HEY! I am so sorry for the delay! Real life just sorta got into the way. So, here is the long (hopefully) awaited next chapter!

Thanks to those who followed! Please read and review!

Chapter 4's Song: United States of Eurasia- Muse

Chapter 4:

The Cause

Ebony Willow~

I woke up to the sound of footsteps. This confused me because I live alone. I pondered this for more than a few moments before last night's events came back in a rush. I slowly connected the dots in my head and formed an image; Jonathan Crane.
Fuck. What was I thinking? Oh, right! I wasn't. My stupid human rights activist and believer-that-there-is-some-good-in-everyone self took over when the rational one was still half asleep and trying to catch up with what the hell was going on.

I then became aware of warm sunlight on my face and began to panic. I looked at the clock, praying I'd see something other than what I knew I would.

9:42 am. "Shit!" I needed to be at work. Everything that happened last night caused me to sleep in. Wait.

I'm taking the week off.

That still didn't relieve me. They'd be wondering where I am. I could get fired. But before they fired me, before they know for sure I'm home, they might send someone to check if I am here. Or even alive. Governmental and political employees weren't uncommon to go missing in Gotham. I have to get up and call my office, call in sick for the week. I cannot let anyone come to the house.

"Okay, first things first. Get up." I whispered to myself. I slowly rose up, carefully flipping the covers off my legs, and got out of bed. "Good. Now go to the drawer and pick out some underwear and pants." I walked over to my dresser and got a black lacy bra and matching panties from the top drawer. Then I crouched down and opened the bottom drawer, extracting a pair of black running pants from the slightly jumbled mess of clothing items. "Now go to your closet, Ebony. You need to pick out a top." I continued silently giving orders to myself until I was fully clothed. I wore a modest silk button up, short-sleeve shirt. Nothing fancy, just casual in a classy way. Finished white ankle socks. I then walked to my nightstand and dialed the office, with renewed purpose, if only to save my life as I knew it from crumbling due to one small house visit.

The dial-tone continued for what seemed an eternity before the line finally connected and ringing replaced the dull sound. It rung three times before picked up by my intern.

Everybody seemed to need interns lately. The news reporter, me, I even briefly wondered who would fill in for Jonathan now that he was unavailable. Then Alice prompted me to speak or else she was hanging up.

"Alice! Sorry, it's me." I purposefully made my voice sound weak.

"Ebony? You sound terrible, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just have the stomach flu, that's all. I slept in and decided to call in sick so that I wouldn't contaminate the office or get anyone else sick. Plus, I don't think I'll be fit to man the phones with running to the bathroom every five minutes and all. In fact, I should go soon. I'm starting to feel nauseated again." I groaned slightly for effect.

"Oh, no! That's horrible. Don't worry, take as much time off as you need." Then a teasing note entered her voice. "Just don't be gone for more than a week!" I laughed weakly. That's our joke in the office. The mayor tells us to take as much time off as we need if we're sick so that we don't infect anyone else, but every time someone takes more than a week off they get in serious shit.

"Okay, Alice. I won't." I let the smile leak into my voice so she knows I am also teasing. But still, we both know I'll be back within a week if I want to keep my job.

"Get well soon, Ebony!" we bid our farewells and hung up.

Now, to get to the bathroom. That means I have to leave my room. And although my sleep clouded/deprived mind had been at ease last night, I was not nearly as brave this morning.

There was a fugitive in my house, for God's sake!

I cracked open my door about an inch and peered out. Though I still heard footsteps, Crane hadn't made an appearance yet. I took this as a good sign and swung my door fully open then dashed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I turned the tap on and splashed a bit of cold water on my face.

Another cliché. It didn't help one bit. I decided to turn the running water into something useful and began brushing my teeth, making sure to turn the tap off while physically brushing.

After I'd finished that, I brushed my auburn coloured hair, briefly searching for those few rare strands of gold that made it light up in the direct sunlight. I decided to leave my hair down.

Next I did my make-up. I applied just the right amount of blush to my too pale face. Light eye-shadow, a thin line of teal eye-liner, mascara, and finished with tinting my lips a few shades redder. I started at my reflection, at the light make-up and casual attire. I suddenly felt terribly under-dressed, considering Jonathan's more professional tastes, then quickly dismissed the thought, for I was unable to find logic in why I had thought it in the first place. I stared my reflection in the eyes, challenging myself to come up with an answer, but coming up short.

