Celia woke up at ten a.m. the next morning. Not bothering to open her eyes, she reached out and stretched her arms, a small pop escaping her elbows. When she opened her eyes, the white ceiling greeted her. Her fingers curled around the black blanket atop her as she remembered the events from last night.

She was a hostage.

"Shit..." she mumbled before sitting herself up. She looked over to the fallen dresser and sighed. It was going to be a bitch righting that thing again. Shaking her head, she stood groggily from the bed and went to it. After a few painful moments, she got it back on its legs, and she hauled it back against the wall before taking from it some undergarments and going to the closet to change her outfit. After she changed into a long sleeved white bouse and black dress pants, she folded her nightwear neatly and tucked it back into the dresser drawer she had taken them from.

She walked to the bathroom in search of a brush. When she found one, she raised it to her hair. Celia stopped when she saw her the reflection of her wrist in the mirror. Thick, dark bruises covered it. Her eyes narrowed as she remembered how tightly White had gripped her when he dragged her to his office last night.

"Damned bastard should have some manners surgically implanted in him...as well as a face..." she quickly brushed her hair and checked herself for anymore bruising. Finding none, she walked to the desk in her room and sat in the black rolling chair. "Now what?"

The rumbling of her stomach answered her question, and Celia groaned. She really didn't want to leave her room, and she especially didn't want to run into White again. Her stomach persisted, and growled louder.

"Ugh...I'd rather eat my arm then go out there..." her hands gripped the desk, trying in vein to keep herself seated, but after some minutes, her hunger won, and she cursed herself as she stood. "Goddamned high metabolism..." she muttered, walking to the bedroom door and opening it to leave the safety of her small living space. "This is going to suck..." she said as she quickly passed the metal stairs that lead to White's bedroom.

Once she reached the lounge area downstairs, she noticed Jerry sitting on one of the lush black couches, watching the weather report on the television. His back was turned to her, and she quieted her footsteps as she continued on her way to the kitchen. The last thing she wanted to do at this moment was chat with one of her kidnappers. Especially White.

Celia had expected the kitchen area to be small, but her eyes widened when she took in the sight of the large area that was almost as big as her living room at her apartment. Marble counters lined the wall as well as a sleek black refrigerator, oven, and dishwasher. An island counter rest in the center of the kitchen, and cabinets hung, from above the oven and dishwasher. Farther back was a door that lead to a small pantry, and near a wall with wide windows sat a maple dining table, complete with six matching chairs.

"Oh, wow..." she said quietly, walking in slowly and inspecting everything. As she went to open one of the cabinets, she rest her hand on one of the counters. She paused just before opening the cabinet, and raised her hand slowly from the counter surface. A thin layer of oil covered her fingers. Celia gulped, her OCD beginning to kick into gear as her appetite faded into a sense of mild disgust. Her eyes looked to the tiled floor, and she groaned at the light tread of dirt that most likely came from one of White's far from clean lackeys. Celia's eye twitched, and she quickly made her way to the refrigerator. Inside of it, everything seemed to just be thrown in there, no organization at all. The same disorder was in the cabinets, the silverware drawers, and the pantry.

"Don't freak out, Celia..." she said to herself as she backed away slowly to the kitchen door. "It's not like this your place. Why do you even care?" Wide eyes stared one last time at the kitchen as she clicked her fingernails, her OCD beating away at her skull. Her shoulders finally slumped in defeat, and she pushed up her sleeves.

Yes, this would be Hell, indeed...

...

Half an hour later, Celia had mopped the floor and wiped off the countertops and organized the pantry in a meticulous fashion, making sure she hadn't missed anything as she went. Now the contents of the silverware drawers were being re-organized, the spoons, forks, knives, and other utensils being placed in their intended respective places. She wrenched from one drawer a rolling pin, a frown on her face.

"How did they even fit this thing in there?" she asked exasperatedly, turning to place it in the sink for further cleaning.

"What the hell?" came a gruff voice. Celia whipped around to see Jerry standing just outside the kitchen, a mixture of surprise and slight awe as he stared around the nearly sparling kitchen. He went to take a step forward, but Celia ran up and held up the rolling pin threateningly to stop him, succeeding.

