"So... what are we going to do?"

We all sat in the parlor, my parents sitting on one couch, Sam and Roger in another, while I perched sideways on an overstuffed chair in between everyone. Looking back and forth nervously, I bit my lip and continued to speak in a careful tone.

"I was thinking, you know, Aunt Carol in Carthage was looking for a tenant." I suggested lightly. Carthage was a good six hours northwest from Gotham, the second largest city in the state. Far enough to be considered escape, but not too far to look cowardly.

"And what about your apartment? All your things are still there." Sam said, raising an eyebrow. Fiddling with my thumbs, I shook my head. "I'll keep paying for the apartment, until the lease runs up next year. By then I'll know what to do with everything inside."

Like hell I was going back there for anything, but I wouldn't let the lease default when I had just secured it under my name. Crane may have failed to kill me, but he wouldn't kill my credit score either. My father let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he spoke.

"First things first... no more interactions with Arkham, outside of normal procedures. If we're called on a case, we get in, and get out. Only call to confirm release of bodies, and for doctors to sign death certificates."

"But what if we get more cases like Williams?" I prodded, feeling a stir of anger inside of me. He quenched it with a fierce look of his own, hands clenching tightly.

"You will not be here, and therefore are not part of this discussion."

"Of course," I said hotly, crossing my legs over the arm of the chair. It didn't matter anyways, I doubted my dearest Arkham supervisor would be dumb enough to repeat that mistake. Clearing his throat, my father continued.

"I've already spoken with Carol, and she agreed to let you stay the first month for free, but you'll have to find work after then. I doubt that will be difficult," scratching his beard, he looked upwards thoughtfully. "There aren't that many skilled embalmers in Carthage."

I shrugged, nodding in agreement. "Okay, that's fine with me. When do I leave?"

"Your Uncle Ernel will be here Wednesday around five in the morning, as I'm guessing Gotham General will send someone around seven or eight."

That was the other part of the discussion everyone wanted to avoid. Shifting uncomfortably, I looked to my mother apologetically as I asked the unavoidable question.

"What are you going to tell them?"

"That you ran away, obviously." Sam answered, lips quirking into a semi-smirk. It wouldn't have been the first time I was reported for sneaking out. I always assumed Sam was born with me as compensation for my difficult behavior. Aside from the same birthday, vaguely similar physical characteristics, and a lifelong crush on Bruce Campbell, we were nothing alike.

"Alright, I guess that settles it then." Turning around in the chair into an upright sitting position, I stood up and stretched. It was already ten in the evening, I was full of leftover vegetable lasagna, and everyone seemed to want to continue this conversation without my presence. I couldn't blame them, as they were all sufficiently frustrated by the slow trickle of information I was giving them. Sticking to my guns, I kept my mouth shut as I kissed everyone goodnight and went to the main viewing room, where I was sleeping for the night.

The viewing room looked like a perfect blend of a church chapel and a parlor. It was long and wide, an ideal amount of space to set up rows of chairs for a service, with dark hardwood flooring. Thick burgundy drapes centered the wall at the end of the room, bordered by two torchiere lamps about six feet apart, the space between them being where the casket would normally be positioned. Four wall chandeliers on each side cast of the chapel cast an incandescent glow to the room, and gave a sort of elegance to the heavy atmosphere.

Aside from a parlor chair near the entrance and a coffee table along side it for water, two couches were situated on each side of the nearly empty room. Usually for the family to sit during the viewing, one of them was going to be where I crashed for the night. I knew from experience that the couch on the left was older and therefore much more comfortable. Heaving myself into the cushions, I wiggled out of my mother's exercise shorts and pulled the blanket my mother provided up to my neck.

I had been asked all my life how one could sleep and eat where the dead lay, and if I had ever seen a ghost. The first answer was easy; I had to eat and sleep somewhere, and if someone's grandmother happened to be laying in state in the next room, it didn't make much of a difference to me. The other, of course, was a bit trickier.

