A/N: OK, so after today, I'm off for a couple days for some activity thing going on at my college. Which means no computer and no TV over there. I think I might go into withdrawal. I'll sneak the iPod into my packing and hope they don't confiscate it. They probably won't. Anyway, yeah, I about have to update today. Luckily, this is the colossal chapter I was telling you guys about. And not just in length either.

Chapter 9: Session 8: Theories on Fear

On the way home, Amelia stopped at the grocery store due to her shortage on milk and, really, food in general. She had behaved like a regular slob over the weekend all because of some horrific memory. Some trigger to revert back to the depressed teenager she had been, which was unlike her and what she found inexcusable.

Partially, she went to the grocery store not just out of necessity but to seek refuge in someplace other than home. This must have been a trait she had inherited from her mother, who had automatically gone shopping when Grandpa Kent died.

That was Mom's grieving process. In Amelia's case, she just needed to do something mundane to forget about her case for a little while. She'd do anything now.

Operating on what seemed like auto-pilot, she headed to the dairy aisle to pick up milk when she recognized a certain someone.

Mark Young looked to be contemplating what kind of cheese to boy and in what form (shredded, cubed, sliced, etc.). He also appeared to be lost in thought, much like her.

Amelia wanted to talk to him then, a sudden impulse urging her that she should. To make amends with him over her inept behavior from that last date…

She even regretted afterwards, when she had acted like an immature fifteen-year-old on the drive home, cursing and blaming him instead of herself.

Absentmindedly, she greatly placed two full gallons in the cart, trying fruitlessly not to stare. He was her ex-boyfriend, after all. Yet, she chanced a glimpse at him that turned into a gaze.

Undeniably, Mark was handsome, and yet she hadn't experienced enough chemistry with him. And frustrated, Amelia wondered why. His dark hair was in an organized mess as always, rumpled and wavy. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows in that unkempt style he preferred. He looked more blue-collar in comparison to a typical lawyer.

She barely smiled at the idea and was a few seconds shy of saying hi to him…

…When a rather voluptuous woman came out of the adjacent snack foods aisle pushing a cart filled with fruits, vegetables, some canned goods, and (from what she could see) Wheat Thins. Apparently, Wheat Thins were better than Chips Ahoy for a post-dinnertime snack, Amelia inwardly scoffed. At the same time, instincts coerced her into staying put out of curiosity.

Who was this woman?

She soon found out when the curvy, raven-haired woman in question stopped a foot away from Mark. Turning toward her, he smiled amiably as he dropped a chunk of Swiss cheese in her cart, and they proceeded to engage in conversation. The woman spoke in a lovely Spanish accent.

Her face impassive, uncertain as to how to think or feel in this scenario, Amelia steered her cart away and escaped the dairy aisle. So, this was how she had been treated? Brushed aside in favor of helping a ridiculously gorgeous woman with her grocery shopping? Not to mention that this Spanish model (for all she knew) made her painfully aware of her more understated curves and twiggy legs. Now that she considered it, as she relentlessly pushed her cart toward the produce section, she was furious with Mark all over again. Like a typical man, he wound up being shallow in his taste in women.

And helping her with the everyday task of groceries? Ha, that was quite chivalrous of him. Wheat Thins…She never liked the damn things that much, personally.

What did it matter? Mark had dumped her, not as amicably as she would have liked but…They'd hardly known each other too well, so it wasn't like it was a great loss, just a massive blow to her ego.

Maybe Cate had a point. Perhaps men simply didn't express the desire to be with career women like her. Well, Amelia needed to pore over her Crane notes tonight, regardless.

So what if Mark Young had expressed no intent of falling in love with her? It wouldn't be the first time that this occurred. Ah, she didn't care in the slightest. Her career came first. She believed she really had something on Crane now, a legitimate assumption as to why he did what he did. She would present this to him tomorrow.

And she would have him cornered, at a loss for words.