"You know how well I can swing a frying pan." she said with forced confidence. She'd be damned if he'd tread more dirt in this kitchen right after she cleaned it. "Don't make me show you what I can do with one of these..." she shook the rolling pin, and Jerry took a slow step back, his hands raised a little in submission. This chick was nuts.

"I just wanted ta get a pop-tart, lady..." he said, his eyes on her cylindrical weapon. She huffed.

"Stand there." she said, and went to the pantry to retrieve what he'd wanted. Once she returned, and handed the silvery packet of pop-tarts to him and pointed one of her slender fingers at his face. "Next time you come in here, your shoes will be off and you will clean up any mess you make before you leave. Understood?" Jerry furrowed his brow, wanting to ask just who the hell she thought she was, but the dangerous expression she showed him kept his mouth shut. He nodded once, and slowly walked away, not turning his back on her until he thought he was a safe distance away.

"Chick's crazy..." he muttered as he sat back down. As he went back to watching the news, he opened the packet of pop-tarts a little bit more carefully than normal. He didn't want her biting his head off if she found crumbs on the couch...

Celia smirked as she went back to re-organizing, placing the rolling pin in the sink before reaching the drawers.

"Point for me..."

...

"Where the hell is Bailey?"

Jerry jumped slightly at the annoyed sound of his boss' voice. He turned from the television to point to the kitchen.

"She's uh..." Jerry said, "I think she's cleanin'." White quirked a non-existent brow.

"Cleaning?"

"Yeah, be careful if ya walk in there." Jerry said, nodding quickly. "She threatened me with a friggin' rollin' pin when I tried to get damned pop-tart. She's a barbie doll, but she's a little fire-cracker when she wants ta be..." White rolled his eyes and headed for the kitchen.

"Of all the damned things she could be doing..." he muttered, taking a handkerchief and wiping his mouth. "she's cleaning..." he scoffed at the idea as he reached the door and opened it, and his eyes widened at the sight of Celia adjusting the contents of oe of the cabinets, a thoughtful expression on her face.

As she placed a box of instant rice back in the cabinet, Celia heard someone cough.

"What do you want now?" she asked, thinking it was Jerry.

"To go over business with you, but you obviously seem to be busy..." Celia almost dropped the box of spaghetti she held at the sound of White's voice. Quickly regaining her composure, she set the spaghetti down and turned to him with a glare. He gestured to the kitchen. "Really?" he asked. Celia scowled, and went back to her organizing.

"If you don't have anything to say, get out." she said. The corner of White's wide, toothed mouth turned upward into a smirk.

"Did you forget who this kitchen belongs to?" he asked. Celia's eyes hooded.

"Probably not you, since you are an escaped Arkham patient and I highly doubt that the owners of this building would have willingly given you a place such as this..." she quipped.

"Did it occur to your precious little brain that I might own this building?" White asked, crossing his arms and leaning backward against the counter. Celia nodded.

"Yes, but if it did, then Batman or the Gotham Police would have checked this building first after the news of your escape and would have kept it closely monitored." she said. "And you have been out for a relatively long amount of time. If this building was yours, you'd have been found by now, and I wouldn't be in this mess."

"Yeah, they would have..." White said, picking up a box of frosted flakes and inspecting it. "But sadly, their jurisdiction only goes as far as Gotham City, doesn't it?" Celia stopped what she was doing and turned slowly to her captor, her mouth slightly agape.

"Are you telling me that we aren't even in Gotham?" she asked slowly. White shrugged, feigning ignorance, but the smile he wore told Celia everything. "Where are we?" she asked.

"That's a secret."

"Why am I here?"

"You know the answer to that already. My turn to ask a question." White said before Celia opened her mouth again. "Why are you cleaning my kitchen?" he asked. "I expected that you would be attempting to escape on your first day here, but here you remain, making everything in here spotless. I mean," He looked up at the cabinet of boxes, "you're even arranging the fucking food by height." Celia clenched her hands into fists.

"This place was a mess, and I cleaned it. That's all." she said through her teeth. White cocked his head to the side.

"I don't think it was a mess. It was already clean enough by society's standards-"

"Not my standards." Celia said. White's mouth turned downward to a frown.

"And what are your standards, Miss Bailey, if you don't mind my asking? Oh, wait, don't tell me. I know the answer to this one." he said. "It's perfection, right? Everything has to be perfect?" Celia scowled for a second, but straightened up and crossed her arms.