Ghosts were never imagined in me as some monster tossing people across rooms, or a sheet-like child asking for a friend. They were memories that couldn't be erased, personages so ingrained, they could be invoked with just a scent, or an old photo.

And there were ghosts that yearned to be invoked, embryonic things of potential that craved consummation, to be realized. I had seen both, and they haunted me equally. In the day, every young boy's face had hazel eyes and a wry smile. In the night, every lingering shadow had blue eyes and eager hands.


"What are you doing back here?"

I spun on my heel, looking at Sam with a hard stare as I bent over an open filing cabinet, a fresh cup of black tea in my other hand. "Last time I checked, this was Rothschild Funeral Homes, and my last name is Rothschild." I said sarcastically, deftly pulling out Timothy William's file. Closing the cabinet, I wobbled the file in my hand as I gave Sam a questioning look.

"... Did you ever hear from the medical examiner's?"

Scratching his chin, he fought a yawn. "No, I hadn't called anyone yet. You should get them on the phone, it's already ten in the morning. Williams should've been assigned an investigator by yesterday."

Nodding, I tightened my grip on Williams' file and walked out of the room.

"Wait, Freddie." Sam hissed loudly. I turned around, frowning at his serious look. "What?"

"Don't tell Dad what you're doing, I think he's trying to make sure you get out of here as quietly as possible." He warned, craning his neck to make sure there wasn't anyone coming down the hall. Smiling, I winked gratefully.

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind."

I shut the prep room door, sitting at my desk and dialing the Gotham medical examiner's main office number. Tapping a pen in my hand against the desk as the phone rang, I felt a pang of anticipation in my stomach for the results of the autopsy. Even if I wasn't going to be around for the following investigation, just the thought of it sent warm fuzzy feelings through my body.

"Gotham Medical Examiner, this is Aliyah."

I cleared my throat, pushing lovely thoughts of Jonathan Crane behind bars out of my head. "Hello, my name's Winifred, from Rothschild Funeral Homes." Pushing a lock of hair behind my ear, I turned the file over in my hand and glanced over the information scribbled on the folder. "I'm calling to see who has been assigned to Timothy Williams for a requested autopsy."

"Just a second, please." Classical music faded out of the phone as she put me on hold. It was some sappy composition by Beethoven, but it still made me internally gag. After a minute or two, she came back on the line.

"... I'm sorry, but I can't find any record of a Timothy Williams."

"Could you check again? We sent him to the building on Saturday." I said irritatedly, lightly feeling the sore spot on my thigh. Another few minutes passed by as I was put on hold, and when she came back, her voice strained with exasperation.

"I just checked again and asked several people who were here Saturday, and they said you never came by. You should check with your removal personnel."

Of course this would happen. "Thank you," I answered bitterly, hanging up the phone and immediately dialing James' number. He answered by the second ring, no hint of concern in his voice whatsoever.

"Hey Freddie, what d'you need?"

"I need to know where the hell you dropped off Timothy Williams on Saturday." I snapped, anger and denial coursing through me. It had to be James, there was no way the medical examiner's could be penetrated so easily.

"At the M.E., like you said," his voice squeaked a bit in fear from my snarling. "I signed him in and everything, check the file, I made a copy I swear."

Furiously flipping through the papers, I found the release form to the examiner, but there was only a vague signature on the bottom, no printed name nor time or date given. Internally groaning, I tried to suppress the nastiness in my voice. "… They're supposed to put more than a signature on the form, James."

"I-I didn't know, they said it was fine."

"Who said it was fine?"

A pause. "The man at the receiving station?"

"And would you happen to remember this man's name?" Folding the file shut, I ran a finger over it and closed my eyes. I could feel a headache starting to bloom at the base of my skull.

"No, he didn't say."

