"Fear grows in darkness, if you think there's a bogeyman around, turn on the light."--Dorothy Thompson

Bruce slumped back down on the floor, his back against the wall, ignoring the actions of Two-Face who was obviously bored and wanted to talk. Bruce needed to think, needed to meditate and get a grasp on his situation here. It was reality for the moment, despite his suspicions that there was someone behind it all. He had considered briefly that this was a dream, but it had been so real, felt so real…and even if it was a dream, he certainly wasn't waking up from it anytime soon, so he had to deal with this reality right now, anyway. He had to deal with what cards he was dealt.

Especially the threat of the Joker card.

Why had they stuffed him in this wing, in the wing of his most dangerous enemies? For all the laws that he admittedly had broken, what he had done for the city surely would allow for some leniency in this regard. Ha, who was he kidding? This was no time--nor place--for wishful thinking, despite what Alfred said. He wanted to hope. Some part of him that had not been darkened by the events of his life desperately wanted to cling to some sort of ray of light.

Something. Anything.

But this was Arkham. This was no place for thoughts like that. He had felt the trepidation from Alfred. He would rot here for the rest of his life among the enemies that he had placed here. Whatever event that had put him here, whether by his own hand or someone else's, had come and gone and he could change that, no matter how much he wanted to.

Bruce was right when he told Tim and Alfred—he was still here and sane, at least he liked to think so, he could reason and he knew what he was doing. He wasn't hearing any voices…well, unless you counted his conscience and the voice of Batman. He wasn't seeing pink elephants and certainly wasn't talking to himself like Two-Face was doing at the moment, though he knew a few more days here and he'd probably join him in the activity.

He was still Batman, despite the one of worst things that could have happened to him--save death--had happened.

And he had a wildcard up his sleeve that didn't consist of a crazy clown.

Bruce was going to break out.

He stared at the blah wall, realizing that he had decided it unconsciously and was now just realizing it. If his so called normal life was ruined anyway as Bruce Wayne, he needn't worry about the mask anymore. It was lost and he was glad of it. At least he supposed he was. Batman would not be daunted by this kind of place and he was considered a criminal now in his own right, so what was stopping him? If someone like Harley could get out, then it was practically an invitation for him to try, and an embarrassment not to.

But where could he go? Back to the cave? The manor? He'd just end up getting everyone else arrested. And that whole business with Dick was just troubling.

No time for emotional thoughts, put it aside.

He had to deal with this as coldly as possible, because if he even let an ounce of emotion get through, he would probably start…getting nervous. Scared maybe.

The part of him that he didn't admit was still Bruce Wayne as aghast at being held in an asylum. Second guessing himself. Maybe he was crazy.

Maybe Batman was crazy and Bruce was the sane one, and Bruce was the one keeping his thoughts coherent. If he were to adopt the guise of the Bat it might unlock something and he would go off on a rampage or whatever he had done to place himself here.

He quickly shook off those thoughts. They would lead to him thinking he had gone mad and he needed a clear head. Needed to control his fear. He was used to that, anyway.

There was no use in relocating to some other country. No desire to. His home was Gotham, whether living an affluent life at a manor—or staring at a blank wall in its Asylum.

The sound of footsteps walking crisply and with a purpose shook him from his thoughts. He wondered vaguely how long he had been sitting there, lost in thought, when the footsteps suddenly stopped. Bruce turned and there was a rather prim looking, dark-haired woman with a clipboard and a doctor's lab coat staring at him through small, rimless glasses.

"Mr. Wayne, good to see you up and about." She had a no-nonsense voice, and to his surprise, the guards opened the glass door and (reluctantly) let her in.

Bruce got up quickly, wondering what sort of power she wielded to do this in such an unorthodox manner. She was his doctor, obviously, but he had never seen her in Arkham before. Must be new. Or another player in this game.

"And you are?"

"Miss Veronica Winters, your psychologist—your doctor, Mr. Wayne. I do say I had to fight to get you as my patient, there were throngs of lovely young women doctors all over this country just dying to get in my position," she smiled tightly. She wasn't old either, possibly his own age or less, and she did have fine features. But at least the reason why she new was revealed.

"And of course, you have all the ambitious rest who wanted to do a case study on you. There's probably a thousand academic papers being published as we speak on the billionaire playboy who had such a need to play dress up and jump off buildings."

