Disclaimer: Batman = DC + Warner Bros.
A/N: There are some adult situations in this one, though nothing that's more explicit than some of the previous chapters. Reviews are very appreciated!!!!
Serial KillerBruce Wayne glared at his morning paper in frustration. The Serial Killer or 'Messenger', as he liked to call himself, was finally in police custody, but the Joker and Scarecrow had both gotten away. It was little consolation that the two of them were separated. It would only be a matter of time until they met up and joined forces again. Perhaps worse was that the Scarecrow and his unidentified assistant had forced Detective Nashton to go with them, or at least he hoped the detective was forced. Bruce felt a wave of guilt. Commissioner Gordon had told him that the Messenger had accused Nashton of helping the criminals. Regardless of whether that was true or not, Bruce knew it was awful of him to hope that the detective was in danger.
"Have your eggs somehow offended you, Sir?" Alfred's ever-calm voice dragged Bruce out of his thoughts.
He sighed, "No, Alfred. Last night wasn't half as productive as it should've been. The Joker, Scarecrow, Dr. Quinzel and a woman whose identity I haven't even found yet are all still on the loose. The Messenger AKA the serial killer of fellow criminals has been caught, but he's accusing Detective Nashton of helping the criminals and possibly being driven insane himself."
Alfred looked sympathetically down at Bruce. "A possibility that no doubt brings to mind the fall of Mr. Dent."
Bruce slammed his fist down on the table. "As soon as I found out about Nashton's past I should've told Gordon to transfer him back to Bolton. As tempting as having someone that brilliant on Gotham's police force was, the man's past and mental instabilities made him an even more tempting target for the Joker."
"May I voice another possibility, sir?" Alfred inquired softly.
Bruce looked up, a glint of hope in his eyes. "Of course."
"The detective has been exposed to those lunatics on a completely different level than we have. It is unfair of us to judge his behavior when we do not know what he has witnessed. Perhaps when faced with the decision to side with the Scarecrow or the Messenger, he genuinely felt that the Scarecrow was the lesser of two evils. There's also the matter of the two women in the group…"
Bruce cut him off, "He might've felt it would be easier to protect them or possibly reason with them if he pretended to be on their side?"
Alfred gave a small smile, "Actually, sir, I was thinking along more personal lines, at least from the detective's stand point."
Bruce allowed the corner of his lip to twitch before frowning again. "Quinzel came back for the Joker while Nashton and our mystery woman went with the Scarecrow. It would be much easier to deduce why Nashton went with them if we knew the identity of the other woman and what her relationship to Scarecrow is."
Alfred thought for a moment. "Did you not say earlier that the commissioner mentioned the Messenger referring to the woman as one of his 'disciples'?"
Bruce nodded slowly, "Yes, but it must've been a slip. He staunchly refuses to elaborate any further on any of his disciples and is particularly guarded with reference to her."
"Perhaps he is feeling scorned that she seemingly abandoned him?"
Bruce shook his head. "Unlikely. From what Gordon told me the man is convinced he is some kind of divine messenger from God, obsessed with protecting the purity and virtue of women, in particular his disciples. I believe such a man would see harboring romantic feelings for any of the women he considers under his protection as an unforgivable sin."
Alfred tilted his head to the side, "If that is the case, and she is no longer one of his followers, is it not likely that he will attempt to murder her as he has so many other criminals? It would certainly explain his refusal to discuss her."
Bruce closed his eyes for a moment then opened them suddenly. "No. No it's guilt. From what little information he's given us, I'm certain that it was he who orchestrated her infiltration of Arkham and unwittingly caused her downfall. He underestimated Dr. Crane's psychiatric and manipulative abilities which caused her to turn sides."
Alfred nodded. "Perhaps Detective Nashton deduced this as well and realized that if he sided with the Messenger it would've lead to the Scarecrow's murder."
