Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! Particularly you, Sara. That's the longest review I've ever had!

This chapter is dedicated to sexgoddesskat. Hope you like!

"You know we're being watched, don't you?" Jon asked Tory the next day.

"Sort of. I mean, I sort of figured we would be, but when nobody said anything about it I kind of forgot. Are they listening to us, too?"

"Perhaps. I doubt it, though. I'm sure that, if Warner was listening in, he would have used our conversations in my therapy. They're probably just trying to keep you safe."

"He's always asking me what we talked about – Dr. Warner, I mean," Tory said with a sigh. Then his final sentences registered. "Keep me safe? I'd feel a heck of a lot safer if I wasn't stuck in the Arkham version of 1984. I mean, constant surveillance? How much more 'Big Brother' can you get?"

"It's a very common precaution. Remember," said Jon with a twisted smile, "you're alone in a room with a deranged murderer."

Tory shot him a look that thoroughly negated all his menace. "Sure, but you promised not to hurt me. And even if you wanted to kill me, you don't have your hallucinogen with you – or any weapon at all."

"I know kung-fu," he told her.

"Really?" Tory asked, surprised. "You struck me as more of a tai-chi person."

"No, kung-fu. Crane style," he added with a slight smile.

"Of course," she laughed.

"It wouldn't be particularly useful in attacking you, however. The Crane style mainly teaches defense."

"Useful."

"Very."

She stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Okay, what's up?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't understand."

"Bull. You're acting all constrained and polite."

"There's something wrong with that?"

"It's how you act around strangers. Not around me."

"Ah, yes. Because I've known you for ever so long. A whole – what is it now? – month and a half."

Tory was hurt. Why was he acting this way? "Jon, if this is about yesterday's session…"

"Still feeling guilty for pushing all my buttons? Good."

Now Tory was a little hurt and very pissed. "Jon, will you please just tell me what is going on!"

He stared at her, maintaining his icy calm. Then he seemed to change his mind. His body relaxed and he gave Tory a small smile.

"I'm sorry, Tory. I'm just having a bad day." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm really not angry at you."

"You should be," she said without thinking about, then blushed at the startled amusement on Jon's face. "I mean," she added hesitantly, looking awkwardly at the floor, "I was really being a bitch yesterday. And the worst part is, I don't know why! I was just…" she broke off and looked up at Jon. He was sitting with his forearms on the table, hands clasped. His blue eyes were steadily upon her. She allowed herself the luxury of studying his strong cheekbones and delicate nose, his wavy, dark brown hair and almost criminally kissable lips.

"You confuse me," she said softly.

Something entered Jon's eyes that Tory – as usual – couldn't quite read. She'd never seen it before. "How so?" he asked. His voice, normally deep and smooth, was slightly husky.

Tory thought hard for a minute. She'd been tossing and turning over this problem all night, unable to discover why. Now that she was actually in Jon's presence, however, it seemed a bit easier. "You make me," she started slowly, "feel…discontent."

He didn't seem to have been expecting that. Tory almost grinned at his evident surprise. She waited for him to say something, but he didn't, so she kept going.

"When I'm with you, I…" Tory looked back down at the floor, then up once more. She could feel her cheeks becoming flushed with contained emotion. "I'm tired of all this! I'm tired of going to college, and going to parties, and having superficial little crushes on idiotic guys. I'm tired of the dorms and working as a waitress and arguing with my parents over summer curfew. But mostly, I'm tired of…" Tory paused a second to gather herself, to figure out how to express this deep-seated anger. "I'm tired of being me! Or, well, not being me, but being who everyone thinks of me! I'm short and cute and I do stupid things and I'm witty – and that's all anyone ever cares about! And it should be enough, but it isn't. There's more to me. I know there is! There's something inside me that just wants to…" Tory made strangling motions with her hands as if throttling the air, unable to express herself. "I'm so tired of being underestimated!" she finally managed to blurt out. "And you…you're the only one who doesn't do that. Underestimate me, I mean." Tory took a deep breath and looked straight into his eyes. "When I'm around you, I feel like there is more to me than there seems. And frankly, that's both incredibly scary and incredibly cool…the thing is, I feel more like myself around you, but I'm not sure if being myself is always such a good thing…" Tory finally trailed off, looking appealingly at the man opposite her for reassurance.

Jon was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. The strange emotion that filled his eyes was even more apparent. When he spoke, his voice was filled with awe. "You're wrong, Tory. I have underestimated you. Terribly."