His initial liking for her fell considerably. He was going to play Bruce with her. Not Batman. Not give her the pleasure. She, as a top doctor who certainly fought her way to get here, would be able to figure him out as Batman, no doubt. And he didn't need any Chase Meridian type lectures from her. She was expecting the dummy, he could tell from her condescending tone. He'd give her the dummy.

"I'm sorry, Miss Winters, but is there any reason why you need to tell me all of this? I kinda know who I am already."

"Do you, Mr. Wayne? That's the question. Do you?" She smiled another humorless smile. "We'll take lunch in my office after we talk. Come with me."

Bruce grinned, playing the part. "No cuffs? No being carried by armored personnel in case I try to escape?"

"I trust you, Mr. Wayne," she turned and her hard heels clicked on the floor as she walked through the door. Bruce reluctantly followed, not sure what to make of this person. She certainly had power and that could be exploited, but to whom would it be exploited to? He walked behind her as he heard what sounded like a billion guards following the both of them, several in the front surrounding them. Even if he did try something, take her hostage, he'd be covered in an instant. The thought did cross his mind pleasantly, though he knew it would just get him taken down and obviously prolong the answers he wanted from her. He was her little science project and it irked him to no end.

They turned into another depressing hallway and ended up at her office. The battalion of guards surrounded the outside of the room, and Bruce followed her in, noting the cameras instantly and a small vanity mirror on a wall that was most likely a two-way. There were no windows in the office, and in reality, it probably wasn't her actual office but merely a meeting room with patients with no sharp objects anywhere for them to threaten someone with. A soft but moldy-looking green couch was on one side, a thick wooden desk and an obligatory psychologist's lounger.

"Have a seat," she offered a bolted down 70's style office chair as she took her own behind the bolted-down, heavy wooden desk. A few papers and his thick file were on the desk. He wondered how nervous they were about them having pens around him. No paper clips in sight.

"Let's get started."

"Sure, don't have much else to do."

An eyebrow rose at the cocky, schoolboy tone. Exactly what she expected—but, somehow unexpected. As if being revealed as Batman was just a little mishap on the way to work in the morning, like spilt coffee.

"Why don't you tell me how it started? Was no doubt the death of your parents," she scribbled something down on the clipboard. "Report of you falling into a well with bats…you obviously wanted to fight crime because of their death. A noble cause. Why did you not become a policeman?"

"Dunno, didn't want to?"

He was playing the game. Both eyebrows raised. Alright, two could do this. She would make him become Batman, she would get what she had worked so hard for. A smile played on her thin lips, as she flipped through the file.

"Bats, Mr. Wayne, apparently held much more meaning to you than an incident in your youth. Obsessed with the power they wielded over you, you decided to take a part in this power and use it over others, for the loss of power you experienced as a child when your parents were taken from you. All is a power struggle, Mr. Wayne, in the end."

His eyes were no longer playful. He had turned a bit more serious. A reaction, at least.

"As your power struggle to get me as a patient, Dr. Winters."

"Naturally."

She went on. "Reports have you at a particularly paranoid type, obsessive to no end and a quite a bit of an emotional repressor. Quite unhealthy, considering the types of things that you repress and the strain of the memories of your past."

"You think you know me?" Bruce's humor had totally disappeared, his voice was a bit strangled. How did they know so much about him? It could only lead to one thing. Someone had told them. Who that someone was, he did not know. He really hoped that it wasn't himself.

"Oh, it's my job to know you," Dr. Winters smiled pleasantly, happy that she had finally provoked an honest reaction.

"What interests me most about you, Mr. Wayne, is your obsession with the mask. You know all about the masks that everyday people wear. It makes us feel safer behind them," she tapped her pen against the desk.

"You act different towards different situations. Everyone does it."

The pen pointed towards him.

"But you, you took it to the next level and above. I find it absolutely fascinating how you were able to pull of the persona of Bruce Wayne and the Batman, two completely different people. So different, in fact, that I have to wonder about whether you had control over that."

"Oh, so I'm like Two-Face now?" He shrugged. The former honesty had disappeared once more and he seemed exactly like before. Careless. Daft, like he didn't realize the gravity of where he was. Or didn't care.

"Well, that's what we're here to find out," she said in a tighter tone. She reached within a plastic bag on the desk and took out something large and black.