Bruce let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Nashton has more reason than anyone to want Scarecrow dead. Yet he helped save him…the commissioner and I read Nashton's actions completely wrong. Saving Scarecrow and the others from the Messenger wasn't a sign of him going bad, it was a sign that he's holding on to good…"
If Alfred disagreed with his employer's sudden grasp at hope, he gave no sign of it.
The heavy drapes of the hotel room blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving the room almost as dark as it was when they'd arrived. Persona shifted under the covers until she could peer over Jonathan's shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. 9:00 A.M. On a normal day it would be a relatively late time to wake up, but given how late they had arrived at the motel they'd barely had any time to sleep at all. Part of her wanted very badly to lie back down and sleep the rest of the day away. The little sleep she had gotten had been restless, punctuated by nightmares fueled with guilt and shame. However, the nightmares that had haunted her during the night were the very reason she couldn't bring herself to attempt going back to sleep.
Persona looked down at Jonathan. In contrast to her, he looked more peaceful than she had ever seen him. His face looked boyish and sweet, his expression untroubled, calm and perhaps even a bit happy. If this was the real Jonathan Crane, she'd happily kiss his cheek and pull him into her arms, but it wasn't. A wave of shame washed over her and she felt her stomach churn. She slipped silently out of his arms and headed to the washroom. She quietly switched on the light, which seemed painfully bright, and closed the door. Trance-like she took care of her most pressing needs then washed her hands and finally looked up. The woman in the mirror looked as awful as Persona felt. The dark circles under her eyes seemed almost like bruises and her eyes themselves were red and puffy from the tears she'd shed during her dreams. Her skin was so pale and sickly that she reminded herself of the walking dead…
Persona shook her head violently, aware of the uselessness of the gesture. The dreams haunted her because they were real. The overwhelming sense of shame and self-hatred was well deserved. She had betrayed the Messenger, a man she owed her life to, for what? She had slept with Dr. Crane, the Scarecrow, a madman guilty of attempting to poison an entire city with hallucinatory drugs. Of course, they had kept their clothes on, but she had still allowed him to hold her and worse, she took comfort from his embrace. The memory caused her skin to feel like it was crawling with a thousand little demons, mocking her unworthiness, her weakness. She was unclean. With unsteady hands she began peeling off her clothing, unable to even meet her own gaze in the mirror. Bruises littered her body, newer, dark ones from her fight with the Messenger and lighter, healing ones from her struggles with Jonathan. For the first time, she noticed small bruises circling one of her breasts. A shock of recognition hit her and she felt dizzy. She pressed her fingers gently against the marks to confirm her suspicion. At some point during the night Jonathan had grabbed her breast, which to her embarrassment was small enough to fit completely in his hand, and squeezed hard enough to bruise. At the time the pain had fit so well into her nightmare that it didn't even wake her.
Numbly she stepped into the shower and turned it on. The first spray that hit her was icy cold, but it soon turned hot enough to scald. Persona barely adjusted the tap, a part of her hoping to scald off the sins that dirtied her bruised flesh. She scrubbed at her skin with the cheap motel soap, trying to distract her troubled mind with physical exertion. It was no use. Her thoughts drifted to her dreams and nightmares, to the people whose trust she had betrayed and whose hearts she no doubt wounded. What of Dr. Yan? Though it was the Messenger who saved her life, it was Dr. Yan who had nursed her back to health, taught her to function in the world even without her memory. How much pain had Persona caused that kind woman by turning her back on their cause? What about the other women of the cult, whom she knew so little about, yet whom she had sparred with, learned with and despite everything, bonded with? What about poor Detective Nashton? Not only had she not lifted a finger to stop the torture and suffering of the man, she had helped break the man's spirit too. From little things like referring to him as Nigma, to far worse things…she felt a choked sob escape her throat as she remembered the concerned look on his face as she had turned her back on him, choosing to spend the night instead with one of the men who had so brutally tortured him. She had assumed that Nashton's interest in her was a ruse, a way to subtly get back at Jonathan for all the terrible things he had done…but that look Edward had given her…the worry, dread, hurt and concern so clearly written on his face…Of all the thoughts that haunted her dreams, it was that look that stung the worst.