"Well," she said, one corner of her mouth quirking upward, "you can stop now."

He grinned all of sudden, a full-fledged grin. "I can. But I won't."

He was teasing her, and after Tory's serious confession it came as an enormous relief. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll just have to make you."

"I'd like to see you try."

Tory stood up and aimed a playful swat at him across the table. He grabbed her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.

"Kung fu?" she asked with a laugh.

"Mmm. Common sense," he responded. His whole face was lit up. She'd never seen him like this before.

She knew it was a bad idea. She knew that she and Jon were teetering over a metaphorical precipice, and if they fell there would be nothing that could save them. She did it anyway.

She smacked at him with the other hand, and he grabbed that one, too.

"Got me," she said quietly.

"Yes, I have," he responded simply.

He was so cute. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes damn near glowed. She finally recognized the emotion. Joy. Pure, unadulterated, almost unholy joy. She stared into his eyes, and he stared back.

Her heart was beating so fast. She could feel her pulse flooding with increased rapidity throughout her body, including…well.

Slowly, very slowly, she parted her lips.

He rose from his chair, still holding her wrists captive within his hands. He leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart. Up close, she could hear his rapid breathing and see the passion in his eyes, and she was thrilled to know that she affected him so deeply.

Slowly, slowly, their mouths came closer.

And met.

Just the faintest brush of lips, barely even a touch.

It took a second for the harsh beeping to register, but when it did they moved quickly. Jon released her wrists and catapulted back to his chair. Tory did the same, trying hard to restrain her fast, panting breaths.

It was too late. Dr. Warner flung open the door and marched in, looking furious. Tory had never seen him angry before. He was followed by two beefy-looking men.

"Miller, Gregorovich, escort Crane back to his cell," Warner said shortly. "I must have a word with Miss Godwin."

Oh, shit, thought Miss Godwin to herself. This time I've really done it.

Jonathan paced in his cell, his mind reeling. The day had started out badly enough. First he'd had hallucinations all morning, and after the disturbing session with Tory the day before he hadn't been able to resist them properly. Then Warner had warned him – he pondered that pun for a few seconds – to stay on his side of the table, or else. Even a psychiatrist as stupid as Warner knew how to recognize sexual tension, and the cretin had wanted to prevent anything from happening. Well, too late for that now. He'd stayed on his side of the table, hadn't he? Hadn't he?

Jonathan laughed mockingly, the sound muffled by the padded walls. He wasn't overly surprised to hear it turn into a sob.

She was his! She had been his! She'd wanted him, and he'd wanted her. Badly. He remembered the expression on her face when she'd spilled her guts to him. The glint in her eye, the gritted teeth. Oh, she had surprised him. He'd certainly underestimated her. There was more to this girl than met the eye…and he had a suspicion that whatever lurked within wasn't going to remain hidden for much longer. Restrain an instinct long enough and it will be activated regardless of the presence of the usual stimuli. Or something like that.

But he'd never see it, because he'd never see her again. Warner would take care of that. He'd be locked in this cell for the rest of his days, bashing his head against the wall and fighting the straightjacket and screaming in terror at the top of his lungs. And it wouldn't matter that he owned Victoria now, that she was his, because she'd be free! She'd be free, and she'd go on and lead her normal life with normal people and marry and have children and he would die never seeing her again. Never, never, never.

"Tory!" he screamed, covering his face with his hands. It didn't do any good. A flock of crows flew just above his head, laughing raucously at his misery.

Jonathan knelt on the floor, still hiding his face in his hands. But he didn't need eyes to see what was happening around him. The crows landed on his back and shoulders, pecking at him and cawing in disdain. The shadows of the room pooled in the corners and formed strange figures that whispered threats of death and worse. The floor opened beneath him, and he found himself teetering on the edge of a vast pit filled with flames and screams.

Jonathan tore at his face with his nails, drawing blood, but it wasn't enough. He bit savagely at his hand, ripping the flesh. The pain wasn't helping. The pain wasn't helping!

Then the Batman drifted down from the ceiling and stood in front of him. Tall, menacing, clad in darkness, the Knight looked down upon the kneeling figure at his feet.

"You'll never see her again, Scarecrow," he said in his rough voice, which echoed endlessly around the room. "Only us, forever and ever."

Forever and ever. Forever and ever. Forever and never. Never ever. Never, never, never.

Jonathan curled up in the fetal position and watched his blood pool on the floor, at last – at long last – surrendering his mind.

"You have overstepped all professional boundaries, Miss Godwin."