Another Thursday session, another face-to-face encounter with Crane, but Amelia wasn't deterred by him and his constant attempts to make her uncomfortable. She had so much boldness that she would see this case through to the end, whichever form that took. Besides this relentless drive, she'd finally discovered an epiphany of an idea that might lead to the potential breakthrough. Once that got hammered into his head, he would possibly reform. Possibly…Or he would kill her.

She never found out just how much of a gambler she was until today when she was willing to lay all her cards on the table.

He hadn't been "dropped off" yet by the time she arrived, which she was pleased over. Preferably, Amelia hadn't wanted Crane around each time she taped an introduction to each session, worried that he would interrupt or, worse, listen attentively. And then use her ideas against her. At this stage in the game, she was well aware that Crane was extremely intelligent, highly capable of breaking her if he chose.

"It's early April now, and I've barely made a dent," she confessed to the old-fashioned tape recorder. "I ought to have at least known about his childhood by now and why fear is such a turn-on for him. I suppose he's too smart to reveal much about his personal life. He knows how this works here—he has been in my position too many times. I won't give up. That breakthrough may be today, and I just don't know it yet."

"Breakthrough? What breakthrough?"

A snide voice taunted her, causing Amelia to stop excessively running her hands through her hair and to stare directly at Crane. The two usual guards were just about to close the door on them.

So, he'd overheard…Luckily, if what he parroted to her was any indicator, Crane had only caught the tail end of her reflections. Good. If he'd eavesdropped on even a few more words, he would have used that as a tactic. And he would have persisted in, once again, discussing herself rather than his issues.

"It doesn't concern you, Mr. Crane," she addressed him frostily, her words like ice shards. "Perhaps when you decide to cooperate, it will. Until then, take a seat."

"Care to offer me any drinks?" Crane cracked a joke, but coming from him, it sounded dark and at her expense.

Amelia disregarded this. "I'm willing to let yesterday's confession of yours slide. My job is to try improving you mentally and emotionally if necessary. And no trick that you're going to pull is about to stand in my way. Is that clear?"

He must have had his eyebrows raised in a gesture of mock innocence, though his fiddling around with the needles betrayed it. "Amazing, how committed you are to your career, Doctor. That kind of dedication is very moving. But…I wonder when you're going to snap from all the pres—"

"Please. No more games," she cut in half-wearily but half-firmly, knowing that she had to force him to behave. If it implied talking to him like he was a dog, then so be it. She was getting fed-up with him.

"Hm, but they're so much fun," he responded dryly, examining his syringe glove fondly. "How else to usurp your mind so that it's no longer yours?"

"Oh, clever. No, Crane, today I'm going a bit more unorthodox. Let's talk about fear."

Crane straightened up as much as he could on the leather lounge chair, lifting his hands dramatically in feigned surprise. "Well, I suppose I won't have to take over your mind after all, considering you're finally talking my language."

Amelia smiled humorlessly, amused that he would believe that she would ever pass off his ideology as her own. "That's not exactly what I meant, Crane. I still believe that what you did was wrong. No, I say that we discuss our theories on fear. I am confident that they contrast."

"Fear in theory?" Crane snorted cynically and shook his head. "I can't believe you've conceived this idiotic notion. This isn't a college lecture from my psychology professor. Quite moronic of you."

"I mentioned 30 ccs of anesthetic on Tuesday. That offer still stands."

"I'll decline, thank you. Now, what were you saying?" He pretended to be half-interested.

This was psychiatrist gold that she gradually approached. Amelia sensed that she could go in for the kill at any minute. Bringing up the very subject of fear was sure to get his pulse racing, excitement growing. He would spit out self-revealing words before he realized what he did.

"It's more of a debate about fear, actually, something I learned in one of my psychology classes." Amelia suppressed her eager smile so she wouldn't seem too anxious for what she'd been calling in her notes "the breakthrough." "Of course, it was a long time ago, but it's whether fear is something we are born with or something we learn over time."