Loud knocking suddenly crashed in on her thoughts and she gasped, quickly turning off the shower and grabbing one of the motel's worn but clean towels. Swiftly wrapping it around herself she stepped out of the shower stall.
"Will you hurry up in there? You're not the only one who needs the facilities."
Jonathan's cranky voice cut through her despair, igniting the small part of her that had the strength to be angry. She unlocked the door and stepped out clutching at the top of the towel wrapped around her body.
"It's all yours, Jonathan." She tried to sound as annoyed as he had, but she quickly realized he wasn't paying attention to what she was saying...or her face for that matter.
"What would you do if I grabbed the towel?" His voice was deeper and huskier than usual. The way it had been when he…she swallowed, pushing back the thought.
"I thought you had to use the facilities?" Persona felt a hint of pride at the acid she heard in her voice.
He took a step closer and finally looked into her eyes, a strange smile on his face. "Your skin is so flushed, so pink. Given the way you tossed and turned last night, I doubt it's because you're well rested." His cold eyes seemed to pierce right through her false confidence. "Did scalding your skin manage to wash your guilt away?"
"Back off, Johnny. You said you'd leave me alone last night."
His face grew serious. "And I kept my word. Last night I was a perfect gentleman." He swiftly took two more steps, his body suddenly pressing against hers. A full grin spread across his face. "But today is another day."
She kept one hand firmly clasped on the towel and used her other hand to try pushing him away. He grabbed her wrist and pinned it behind her back then forced her against the wall, his free hand sliding between their bodies, moving towards the hand that held her towel. Persona vaguely remembered Harley's words about how the Joker abused her as a way of showing he cared…and something inside Persona snapped.
FUCK THAT.
Jonathan's mouth dropped open and he let out a startled, gasping cry as Persona slammed her knee between his legs with all her strength. He stumbled backwards, hands moving to protect his wounded groin. He glared up at her, his face a mask of rage, but she met his eyes evenly. "I said back off and I meant it, Crane."
She was surprised at the look of genuine hurt, anger and confusion on his face. He sank to the floor, still curled in on himself and looked away from her. "I don't understand. You chose me last night." He looked up at her, most of the anger now gone. "You let me hold you."
Persona sighed and ran her free hand through her wet hair. Jonathan was abusive, cruel, selfish and insane. But he was also abused, lonely, traumatized and well, insane. As brilliantly as Jonathan understood the human mind, as easily as he could manipulate the emotions of others and as deadly as his knowledge was, it was all smoke and mirrors…a desperate, mad attempt to disguise his own broken, shriveled heart. Besides, when she really thought about it, Jonathan made a solid point: she had chosen him. It was only natural that he would assume it was because she wanted to be with him, especially given the fact that they had kissed before. Even though he had hinted that he knew she hadn't slept well, there was no way he could've known just how badly her dreams and nightmares had shaken her.
"I'm sorry, Jonathan, but I can't. You said yourself that you knew I didn't sleep well and you made it damn clear that you understood, at least a bit, the reason. So why did you insist on trying to push me? Was it some kind of test?" She had managed to keep her voice steady and calm while she spoke, searching his eyes for an answer.
Jonathan stared back; the veneer of calm on his face cracking with the effort to reign in the war of emotions she could see just beneath it. He finally broke his gaze away, took a deep breath and collected himself. He stood with careful dignity, smoothing his rumpled clothing as best he could.