The cowl.

Bruce's eyes widened, taken by surprise. He really didn't like being taken by surprise, but in this place it was nothing but. It wasn't totally unexpected, some part of him knew that they must have leapt at the chance to take his suit, but it was still a bit of a shock in this situation.

"I am impressed. Quite a few technicians quit over the booby-traps in this little thing," she tapped the eerie empty head of the black, Kevlar-enforced cowl, its empty eyes staring at Bruce.

"So, what's the point of all of this?" Bruce shrugged, pretending like it didn't mean anything.

"You tell me, Mr. Wayne. You're considered the World's Greatest Detective. You're a genius, the inventions we found on your person are nothing short of considerable talent. Talent that should have been used on the side of the law, but we'll not go there now."

"So…Batman's just another rogue villain to you guys, huh?" Bruce was having a heckava time keeping himself cool. "So all that saving lives…all that stuff he did was a moot point or somethin'?"

"Referring to yourself in the third person is very interesting," she smiled again. "There is no need to play games here, Mr. Wayne, we know who you are. Or perhaps its' a habit, no? A habit that you can't break unless you're behind the safety of this mask."

The pen tap against the black cowl. The nearly invisible twitch of an eye.

"Oh, it is a safety, isn't it? Right now, I bet you're wishing…longing to put it on, wishing you had your costume on so you could really tell me how you felt, threaten us and break out of here. It releases who you really are, Mr. Wayne."

The stormy look on his face let her knew she hit a pretty sensitive nerve.

"You want to know who I really am?" Something in his voice had changed. Something in his whole being, his posture had shifted, his eyes—very interesting—like he actually was a different person. Or perhaps this was his true self.

"You think you know all about me, don't you? Just because you have your degree, you think you can figure me out in half an hour, then let's get lunch and you write your report?" Bruce's large hands folded as he rested his elbows on the desk.

His eyes held something so different within them, it almost made Dr. Winters forget about science for a moment and remember the superstitions of her youth. Her dark eyes glanced at the creepy mask. She was so interested in the man that she forgot about the legend, the urban myth. Sure, maybe one didn't believe in UFOs or the Loch Ness Monster anymore, but on dark nights when the wind was cold and eerie, one sometimes felt a chill despite logic telling them otherwise. She looked away from his haunted eyes for a moment, trying to clear the silly superstitious thoughts rising in her mind.

"I'd like to think that maybe we can make a deal, Doctor," Bruce said, his intense glare unwavering. It was really unnerving, and she never got unnerved. She wondered somewhere, in a small place within her that doubted sometimes, whether she really did win such a prize taking this man on.

"What deal is that?"

"Nothing much."

"What deal, Mr. Wayne?" He was playing with her, trying to make her nervous, and she didn't like it. Didn't like having him take a bit of the power for himself.

"Tell me first. What exactly is going on here? You all know I don't remember anything except when I woke up this morning. How did I get here? What could I possibly do to be sent here?"

"You're not really ready yet, I don't want to aggravate an existing condit—"

"As I figured. So the deal is, I tell you about me, you tell me about what happened."

"You tell me first," she smiled.

"No, me first," he said with that steely glare. "Or I won't talk."

"Not to sound cliché, but we have ways of making you talk."

"And I have ways of not talking," he shrugged. "It'll be worth more to you to get an honest response out of me than, what say, drugging me with a truth serum? Because you could have done that easily already. And you don't know what such a drug would do to my already sensitive psyche."

There was a real smile from Dr. Winters. He was good. "Fine, Mr. Wayne. I have your word, then?"

"Yes."

"Then, you have mine as well."

She tapped her pen against the cowl again. "Alright. A month ago. Here's how it went."


Yeah, it's been awhile, hasn't it? Terribly sorry, I know that many of you were waiting quite some time to see the continuation of this. I've got to update faster, don't I? I blame school, and a bit of writer's block. No! Not writer's block, anything but that! It's not too hard to blame school though. XD

I want to thank all of you who reviewed as well, I'm surprised at how many people were reading this story. Thank you really, even if you didn't leave any review.

Also, much thanks to Esther-Channah for finding the name of the movie that partly inspired this story I mentioned in Ch. 2--"The Snake Pit". Check it out if you can, it's really good.