"And what if it is?" she asked. "So what if I prefer everything to be in order?"

"Because it makes you into a robot. Your brain is so fucking robotic that your life is nothing but a routine based around work and keeping everything perfect. That's not normal lady." he said. Celia's eyes narrowed into slits.

"And what would you know about normal?" she asked, looking directly into his face. For a split second she regretted her words, as he gave a look that suggested he was ready to explode. But as quickly as it came, the expression passed, and he shrugged as he opened the box of corn flakes in his hands.

"A bit below the belt, Miss Bailey, but a good question all the same." he said calmly. "I do know one thing for sure about normalcy..." he said, and tipped the box over, the contents spilling onto the counter and the floor. Celia's eyes widened at the new mess, and White smirked as he dropped the now empty cereal box to the floor. "Normal people don't freak out like you over a mess." he said. Celia's hands shook, and she looked up to White in disbelief.

"You dare-"

"Yes, I dare. You forget yourself, Celia. It's not like you can do anything about it." he said, propping his arm on the counter, his expression daring her to try and do something. Celia's lip curled, and saw something from the corner of her eye. The knife rack. Acting quickly, she snatched up one of the freshly cleaned butcher knives and pointed it at him threateningly. White's eyes became dark, but he didn't move from his spot. "Really, all this over cereal?" he asked, no amusement in his voice.

"No, not over cereal, you son of a bitch!" she yelled. "You kidnapped me! Threatened me! Bruised me! And now you're looking down on my life as if you have some sort of superiority over me! Fuck you!"

"Hey boss!" Jerry called, reaching the kitchen door. "Is everything o-" he stopped when he saw the two people in front of him. "Oh, shit..." he said, drawing his gun.

"No need for that, Jerry." White said in reassurance. "She's not going to do anything."

"How do you know that?" Celia said, her voice and hands shaking. White took his handkerchief and wiped over his mouth again before answering.

"You don't have it in you." he said. "Your types never do. The little princess. Never committed a violent act in your life, have you?" he asked. "No, that would take away your air of perfection. Perfect girls don't do violent things-" before he could finish, Celia took a step closer, stopping his words.

"I will..." she muttered. White stared at her hard for a moment before taking a step forward, closing the space between him and the knife. He tilted his head to expose his neck.

"Okay." he said. "Do it. Slice me open. End my misery, and all that." he said. "I'll even put my hands behind my back." he did as he said he would, and Celia's mouth dropped open.

"You're insane-"

"Hence the fact I'm an Arkham patient. Now can you please get a move on?" he asked, tapping his foot impatiently. Celia swallowed, her hands shaking even more as she raised the knife. Was she really going to do this?

'He kidnapped me. I should do it. He deserves it. If I don't do it now, who knows what he'll do to me...' her thoughts raced through her mind fore several agonizingly silent moments. Finally, she took a shaky breath and lowered the knife, feeling defeated. White lowered his head again and sneered.

"I knew it." he said. Celia carefully placed the knife back on the rack and looked at him, forcing an expression of indifference.

"Simply because I refuse to lower myself to your wretched level, Mr. White, does not mean you have any right to condescend me for doing nothing. Not all of us in the world are cold-blooded murderers." she went to walk past him and return to her room, but his hand shot out and wrapped itself around her neck. She gasped, and his grip on her throat tightened slightly as he brought his mouth of pointed teeth close to her face.

"Quite right you are, Miss Bailey." he said quietly. "I am a murderer. I love killing. I revel in it. So remember that fact, Miss Bailey, the next time you decide to test me. If not, you'll come to find that my temper has a very short fuse..." he gave her neck on small squeeze to further his point before letting her go. She coughed, and rubbed her neck as she walked quickly away and to the kitchen door. "Oh, and Miss Bailey..." White called, and Celia stopped just before she was out the door. "We'll have our business meeting at three. Be in my office by then with your mind about you. We don't want a repeat of yesterday..." Celia clenched her jaw and continued walking, leaving him and Jerry in the kitchen. White looked down at the spilled cereal. "Get someone to clean this up..." he said to Jerry.

"Uh, yes boss." Jerry said. White nodded, and left the room to go to his office. As he left, he saw her as she turned the corner up the stairs. He glowered.

"Women..."