Letting out a slow breath, I lifted a hand to my face and massaged a temple. "Okay, James. Thank you." Setting the phone down on the desk, I sat for a moment in complete silence, before spinning around in the chair and throwing the file across the room as hard as I could. The file flipped open, papers scattering on the floor as I let out a scream of frustration.

"How the hell can you lose a body?!"

"What's going on?" My father's voice boomed as the door opened and he came inside, eyeing the mess on the ground. Crossing his arms, he turned to me with a stern look.

"What's this about?"

"Timothy Williams is gone." I spoke in a deflated tone, shaking my head. Of course, his reaction was just what Sam had warned me about.

"You shouldn't be calling the M.E., everyone is supposed to think you're still in Gotham General."

"Okay, well, I did it, and this happened, so whatever." I growled, stomping my foot like a three year old. Laying a hand on my shoulder, his words were tight with conflict.

"Perhaps... it's better that way."

"Of course it is." I said tightly. Now there was little to no trace of anything to use against Arkham. In turn, aside from names on papers, there was little evidence against us, either. I felt defeated as a whole, like a buoy left to drift in the ocean without any way to get back. Gotham was an abyss of corruption and filth, and as the hours passed, I couldn't wait to leave it. Of course, I had one last trick up my sleeve.

Turning to look up at him, I rubbed my head tiredly. "I'm... gonna go lay down."

He patted my back firmly, nodding in agreement. "Just make sure to pick up this mess before dinner."

Trudging into the viewing room at a snail's pace, I curled up in the couch furthest from the door, and pulled out a card I had retrieved from my desk. Some state attorney's assistant's card. Despite my father's implicit insistence to let it go, I couldn't help but need to send at least a small, legal "fuck you" at Crane, before I left for good. Dialing the number, I waited anxiously as the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Is this Ms. Karen Conroy?" I asked, turning the card over in my hand.

"Yes, who is this?"

"My name's Winifred from Rothschild Funeral Homes, I was the funeral director during your grandfather's service last year." I bit my lip, wondering if that was too abrupt an introduction.

A pause. "Oh yes! I remember you, I gave you my card that day, didn't I?"

Oh, good. Time for revenge. Biting back a smile, I continued in a merry tone. "Yes, and I think I need some legal advice on a possible internal issue with Arkham, regarding a certain employee... "


My time was narrowing quickly. By this time tomorrow, I'd be off starting a new life in Carthage. It was two in the morning, my backpack was in the corner filled with a week's worth of necessities, and I seemed to be counting the hours as they passed by. The stereo player in the corner was reserved for music during services, but it did me good to soothe the anticipation in waiting to leave. I was so ready to leave.

As long as I was in Gotham, I couldn't sleep properly. Things from long ago were beginning to unearth themselves, with the help of my present torturer, and if these direct threats weren't bad enough when I was fully conscious, they were worse at night. It didn't help that constant visions of intimate encounters with my would-be murderer were almost a regular occurrence, and no matter what I did to try and stop it, I couldn't.

Billie Holiday sang mournfully into the night, while I lay outstretched on the couch, uncovered. I had let the blanket fall to the floor, as my body had a thin sheen of sweat from the thick wool. Tree branches cast dancing shadows behind the thin curtains of the windows, their dark figures swaying to the rhythm of Holiday's lament.

"I'm a fool, to hold you... "

Eyelids drooping heavily, I put a hand to my chest and let the cool air of the room envelop me. My mind was wrapped in a thick haze of sleep and contemplation, struggling with what I knew, and what I desired. It made me sick to my stomach, that despite everything that had happened, I was still haunted by the fascination of Jonathan Crane's hands.

"Such a fool, to hold you... "

Closing my eyes, I let my consciousness settle into itself completely. It was barely a beat before I heard the purr of his voice, something I had become all too familiar with.

"Do strings not soothe you quite as well as they used to?"