Their theories had to be different. Otherwise, this would defeat the purpose of the exercise.

"Well…We're born with it, of course. All of nature's creatures are. It is part of our genetic make-up, as far as I'm concerned."

Wrong answer, Amelia thought near-victoriously, I knew he'd say that.

But, part of the genetic make-up, DNA, the thing that made them human beings? That was ludicrous.

Then, she remembered that the man sitting in front of her was the same one who had brazenly sprayed city hall and laughed about it. Ludicrous didn't begin to cover him.

"Our genetic make-up?" she echoed doubtfully, shaking her head to reflect that. "I wouldn't go that far. Besides, personally, I believe fear is what we find out over time. If we go through certain traumas throughout our life, certain circumstances that shake us up, we develop these particular fears."

His eyes studied her, as though sifting through her words to discover their meaning, even though what she said was fairly self-explanatory.

Funny, was he really listening to her? Well, if she did say so herself, she had put up a fairly strong rebuttal. However…

Crane laughed unpleasantly. "Is that what you think?"

"And is that how you prefer to win your arguments?" Amelia asked in retaliation. "By attempting to rip your opponent apart through your arrogance? Not too wise, Crane. A more worldly man would know what to say immediately to defend his stance…not waste time laughing at the opponent."

"Oh, please, Doctor. You've already made me feel like I'm back in psychology class. Don't turn this into a college public speaking course as well. I'm no student of yours."

Was he kidding? Every opening he saw to ostracize her and her opinions, he took full advantage of in an attempt to make her look inferior to him. She formed a steeple with her fingers, hiding her pursed lips and her overall grim expression.

"Let the records show that you obviously think my point is BS, that anything that goes against you is invalid to you," she coldly told him.

Picking at her fingernails, she temporarily pretended that Crane wasn't even there. If he wasn't there, she would have a better hold on her patience and be less likely to scream at him.

This moment was brief before Amelia cleared her throat and entreated courteously, "So, Crane, why do you think we're born with our fears? Enlighten me. We have plenty of time."

Too much time. She swore that twenty minutes had gone by when, in reality, it had only been half that. However, she wouldn't whine, wouldn't complain about this, as much as she wanted to.

She observed that Crane rolled his eyes ever so slightly, their stare drifting up to the ceiling. "I would think you would know why, Doctor. You're the professional at work here."

"Well, since I happen to disagree with you, I want to hear your side. I don't know what you're thinking."

"Imagine that," he said, his boredom quite blatant. "Nonetheless, if you really wish to know my perspective—"

"I do."

"I'm sure it will rivet you." The sarcastic deadpan proved to be at his most vitriolic yet. "Hmm…Very well, if you're avid enough to listen to my views, I suppose I'll oblige.

"We're all born here with fear, every one of us. Why else do babies cry when they're first born?"

Oh for God's sakes…Amelia could readily counter that. "To breathe, I always assumed. They're finally out in the real world instead of stuck in the womb."

"Wrong. They're afraid. It's all new and strange to them. They see a doctor hovering near them, medical supplies, not to mention they're caked in—"

"To each their own," she interrupted, reviled by his description and that a baby's first cries resulted from fear. And she thought that that older interview tape in which the Riddler had cracked his infamous baby joke was bad. Crane's theory stemmed from a disturbed mind. And much like Penny Young…Well, she walked right into that one.

"Regardless, fear is instilled within us from the minute we're brought into the world. Even if we don't display it young—according to your unfounded theory—it's an instinct. When we see or experience something that perturbs us, it would be classified as a trigger for that instinct to come alive. All you need to do is push the right buttons (for, every person's set of fears is different, like snowflakes with no two sets being exact), and then fear in its purest form reveals itself. It takes hold of the person, forcing them to lose their wits."

Drawn to his rebuttal, Amelia found herself impressed and awed that he'd presented it so articulately…But, she could not agree with his point. On the contrary, she was disgusted with his "fear is an instinct" theory, the idea that it hid inside you until a given situation summoned it to the surface.