As I was staring myself in the eyes, I noticed the colour of my eye-liner enhanced the deep emerald of my eyes, and that they were almost vibrant enough to match Jonathan's, when suddenly my reflection appeared as if I had done over-kill on the blush and I scolded myself for thinking of his eyes.

Unable to bear my own reflection any longer, I bolted from the bathroom and into the living room.

Without looking up to see where he was, I began talking. "I'll just run up to the attic to grab you some fresh clothes and then-" I stopped because I had finally looked up from the floor and what I saw startled me. Crane was lying on the couch, shoes off, feet up, and toying with a gun. A gun that looked suspiciously like the one I had confiscated last night. I swallowed once, yet again doubting my earlier judgement. "Where did you get that?" I asked cautiously, gesturing with one hand that I meant the gun he was holding.

He held it up so I could get a better view. "Oh, this?" he held it a little higher still. Then he smiled. It was a very knowing smile and I didn't like it at all. "Oh, you see, this isn't the gun you…disabled, last night. This one came from, well where the other one did. Some Officers who tried to lock me up." He laughed a bit to himself, as if he were recalling a fond memory. "And don't worry. There are more where this came from." He put the gun down on the coffee table and stood up, taking a deep breath, then two steps towards me.

I stood my ground, even though I was still questioning my earlier judgement. I ran through all the possibilities in my head of what might happen if he came closer, and suddenly became aware of the wall about a foot behind me. I was trapped if he got too close.

Crane noticed my slight distress and made this to his advantage. He began walking at a more-than-leisurely pace toward me. "Ebony," his tone was conversational. "I am running. I am running from the law. And…someone else. Now, I don't know how your think this arrangement is going to work, but I am telling you right now that you are not in charge anymore. I am. And I suggest that you do exactly what I say if you value your life." At this I gave him a half-startled, half-terrified expression and he clarified. "Ah, I'm sorry." He quickly and seemingly sincerely apologized. "I would not be the one to do you harm. It's of no use to me if I did hurt you. No, it would be the other person-uh, people, sorry-that I am running from. When-if-they find me, it will not work out well for either of us. They will not hesitate to kill you, or worse.

On the other hand, if the government finds me, it will be you who's keeping me alive."

It took a moment for the meaning of his last statement to sink in. Then I finally got it. "So, either those other people find you and we both, worst case scenario, die, or the law finds you and you hold me hostage?" The world tilted slightly to the left. What had I gotten myself into?

"Precisely!" he looked almost proud of me, that I'd figured it out.

Suddenly an ice cold fear gripped my stomach. "No. No, I don't think-I don't have to do that." I managed to stutter.

His ice-like eyes that had been fairly neutral up until now flashed with anger. "Ebony," this time his tone was a warning. "Do not try me…" he said very slowly.

I still refused, despite his loaded warning. "No. This is my house. I can call the police at any time, and you can't stop me." I hated how my voice sounded so weak and desperate. So unlike me.

Suddenly he was right in front of me. He grabbed my wrists and he pushed me back against the wall, pinning my wrists, one on each side of my head. I squirmed feebly. "Did you not hear one word that I just said?" he asked, anger plain in his voice. I nodded numbly. God, I was an idiot! I had to prove to myself I could be a martyr, I had to always try to do the right thing, even when that right thing was wrong in its own way. And now, because of my stupid pride, and my stupid compulsions, I was probably going to get myself killed. Or at the very least, seriously injured because I had a psycho outlaw in my house! And that's why my wrists are going to be bruised, and maybe even my neck if Crane decides to choke me, and… wait a moment. I focused on him. Noted his angle towards me, his posture, his expression, the closeness of his body, and how I felt about it. I decided I definitely didn't like it. He was way too close for comfort at this point. Now I focused on my pinned hands. Then I realized with a shock, as I was doing inventory on any injuries acquired like bruises, that Crane wasn't trying to hurt me. I looked him up and down without moving my head and saw he was holding back most of his strength. I could see it in is posture. Jonathan Crane, though he may look weak with his slight frame, was stronger than most would assume.

Crane let out an exasperated sigh and let go of my left wrist, replacing his now free hand on the side of my head. I took a sharp in-take of air and stood rigid, afraid to move. Jonathan bowed his head slightly, not looking at me. I tried very hard not to think of where is sight would be redirected with this new angle of his head, but utterly failed.

He moved his hand a little lower, placing it now on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. We stayed like this for what felt like an extremely long time. He was the first to move. He let both his hands fall to his sides, turned his head to look at the coffee table and walked towards it. Picking up the gun, he strode from the room, not once even glancing in my direction.

