bed, her fist still gripping him hard.
"I thought you were leaving for the night." He ground out from between clenched teeth.
"Don't change the subject. I'm the one who has your balls in my hand." She replied. "Do you honestly think of me as trash?"
"You're not going to get an honest answer out of me by torturing my scrotum." He hissed.
"No," she replied, eyeing her free claws. "But I am enjoying the ride."
"Sadist," he growled.
"Masochist." She shot back, releasing him and wiping her claws off on the bed between them.
Crane struggled to recover from the trauma.
"Do you think I'm trash, Jon?"
He rubbed himself, glaring at her all the while.
"Don't rub too hard, it might make God cry." She said.
"You're a vicious little pussycat, aren't you?" He demanded.
"Answer the question." She urged.
He gave her one last withering glare, before reaching for the ratty book of poetry. "I won't be getting a new pair of glasses until my next stay at Arkham." He mumbled to the book, sticking his nose in it just to read.
Feeling the cat's mercurial gaze, he turned so that the book blocked her eyes from him.
"It's not a hard question to answer, Jonny." She said. "You either think I'm trash or you don't."
Dropping the book enough to eye her, the Scarecrow frowned. Opening his mouth, he paused. A lie was on his tongue, but he hesitated. "What do you care what I think of you? My opinion should be bottom of the list for you."
"Curiosity."
"What would you say if I were perfectly honest with you?" He inquired.
"I'd be shocked."
"Are you accusing me of being a liar?"
"A perpetual one."
Crane smirked. "Maybe. But lies are much more fun to tell then truths."
"I'll tell you a truth if you tell me one." She bargained.
He stuck his nose back into the book. "I highly doubt you're being honest right now."
"It's true. I'll give you one, if you give me one."
"And how do I know you'll tell me the truth if I agree?"
"You don't. I guess you'll just have to trust me." She said.
"Ha!"
"For this once, Jon. Please?"
He eyed her. "Fine. Shake on it."
It was her turn to laugh. "Right, because your handshakes are so upstanding."
Sticking out a slender, pale hand, Crane tilted his chin downwards. "Maybe tonight's the night for a little trust."
Selina studied his hand with a hard gaze, before tentatively setting her clawed hand against it.
Wrapping his fingers around her small hand, Crane shook it once, seriously.
"Me first," he said, keeping hold of her hand.
"Fine." She replied.
"Why are you here?"
Pulling her hand away, she sighed lightly, it was more of a gentle exhalation then a sigh. "I don't know why, but…" she looked down at the book on the bed between them. "I guess Eddie and I always seem to…we have a weird gravitational pull to each other sometimes. We've had minor incidents, but there's always been a calm, unspoken camaraderie between us. I don't think he notices it, as much as I do." She looked up at Crane, violet eyes wide and honest. "I think he probably doesn't care as much as I do. I mean, you know his ego it's pretty big and…and I don't think he'll ever really see."
Crane watched Selina Kyle shift uncomfortably on the bed for a moment, before he spoke again.
"You make me sick."
"Thanks."
"No, really. You have a lot of nerve coming in here, taking advantage of a man who's high on the Mary Jane." He replied. "I'm getting a little nauseated."
A little smile appeared on her face, but she turned her head before he could see it. When she looked back at him, she was as stoic as usual. "Now it's your turn." She said.
Crane lifted an eyebrow. "I suppose…if you must."
"What do you really think of me?"
The truth was on his tongue, just hanging at the very tip, but echoes of 'Ichabod' clung to his ears and despite the promise of a truth, he told a lie to protect himself.
"I can't stand you."
Selina Kyle, Mistress of hiding her true feelings, nodded. "Okay. Fair enough." She struggled to her feet with the help of the cane and Crane watched with a little shame and regret as she limped out of the room.