And then after that, you were too powerless to fight it off because you wouldn't have a conscious thought. She hated his comeback…perhaps because there was some substance to it? A degree of logic along with the madness?

Shrugging it off, she proceeded to tear this reasoned argument apart. "You're talking about fear in general. That's too vague and, honestly, you're not being specific enough that way. Are we exposed to spiders when we're born? I'd think not. Some of us learn we don't like them later on. And what about, for example, the fear of God? That's learned with those of us who happen to be raised in devoutly religious families."

That seemed to leave a bad taste in Crane's mouth. Carefully observing his reactions to what she said, she saw his eyes narrow. As for the emotion in them, she swore she could detect cold hatred. As blue as they were, they looked like hardened chunks of ice.

"What religion do you believe in, Doctor?" he asked abruptly after a couple minutes' reticent silence.

"Interested in people's religious views," Amelia wrote very slowly, not quite registering that he would be so bold as to ask that question. Indeed, she was positively baffled…What would move him to make that inquiry now? She'd only used the fear of God as an example.

Unless…

She tapped the eraser end of her pencil near her lips. "Why do you want to know?"

"Confidentiality would constitute a special relationship, wouldn't it?" She did not trust that jeering smile behind the mask.

"In a sense…"

"Then, admit it to me."

Amelia shrugged again. "If you must know, I'm agnostic."

"So, you're not afraid of going to hell?"

She started to come up with one conclusion regarding the real Jonathan Crane, the man behind the Scarecrow façade. He was either intensely religious, possessing a deep-seated faith, or he rejected all religion in general. Not that his beliefs in theological pursuits were all that relevant to the case…or were they?

"No, and Crane, you have been trying to get me to admit to my fears for weeks. Drop it. You see me currently as your perfectly sane psychiatrist."

"For now…But, how about I theorize that you're terrified of men?"

Amelia dismissed frigidly, "Preposterous. If so, I would be panicking at the sight of you every day. Quite frankly, you don't intimidate me."

"Hmph. Commitment then. My man told me he didn't find any pictures of a boyfriend in your office. Just your parents…and your pet cat."

Crane practically spat out the word "cat" as if he thought that her having only a pet around for company was a pathetic concept. Well, in her opinion, having a cat was better than having nothing, which was what he had at the moment.

Not a pet or family or a significant other but an obsession that he wanted (in his head, needed), fulfilled, a dream—no, nightmare—realized.

She frowned. "At least I have my parents and the cat. Oh, and also a close friend, as much as that might surprise you. And older friends from high school. I have a feeling you can't grasp the concept of having any of these key people in your life, Crane. Did you ever have them in your life? Do you have them even now?"

Her retort served as a low blow, way below his belt. But, she was done with sympathy, finished with empathy. A man like him stranded in deluded fantasies required to be brought back down to reality. To be normal…to be sane…

"Shut up, you insolent woman. You don't know what you're talking about," he mildly snapped, though she'd witnessed him angrier. "You wouldn't know. It's failure, isn't it? Failure is one of your biggest fears, particularly with your precious career. If these people are so valuable to you, then why is work your first priority? And you're worried you'll fail this case.

"And Miss Harland, you're doing a fine job of it so far. You have made hardly any progress with me. No breakthrough, no epiphany—nothing"—Crane stood up, pointing at her—"You've been faltering this whole time. This certainly isn't your career best."

Amelia shook her head, indicating that she was in a "that's it" sort of mood, and properly rose to her feet as well. "I actually do have an epiphany, Crane! It's just occurred to me. I can already make one conclusion that's been in the back of my mind since I first researched you, not through sensationalist newspaper articles but your Arkham file."

She played with fire, as this man had a 189 IQ approximately, and he could physically overpower her. Nonetheless, she felt taller than the tallest sequoia presently because she had the trump card. It would be in her daring behavior to stand up to the man who saw all people as puppets. Their fear was the strings. And as master, he leered over them in his disdainful fashion.