I let out a long breath, unaware I had been holding it. I stood there confused for a moment before I was brought back to reality by the sound of my back door slamming shut and a deafening noise as a shot rang out. For a terrible moment I thought that Jonathan had killed himself, but dismissed that in replace of another; he liked himself too much to do that.

That fact that Jonathan was indeed still alive was confirmed to me by three more consecutive shots.

I ran to my back door, throwing it open and dashing out back to find four, perfectly round dents in the side of my shed. I looked in the opposite direction to find Jonathan pointing the gun, prepared to fire again.

"Oh. My. God! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I nearly yelled, but didn't want to attract any more unwanted attention to my house, even though the nearest neighbour was somewhere between one quarter and one half of a kilometer away in any direction. Thank God for that.

"I am assaulting your shed. Is there a problem?" he asked neutrally.

"Is there a probl-of course there's a problem! You are putting bullet holes in my shed!" I yelled this time.

"Technically they are just dents." He corrected.

"Technically my ass! If the cops show up because someone called 911 after hearing gunfire, how am I going to explain this, even if you're here? Well, if you were still here we'd both go to jail. But, do you honestly think that they will care if they are just dents or legit holes? I don't think so!"

"Well, it was this, or a very unattractive hole in your living room wall. And not a hole made by a bullet either!" He fired off ten more shots then dropped his arm.

I groaned. "Just…just get in the house, will you?" Crane wordlessly returned to the house, closing the door delicately behind him.

"Ugh…I never imagined he would be such a pain in the ass." I mumbled quietly to myself. I then slowly made my way inside, carefully listening for police sirens but hearing none.

Inside I found Jonathan sitting at the kitchen table looking considerably tired. "So, do you want to tell me what the past five minutes was all about?"

He let out a lengthy sigh, and turned to me, his eyes guarded once again. "That was too many emotions built up too fast and released much too quickly and improperly."

I looked at him with incredulity. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Make of it what you want, but I'm not telling you again." His tone was dismissive.

Now I sighed. I was beginning to learn that it was pointless to ask too many questions with Crane, so I left it at that and returned to the comfort of my bedroom.

As I lay on my bed, deep in thought, I decided it was time to trash those old Amnesty International letters. They were just a painful reminder of how things used to be. So I got up, grabbed the papers off my desk, and made my way to the kitchen to throw them in the recycling. As I slowly let each page flutter sadly into the bin one at a time, Jonathan watched me intently. When I was finished I looked down at the abandoned papers with sorrow.

Crane shifted uncomfortably in his seat and I turned my gaze on him. "What?" I asked, slightly annoyed he had interrupted my personal moment. Those letters had meant a lot, and it's a touchy subject with me. They were my last hope of resisting against the Society. A last stand, a final "screw you", and now I don't even have anything left to fight for.

"Th-those are Amnesty letters, yes?" he asked hesitantly, sensing my irritation.

"Yeah, why?"

"Jesus." He cursed quietly to himself. Then, in a louder voice and a more matter-of-fact tone, "Well, you and I are more alike than I had thought."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I've been saying that a lot lately. "We are nothing alike." I said with the same tone as his.

"Oh, but we are. Don't you understand? You and me are the same! Now, the common speculator can make all the assumptions he likes, but just because you work for the government and I am an outlaw, it does not mean we don't fight for the same cause. It may be insane, yes, but our mission is the same."

"Did you hear anything that just came out of your mouth? Hello? You are an outlaw, and I do work for the government. How could we ever be the same?" I was floored he would even suggest such an outlandish matter.

Jonathan groaned, as if it was frustrating him that I wasn't grasping the concept. "You fight for the cause in a civil way. You keep to yourself and write your Amnesty letters. Or, you used to. You fight for others. I, on the other hand fight for myself. If I don't do that first, I can't do anything about the invasion of the Society. And I know you are just as happy about the Society as I am. Anyways, therefore, I must fight in a slightly less civil manner. Considering I am currently an outlaw." He smiled as if he had just given a very effective lecture.

I squinted at him, scrutinizing, and then asked the question that has plagued me since he started this conversation. "What is this cause we both supposedly fight for?"

A mischievous glint entered his eyes, and a smile appeared to match.

"Freedom."

Wow! That turned out better than I hoped. Especially the length. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter in my story, and I'd really love to hear your opinion, so please review!