When he met her eyes again, he was his usual icy self. When he spoke it was like he was reciting an article from the encyclopedia. "Last night I slept quite peacefully for most of the night, but there was one point when I woke up to the sound of you crying. I stroked the tears from your face and tried to say comforting things. Eventually you seemed to calm down and I fell back asleep, confident that I had the power to soothe you. I don't remember you actually getting out of bed this morning, but eventually I noticed the chill that the loss of your body heat created and I woke to the sound of the shower going. Do you have any idea how long you were in there? Well past the point where I could tell myself it was just because you were tired from the long day yesterday or sore from the fight with the Messenger and long drive here. At last I got up and moved to the door. When I pressed my ear against it to listen I was shocked at how warm the door was. It's amazing you didn't pass out from the heat or burn your skin. That's when all my illusions about my success last night came crashing down. Is it any wonder that I reacted with anger?"
There was silence for a long time. Persona sighed again. "So what should we do?"
"You want me to somehow change in a way that will make you feel less guilty about betraying the Messenger and/or choosing me over Nigma. I want you to drop your towel and let me make you mine. Neither of us can truly do what the other wants, so we're stuck." Jonathan reached over to the nightstand and picked up his glasses, absent-mindedly cleaning them with his shirt.
Persona felt a hint of relief. "Then you think we should just give up? Try to be friends?"
He let out an almost startled sounding laugh. "Of course! I'll just toss my lov- lust out the window and we can be bestest friends."
"Your sarcasm is dually noted." She turned and headed back into the bathroom.
"Has my presence corrupted your purity again? Do you need another shower so soon?" The amused sarcasm had turned into something almost painful to listen to.
Persona didn't turn around. "No, Jonathan. I was just going to get dressed. I only have the one set of clothing, unless you're willing to let me borrow some of yours."
"Well if you don't mind it having touched my polluted, sinful skin before…"
She still didn't turn around. "Never mind." The washroom door closed quietly behind her.
The police commissioner had questioned him at length about his beliefs, about his disciples and about the disciple who had betrayed him. The Messenger had slipped once or twice, but only very small, insignificant pieces of information. Nothing that would give away the identities of his devoted followers. Eventually the police officers had gotten frustrated and abandoned their attempts to question him today and at last he had some peace. He was perfectly confident that Dr. Yan would orchestrate an escape for him and it was only a matter of being patient and waiting for the moment to arrive. The Messenger allowed his thoughts to stray to the interrogation he'd faced today. Detective Bullock had been shaking with pent up frustration and anger. There were even a few moments where the Messenger had fully expected the man to strike him. In truth, however, he could hardly blame the detective. Losing his partner so soon, and to such awful and unscrupulous monsters…The Messenger had felt a pang of guilt for accusing Nashton of treachery when he was caught. After a night of thinking on it, he realized that it was possible Nashton had been doing what he thought best to try to protect the women. He had mentioned as much to Bullock when the other man had started his interrogation. Apparently, the same thought hadn't occurred to the exhausted detective and it seemed to give the man some small form of comfort.
Unfortunately, the seeming truce had been broken when the Messenger had misunderstood Bullock's concerns and had tried to comfort him by pointing out that the Scarecrow had likely murdered Nashton when he realized the detective was only pretending to help. Of course, he didn't think his disciple, corrupted though she might be, would just stand by and allow a good man to be murdered, so the Scarecrow had probably killed them both at once. He found such thoughts comforting, for it meant that both his disciple and Nashton would die redeemed. Apparently, Bullock had not shared his opinion. Instead, he had misinterpreted it as a threat towards Nashton's life and had become very upset. The commissioner himself had to be summoned to calm Detective Bullock down and end the interrogation.
The detective's anger had not left the Messenger unmoved. He too felt anger. Once again he had failed to bring his lost disciple back into the safety of his fold and worse still, the fear toxin he'd been exposed to had caused him to act out violently towards both her and the clown woman. A chill went through him as he thought about how close he'd come to almost killing two very lost, helpless women. Once the Scarecrow and Joker had been caught and killed for their heinous crimes, he would have to punish himself severely for such a dangerous loss of control.