Hello again! Disclaimer: if I owned this stuff, would I be writing fanfiction about it?

And keep a close eye peeled: someone is going to be joining the story soon!

9: Concern and Tylenol

Harley couldn't decide whether to be concerned or triumphant about my injuries. Turns out, nothing was broken or concussed or anything, just bruised. Which was a pretty amazing feat, taking on Bane and only being bruised.

"This should teach you to keep a hold on your anger and aggression," Harley said pointedly.

"I know. Take a deep breath and count to ten and all that jazz." I had counted to ten before I spoke now, too. My attitude was pretty mild compared to what I was thinking. The headache I had didn't help. I said so.

"Did the doctor give you any Tylenol or anything?" Harley asked me.

"Ah, no, I don't think so."

Harley grabbed her purse and rummaged around in it. "Here," she said, pulling out a pill bottle and uncapping it. "Two Tylenols. Do you need water or anything?" She handed the pills to me.

I pushed my brown hair out of my face. "No…should you be doing this?"

"Giving you pills?" I nodded. "I'm your psychiatrist. I can do that." She smiled, liking the power.

I thought about this. "Okay, whatever." I didn't care if she had the authorization; I wanted the pain pills. I swallowed them without water. "Thanks."

"No problem." Harley pulled out my file. "So, we went over anger today. Anything else you want to talk to me about?"

"I don't know."

"Any idea where this anger comes from?"

I thought about it. "Bane… he called me a –a tramp. It made me mad, but it hurt too."

Harley made a note of it. "Anything else?"

"Don't think so."

She stood and prepared to leave.

"Wow, that was short." I stared at her with one eyebrow raised, wondering why on earth that was leaving.

"I think we can talk more when you're feeling better. Oh," she reached into her bag, "here's your second book." She tucked her blond hair behind her ear in a slightly embarrassed way.

"Thanks, Harley. Hey, can I ask you something?" I said really fast, before she left.

"What?" she asked curiously.

"Who were the guys that pulled Bane off me? I want to thank them."

"Oh, no one pulled him off you. My understanding is that after Bane threw you against the wall, Dr. Crane came between the two of you and said something to him that made him cease and desist." She picked up her bag and left the room.

I had nightmares again. I didn't remember much more about them, just a huge impression of darkness and fear. And screaming. Who was screaming, I don't know; it might have been me. But the next day wasn't any better than the day before, plus the added fact that I would need to apologize to Crane. I kept trying to figure out a way to say it all through breakfast, group therapy, and lunch, but the words would never come. Finally, when we were herded outside to soak in some vitamin D, I just blurted it out to him.

"I want to thank you for what you did. Stopping Bane. And for taking me to the infirmary. And –yeah," I said rather jerkily.

He looked at me, considering, and then replied, "You're quite welcome Tierney. Does this mean you'll listen to me now?"

"Maybe." I stared at the hard brick walls surrounding the courtyard. A fall breeze whipped through the fenced-in trees' leaves, and some flew off and spiraled around my feet. What was the point of coming outside for sunlight if the gray clouds obscured the sun? I rubbed my arms to keep off the chill as the wind continued to whistle through the trees.

"…Snow coming…come inside, little Piper!" I looked around, searching for the voice that called my name. "You want some hot cocoa? We'll make some." It was a memory, I realized. Distant, I caught pictures of welcoming hands grasping a smaller pair –mine.

I blinked, and the memory shredded and blew away on the winds. "I remember. Someone did call me Piper. But I don't remember who or when." Tears brimmed in my eyes, and I scrubbed them away with my sleeve. "I just –I just want to know who I am. Is that so much to ask?"

He tilted his head, looking at me sideways. "You have amnesia; it is quite a lot to ask that you recover all of your memory instantaneously."

I looked up at him. "I know that," I snapped. "When will it come back? Will it ever?"

"Your fear of not recovering your memory is causing you to shake, Tierney."

I froze. How had he noticed? "What?"

"Your mind has power over your body. And when the mind can only take so much, it shut's itself off until it can process the information it has received. That's why your memory is gone."

Was he smirking at me? He was enjoying the fact that I couldn't remember. He found it funny. I was some kind of new experiment or toy he could play with when he had been kept from examining the other crazies.

Way to fail, Jonathan. "You know what? Just go away. Leave me alone." I brushed past him and walked to the far edge of the courtyard, sitting on a cold stone bench under a dying tree. The jerk; the insensitive, unfeeling –the other inmates were right. He had no soul. There was no person inside the ice-blue eyes and serious expression. There was a master manipulator of fear, nothing else. I had been wasting my time. He didn't give two beans about me. Taking me to the infirmary was just to get me to trust him so he could mess with me even more. Well, it wasn't going to happen again, no sir. He wouldn't play his games with me. Dr. Jonathan Crane, aka Scarecrow, could just… just… go die somewhere. See if I cared!

But why did my heart feel so empty?

You know what? I'll still update, but I'll update a lot faster if I get 5 reviews. It's a fair number. And hey, I take questions, comments, criticisms, etc. I want to get better in my writing, and you'd be helping me do so. So. Five reviews. Go!