Absolute exhaustion granted one strange abilities, slipping into dreams seamlessly apparently being one of them. In my dense haze I pushed myself up, leaning on an elbow and staring into the dark. Hatred burned in my core, as did insatiable want.

"Instrumental music isn't as satisfying as it used to be," I answered slowly, watching his figure appear in the moonlight cast through the window. It was the first time I saw him without his coat jacket; simply dressed in a black buttoned up shirt, tucked into dark khaki slacks, his sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. He was hate sex in human form. Damn him if he looked good, and he really did. Damn him to hell.

I leaned my head back, my hair falling against my shoulder. Speaking in a low tone, I eyed him up and down. "I needed something more... substantial."

Arching my back in a cat-like stretch, I saw his eyes flash over. That sent a hot jolt down my spine, and I could feel goosebumps rush over the skin on my bare shoulders. Nothing screamed "fuck me on the couch" like a tank top and boy shorts, and I was sporting both of them fantastically. Full thighs were a curse to me in high school, but a blessing in the world of adult sex, where wide swaying hips almost unanimously brought full grown men to their knees.

I crossed my outstretched legs, feeling a coil of anticipation sitting in me as he reached the end of the couch, eyes burning over my exposed skin. Leaning down, he rested a hand against the arm of the couch, cornering me in with his other arm pressing into the back cushion above me. I instinctively shrunk back, but immediately fought against it and inclined towards him with a barely concealed lascivious look.

Biting his lower lip as it pulled into a taunting smile, his lids half lowered in a contemptuous gaze. "I have to admit, I'm a bit... perplexed by this newfound reception."

Pausing, I furrowed my eyebrows in thought. That wasn't how these dreams normally played out. Mulling over his statement, I blankly stared at him for a moment before shifting into an upright position.

"It doesn't matter, you're not even-UGH!"

As I sat up, I bumped into his arm. I could feel the warmth of his skin, it felt so real. Eyes widening, I reached out without a second thought and put a palm flat against his chest. The fabric was soft, and cool to the touch. Underneath, solid form and a heartbeat thumped against my hand.

Oh my God, this wasn't a fucking dream.

"You're here?!" I hissed, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and forcefully trying to shove him back. Only managing to push him away by a fraction, he came back down with full force, grabbing my wrists and pinning them up on either side of my head against the couch. Lip curling into a sneer, he raised an eyebrow and spoke coldly.

"Oh, I most certainly am. Obviously, you just joined the conversation."

"Fuck you," I shot icily, wriggling in his grip. "Seriously, there's no reason for you to be here. How the hell did you get in?"

"This building is over a century old. Simply changing the locks won't suffice."

"Duly noted." I spat. "You're being ridiculous, I'm going to Arkham in the morning. I don't have a choice, and you already know that."

A gleefully deviant look spread across his face, which disheartened me. "Of course you are. And I suppose calling the district attorney's office played a role in your return to Arkham?"

My stomach immediately dropped, eyes widening, but saying nothing. Explaining was unnecessary, as he answered my question for me. "I warned you from the beginning to be mindful of who you asked for help." Looking me over, his lips pursed in mock consideration. "Now, what is the penalty for such continued misconduct?"

As if he were the right sort of person to administer punishment. I leaned my head back and glowered at him down my nose. "You know, threatening my life loses its leverage when you fail. Twice." I mocked, giving a sneer. "So what's it going to be, then? Three time's the charm?" Being snarky wasn't difficult for me anymore. It wouldn't make a difference if I chided him to kill me, or pleaded for my life. And I wasn't one to beg.

He spoke in a clear tone, edging closer as he leaned on a knee into the cushion, his leg brushing up against my thigh. "I've learned my lesson. Death is too merciful of a punishment for you."

"Oh, how magnanimous of you." Scrunching my nose, I gave him what I hoped was the nastiest glare he had ever received in his life. "Too bad you weren't the one left to choke on a kitchen floor. Or nearly stabbed by some stranger in an alleyway!" Controlling my voice just below a shout to prevent waking up my family, I felt a pressure building within me, as if I were being held underwater.