Time to knock him off his high horse.

Stepping toward him deliberately, she spat, "And the sessions haven't changed my mind. Not one bit. Your damning evidence proves that you are the vilest, sickest man I (or, really, anyone) have ever met. The way you lust after fear…You can't be cured! You're a miserable son of a bitch who is very much alone, and I can definitely see—"

Unluckily, she couldn't finish that sentence, for Crane roughly grabbed her shoulders, pinning her to the nearest wall. In the process, poor Amelia got the breath knocked out of her. Somewhat disoriented from being smacked against the wall, she still managed to have frenzied questions or at least one.

Did…Did he just use physical force on her?

In disbelief, she saw Crane's eyes, and they were more wrathful than she'd ever seen them. That included her "fear of God" comment. They bored into her, merciless.

"Have I frightened you now, Doctor?" he inquired, his voice poisonous in its condescending tone. "This is your fear, isn't it? Being trapped by a man?"

"G-Get off me." Much to her humiliation, she weakly stuttered.

"No, I don't think I will. I want to enjoy this." He pressed his body closer to hers, so close that she could sense that this aroused him.

"Doctor, Doctor, Doctor…," he whispered in her ear while she found herself quite immobilized. "I smell your fear. Ahhh…I haven't made anyone so petrified in so long…I like this."

Well, I don't! she screamed in her mind, tired of being the one that this had to happen to. Sickened by Crane's fear addiction.

And the closeness…The legitimate claustrophobia she'd had after that high school incident. Who knew what Crane could…?

No, never again, no!

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" Amelia screamed aloud but not out of terror but unadulterated rage. She rarely cursed this severely, but she supposed she could make an exception.

And, in another exception, she also kicked him in the groin.

She made sure the heel of her shoe would make his crotch highly uncomfortable. It did the trick. He hissed, cursing in pain as he drew back from her.

"Guards!" she barked and, right on cue, they barged right in.

They must have heard her screaming at him, for they seized Crane by the arms that they held on to very tightly. She imagined that his face turned puce by now if it wasn't already.

"Throw him in solitary," Amelia directed to Andy and Chris but held her gaze to Crane's mutinous one, keeping that eye contact. "And just to be safe, I would confiscate his syringe glove. Which you should have done to begin with."

Just as they hauled him off, she spoke up, "One more thing, and Crane, this is for you so you better listen. You will be visiting me on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays now until further notice. You will also be sedated once you're placed in solitary. Is. That. Clear?"

"Whatever you say, Doctor," he mocked.

"Get this piece of scum out of my sight."

Andy and Chris obliged, leaving her alone in the room. She suddenly had to fight back tears. It was a number of reasons but mostly….mostly because Crane had inadvertently dug the memory right back up again. Of course. What would her life be without those memories?

A/N: Yeah, I know the f-word, but honestly, can you blame her? Oh, and this isn't overly important but in this chapter, for some reason, I pictured Mark having the hairstyle of the movie Crane. No idea why, just kind of pictured him like that. So, kind of a cameo? And also I pictured the Spanish woman to look a lot like a Spanish version of Marion Cotillard, at least her look from Inception. Not French, Spanish oddly enough, this character. I think Gotham would be a lot like NYC with different ethnicities and people from different countries even.

Finally fixed the glove issue, too. I think I'd kept it in there because Scarecrow had worn it in Arkham Asylum the game. But, also, I have no clue. I blamed it on the ineptness of Arkham security when really, it was from the ineptness of the author. Sorry, guys. I guess I didn't quite know what he'd do if he'd ever made an escape attempt without a glove...Hm...

So, things are definitely heating up between Amelia and Crane. This will either result in the breakthrough or somebody getting killed or something. I don't know, you'll just have to read more.

Wow, almost 2,000 hits overall, I'm amazed. 0_0