"Well, isn't it just lucky that I'm not a professional, then?"

Warner was turning purple. It was vaguely entertaining. "Miss Godwin, you may have set Crane months back in his therapy."

"Funny, y'know. I seem to remember you asking me to come here. Not the other way around. You said I could help."

"Nice young ladies don't run around kissing crazed criminals!"

"This one does!"

"I cannot allow this behavior to continue!"

"Then turn off the goddamned cameras if you're so squeamish! Or are you jealous?"

"Why, you insolent little…"

"Sir?" One of the guards opened the door. "Dr. Warner? It's Crane. He's having a panic attack. I've never seen him this bad."

Warner shot Tory a "See? I was right," look, then turned back to the guard. "I'm coming." He stood up.

"Me, too," said Tory, also standing.

"No, you're not!"

Tory set her jaw and looked the pudgy doctor straight in the face. "Did you know that Crane hated his parents?"

"Ah…no, he never mentioned it."

"Well, he did to me. Indirectly, anyway. Did you know that he discovered the power of fear as a senior in high school?"

"It wasn't in his profile…"

"Did you know he and his brother are incredibly close?"

"I had a vague impression…"

"You're useless," Tory said flatly. She shoved her way past Warner and the guard and started running towards Jon's cell.

She got there a few seconds before the guard and a good minute before Warner. The guard made as if to take her arm, but Tory glared at him. He must have seen something in her eyes that he didn't care for because he didn't try it again.

Warner was not so easily dissuaded. When he finally rounded the corner - puffing and mopping his brow – he was thoroughly enraged.

"MISS GODWIN!"

"Shut up," Tory whispered, staring horrorstruck into Jon's cell.

He was lying curled up on the floor. His whimpers and cries were audible even through the glass. Tory thought she saw blood on the floor.

Without even thinking she fumbled at the lock.

"Miss Godwin, you have absolutely no idea what you're doing," Warner said in a more reasonable tone of voice. "You are a very smart young woman, but you are not a psychiatrist. I understand that you have become attached to Crane, but that is no reason to put yourself at personal risk."

"Personal risk? There is no personal risk," Tory said over her shoulder. She found the keypad for the lock and typed in some numbers. "He promised not to hurt me."

"And you believed him? Miss Godwin, I admire your heart, but you simply don't have the diploma!"

Before he'd finished his sentence Tory had opened the door, slipped through, and was inside the cell.

Warner and the guard both rushed for the door, but the usual codes didn't work.

Tory pushed on the big red button and spoke through the intercom. "Diplomas aren't worth shit if you don't give a damn." Then she forgot them and turned to Crane, ignoring their shouts and poundings on the glass.

Jonathan was still in the fetal position. As she drew closer Tory saw to her horror that the bleeding was much worse than she'd thought. There were open wounds on his hands and a literal pool of blood next to his prone body.

She knelt cautiously beside him, putting her hand on her shoulder. "Jon?" she whispered.

The next thing she knew, his hands were around her throat.

She was lying on her back, Jon on top of her – a pleasing position, but this was hardly the way she'd imagined it. Tory choked and gasped and clawed at his hands and face, but Jon was relentless. His face scratched and bleeding, his blue eyes blazing into her, he laughed at her struggles. It almost hurt worse than her throat, to see the face of the man she loved twisted into something almost demonic.

The edges of her vision were going black and fuzzy, and Tory knew she couldn't last much longer. Yet oddly enough,the rush of adrenaline this thought brought didn't panic her, but cleared her mind. She did the one thing she knew could save her.

She stopped struggling.

With one hand she gently caressed Jon's cheek, and she slid the other up the back of his neck, playing with his hair. The blackness invaded her vision, and then her arms grew weak and dropped, and then there was nothing at all.

She opened her eyes and saw Jon on top of her, his face scratched and bleeding, his eyes wide and terrified. He looked so young.

"Tory?" he whispered. His shaking hand reached out to brush her hair away from her face.

Tory tried to speak, but her throat hurt too much. Not to mention her head.

"Tory, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you! God, Tory, I swear I didn't know..."

There was the incredibly loud sound of shattering glass, and then Jon was being hauled off of her by numerous arms.

"Wait! Tory!" he shouted, struggling against strong hands. Tory propped herself on her elbows and watched as a needle was slammed home into the side of his neck. Jon's eyes went wide in pain, then slowly began to close.

"Bye, Tory," he murmured sleepily, sagging against the guards.

Bye, she mouthed back.