My accusations were falling on deaf ears, clearly demonstrated as he gave a patronizing scoff. "Don't be so grieved." He said listlessly. "You're taking this too personally."

"Too personally?!" I hissed loudly, feeling the rage in me seeping out of my pores. "You're ruining my livelihood!"

Finally, a scowl broke on his face. "And you're threatening mine. I do what is required. I offered you an alternative, and you rejected it. You could have swallowed your pride, accepted the payment, and nothing would've had to happen to you. The fault is yours alone."

I snapped, a renewed vigor surging through me as my hands struggled against his hold in an attempt to rip his face off. "Alone? Alone?! Bullshit! I didn't kill those patients, don't you dare try to reason these things to me. Your sociopathic behavior trumps anything I ever did, which at it's worst merely annoyed you."

"Merely annoyed me?" Clenching my wrists tighter, he spoke slowly, voice heavy with resentment. "After years of excessive research, novels of dissertations on analyses of the mind, attaining familiarity with all frailties of the human psyche, and securing the ability to invade and subdue the most agile mind to its most primitive…"

Leaning forward, he spoke against my cheek, which was warm and red from exertion. Now would be the opportune moment to turn and bite him, but I really didn't want to have to resort to defensive cannibalism.

"I had learned power in its most penetrative and irreversible form... and you assumed you could walk right in and interrupt my work."

I sucked in a shaking breath, my chest heaving against his. "I had to. You were hurting people."

A warm scoff blew into my hair. "Great advancements were never gifted with the luxury of being spared from sacrifice."

"You're psychotic."

Without warning, he shifted both my wrists into one hand and used his free palm to cup my cheek, his smile growing as I flinched and stiffened at his touch. Shivers ran over my body again, and I desperately hoped it was too dark to see my nipples perking under my thin top. "Possibly. But I am not nearly as inept as you consistently misjudge me to be. I know you don't plan on returning to Arkham."

Refusing to meet his penetrating look, I swallowed hard. "Is that why you're here? 'Damage control'?"

Those fingers never broke contact, curving around the shell of my ear and running across my jaw line. My eyes fluttered, and I could feel a warmth growing deep inside me. Never had someone riled me up so badly with mere touches. Then again, I had never detested someone so quickly either.

"In a manner of speaking."

I met his unwavering stare, jerking my head away to stop his ministrations. "I'm not going to let you confine me in some white walled cell in Arkham."

His hand traveled down my neck and across my collarbone, drifting back and forth slowly. My eyes screwed shut, preventing him from seeing them roll back in ecstasy. Coaxing me gently, his words soothed and vexed me. "Confinement is not as dreary as you assume it to be. It releases the burden of control. It teaches you the privilege of submission."

Forcing my words out, I squirmed against him uncomfortably. "I really don't understand why you're doing this, I think it's safe to say we've sufficiently aggravated the shit out of each other."

He spoke in a supposing tone, voice light with inflection. "Perhaps I've developed a taste for turmoil. It's been ages since I was last occupied by such an intense state of provocation..."

Drawing tantalizingly slow circles across my skin with his index finger, he dipped down towards the tops of my breasts, then back up to my collarbone. My eyes fluttered. I had to suppress the shudders of arousal flooding through me. Every shift and move against my body was painfully stirring, and I absolutely hated that all he did was open his goddamn fucking mouth.

"... and you've made the grave mistake of occupying my mind too long."

Panting heavily, I opened my eyes to see him just inches away. Slight stubble darkened his jaw line, emphasizing those high cheekbones of his that I had constantly imagined nuzzling against my thighs. Behind his glasses, reflecting the light through the window, azure eyes seared mercilessly. I couldn't help but hate to notice the freckles spattered across his face, which might've been endearing, if he didn't inspire such awful feelings in me.

"You're here for something else." I surmised, relaxing the tension in my arms. "This isn't just some check-up, is it?"

In response to my slackening struggle, he let my arms fall to my sides, where they burned and ached from effort. I sucked in a sharp breath as a hand rested itself against my hip, his thumb curving just under the elastic of my shorts. "I've come to make a final offer, but this time," sliding his thumb along the waistband, he spoke with an undertone I hadn't heard from him before. "You will be imparting something to me."

"What do you want?" My breath hitched in my voice as his finger skimmed back across the waistband, dipping a fraction lower. Involuntarily, my hips bucked, and I heard him let out a hiss from between his teeth. Good to know I wasn't the only one suffering. Taking a handful of my hair and pulling my head back against the couch, he began his list of demands against the nape of my neck.

"I want every dark corner of your mind that grows like a shadow cast on a dimming day, when you let yourself rest a moment too long in silence. Every slick, rousing image you let slip into bed with you at night…"

Without warning, his roaming hand traveled upward to my right breast and pinched my nipple through the thin fabric of the shirt. It sent waves ricocheting through my body, and I involuntarily let out a gasping moan.

"Every instance in your life, when repulsion and horror haunted you to the point of madness. I know it's all there, locked away inside. Even from you."

I wanted him to take me, right there on the couch. And I knew from the edge of tension in his voice that he was waiting for the word, a sign, anything that told him he could throw me down and have it all. "You're tired of escaping yourself, Matryoshka. Let it fall, and let me claim you. Give me the adrenaline in your blood, when your pulse quickens. Surrender the screams that I know are trapped inside."

There was absolutely no way that torture and ecstasy could lay so perfectly in a person. Somewhere, there lied a duality in Jonathan Crane, and I couldn't see it, but it was there. The raw malice in his eyes terrified me no less than his perfectly controlled, meticulous touches.

"Submit to me. And you will be bereft of want from anything."

The accuracy in his words were agonizingly true, but his insight wasn't drawn from an in depth analysis. It was familiarity. That thought made me instantly recoil, and worked the opposite to what he was trying to accomplish. Placing an open palm flat against his chest, I pushed him back to see his face, and trailed my hand down towards his belt, hooking a finger in one of the loops. I saw a twinge in his neck, knowing he could boil over from under the surface at any moment.

"You think we come from the same ether, don't you?"

His knowing eyes burned brightly, lips curling into a satisfied smirk. Parting my lips slowly, I mirrored his look with an added degree of contempt. "Let me clarify something." I said slowly, grabbing his collar and pulling him down towards me. With my free hand, I drew a finger across his cheek, ghosting over the scratch I made a couple of nights ago.

"There is nothing of you in me. Whatever conclusions you think you've come to, they're wrong. Sorely."

This didn't dissuade him. The hand on my breast moved to my side, tightening its grip. "A blatant lie, and you know it."

A snarl broke out on my face, and I shoved him hard enough to break contact. Scooting to the edge of the couch, I smoothed my rumpled clothes and spoke in an even and hard tone. "Get. Out. I'm washing my hands of you."

He didn't budge, merely raising an eyebrow curiously. Obviously, I was going to have to spell it out for him plainly. "I'm leaving Gotham, whether you want it or not. It's best for me, for my family... and for you."

"I assume this means you forfeit all further investigation."

Scoffing, I ran a hand through my mussed hair and sneered. "What else can I fucking do? The evidence is gone, everyone's on your side, you won. Okay?" Bending down, I picked up the blanket off from the floor and placed it around my shoulders, a woolen buffer to my exposed skin. "Go ahead and indulge yourself in the power that you think you posses, but just know that there's always someone who will come and overthrow you."

Standing up, he adjusted his shirt and inclined his head towards me with a dead pan stare. "Is that a threat?"

"No," I breathed. "It's a guarantee."

We stared at each other for a moment, an odd mix of emotions lingering in the air. I turned away first, breaking whatever spell we had between us. Walking to the chapel door, I opened it slowly and directed him to follow me with a jerk of my head.

"You have to go."

A shrug seamlessly rolled off his shoulders, and he casually followed. At the front entrance, I looked around quietly before unlatching the bolt lock and letting him pass around me to the elongated porch entrance outside. As he turned to look at me again, I saw nothing in his facade that gave away any thoughts or emotions. It was truly eerie, how he could do that.

"I still hate your fucking guts." I said flatly.

That broke a small grin on his face. "A wise decision." He answered, adjusting his glasses. Pausing, I mulled over whether I should say what was on my mind between leaving his physical embrace and now. I decided to let it out, as it was the last time I'd see him anyways. Scratching my head, I spoke hesitantly.

"Honestly, I... really do wish you were someone else."

I didn't look at his face, not wanting to see him with that nasty glare he was really good at delivering. However, what he said instead stumped me.

"As do I."

When I looked up, shock scrawled on my face, I merely saw his retreating back to me, walking away with straight posture at a languid pace. All signs of confidence and self assuredness. I knew better than to pity the truth. Perhaps he understood my pain, but I didn't understand his ruthlessness. This time when I closed the door, I used the latch with the chain at the top.


"Will you call us when you get there?"

Zipping up my jacket, I gave my distraught mother a pitying look and smiled. I couldn't blame her worry, this was the first time I ever left Gotham for more than a couple weeks, and we still hadn't planned on when I might come back. Giving her a hug, I spoke into her bed tangled hair.

"I'll call you at the first gas stop." Pecking a kiss on her cheek, I stood back and looked to Sam, who had an angry look with tears in his eyes. I pulled an exaggerated ugly face, which didn't seem to help.

"Freddie, stop. This isn't funny."

"You're just mad because you have to stay here while I'm going on vacation." I mocked, jabbing him in the side with a finger. Despite being a complete lie, I desperately felt the need to dissuade the tension. Wiping at his eyes, he smacked my hand away. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down, planting a fat kiss on his forehead and turning to Roger with a pleading look.

"Make sure he doesn't suck the fun out of everything, please."

Roger put a hand over his mouth, suppressing a laugh. Sam ignored the jab and sniffed loudly. "Just, be safe."

I nodded with a smug smile, turning to the open door where my father was waiting. In a white t-shirt and pajama pants, sleep was no longer heavy in his eyes, but his shoulders were weighed down with too many concerns. My head lowered a bit as I approached him, tightening the grip on my backpack.

"Sorry. For everything."

He shook his head, speaking in a tight voice. "Don't be, I'm proud of you. What you did was incredibly stupid, but I'm proud of you."

"Even though absolutely nothing was accomplished?" I felt my eyes brim with tears, but I smiled anyways. He put a hand to my face, wiping a stray tear. "Well... things don't always work out the way that they should, do they?" He supposed lightly, returning a small smile.

"Words of the wise." I mocked, wiping at my slightly drippy nose. Ruffling a hand in my hair, he pulled me into an embrace tight enough to make me wheeze. With a kiss on my forehead, he pushed me out the door. Nearly stumbling, I turned to everyone and shot one last wretched smile. I heard my mother choke out a sob, hiding behind my father's large frame as I made my way to the white truck humming in the large driveway.

"You ready?" Uncle Ernel asked with a gruff laugh as I threw my bag in and climbed inside. Scrubbing the sleep and grief off my face, I turned to him and mustered the happiest look I could manage. He nodded once, putting the truck into drive and stepping on the gas. We took off before I even properly closed the door shut, and I had to turn in my seat to see the funeral home, and my childhood, shrink off into the starry night.

I could only hope that things got better from here on out.


Disclaimer: Nolanverse and DC characters/settings are not mine. Don't worry dear reader, this is only the intermission. These chapters seem to be getting longer as time goes on, don't they?