Games That Daughters Play

Author's Note: XD

Chapter Twenty-Five: Dream Therapy

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Hannah attempted to sleep, but she couldn't. Her nightmares kept waking her up. Last night, she'd gone to bed earlier than she could have remembered, at nine o'clock. She'd bid Richard, Gus, and Red good night, as they resumed their poker game; currently, Richard kept winning the hands, it seemed he was a decent player at the game, mainly because Red and Gus had no poker face. Hannah had woken up five times within the last six hours and it was seven o'clock now.

She decidedly dressed for the morning, putting on belle bottom jeans and a white cotton sweatshirt her matron had selected for her the last time Allegra had gone out. The sentimental thought made Hannah stop for a second as she pulled the shirt over her head and quickly made a trail from the shower room in the lounge to Cabin 1. The door was closed, to her relief; when she opened it, however, no one was there.

Hannah frowned. It was the third night Allegra and Joker had been absent. Angered that Allegra had left without saying good-bye or remotely leaving any sign she had left (for save the goons telling her what was what), Hannah frowned deeply at the bed which was still neatly made from the last time Allegra had cleaned house.

She cringed unhappily, harshly closing the door with a loud slam, not caring if it awoke anyone. Just as well, she glanced across and saw Kevin and Pierce arguing low docile tones; their conversation was lost to her ears but as Hannah hid in Cabin 1, looking through the window to observe their heated debate, it seemed that the love they once shared was no longer quite so visible. Kevin and Pierce fought a lot; what about, Hannah never knew. They made sure not to argue in front of her.

Come to think of it, she was clueless to a lot of what happened around her. The only person that gave her the time of day, treated her like she was part of the group and not some child was Dr. Johnathan Crane. As Hannah watched Kevin throw his hands at Pierce exasperatedly and leave Pierce looking after him with a gaped, angry expression on his face, she thought about the doctor briefly.

His eyes were cerulean, blue like oceans, bright like...well, Hannah could struggle for the analogy all day but it only made her brain fuzzy. His eyes were piercing, as though he looked right into her soul. Whether he looked at her that way intentionally was beyond her reasoning; he could simply smile, and those high cheekbones...

And that suit.

He looked quite dashing in that three-piece suit he wore; he'd acquired several in the past week or so, buying them with the money that Richard, Red, and Gus had stolen from a bank a few months ago. Crane pursued his fashionable goods in a way that would keep him below the radar; he shopped under Gotham's underbelly, to keep his identity private, and his location off the radar. He'd come back after being gone for hours, wordlessly taking three fashionable bags from the back of the van and into his cabin, then close the door, not to be disturbed by any of the men.

Hannah found his silence comforting when it was just the two of them. He offered no conversation that spared her of unnecessary talk; not like the constant jibber jabber Joker was prone to doing. Crane liked to talk about science, research, politics...fears, especially. Hannah loved hearing him talk; he sounded always so practical, even if some of what he said puzzled her.

She didn't know medicinal values of a chemical nor the pH value of another product, but Crane simply spoke, and she simply listened.

Hannah bit her lip.

Wonder if he's awake.

Hannah smiled mischievously, straightening her shirt and pulling all of her hair to one side. Hannah cleared her throat, muttering, "Hi, doctor, is it okay I come in—god, that's stupid." She brushed that greeting away; it sounded too meek.

Come on, Hannah. What'd Mom tell you to do? Sound strong, and confident. Strong and confident; Come on, Hannah, you can do it.

She walked out of the cabin, and started towards Cabin 3, smiling as she approached the door. If anything, Crane could be sleeping. His eyes would be closed in a dreamless sleep, his breathing would be relaxed, slowly his chest would rise and fall.

Hannah gulped.

Hannah, what the fuck are you doing?

"I don't know," uttered she.

There was a pause, a slight hesitation as she raised her fist to the door. She didn't know what she was expecting. Maybe a romantic encounter where Hannah could open her heart and fears to a man that she barely knew? Maybe she could somehow talk him into giving her a therapy session that had nothing to do with mental values, but all the physiological ones would be squared away. Hannah's heart beat quickly at the idea of being on his couch.

Damn good-looking...fuck...

Hannah brushed a slender hand through blonde hair and shook her head.

I just want a conversation with someone that isn't a wanna-be gangster. Like Richard, Gus, Red, John Murklay...especially John Murklay. But was that only reason she wanted to be with Crane? Doubtfully so...

Hannah inhaled deeply then exhaled quietly.

"Now or never." Hannah muttered. She knocked the door, at first softly. Confidence, Hannah. Hannah nodded, remembering Allegra's mentoring. She rapped on the door with a casual front, but the knock was more confident than the last few hesitant taps. She bit her lip—Great, now you sound like you have bone to pick with him.

Hannah shook her head. This flirting crap was getting out of hand; too much for her.

You can always come back later; who knows, maybe he's not even...

The door opened.

Well, there blows that idea out of the water. No turning back now.

Johnathan Crane stood in the doorway. He apparently might have just woken up, or had been awake for at least ten minutes. He wore gray slacks, and one white long-sleeve shirt that was unbuttoned from the neck to his lean torso. Hannah gulped; he was toned.

"Hannah...?" Crane muttered. He glanced ahead of her; seeing no sign of danger, he glanced back down. Standing in front of him, Hannah was a foot or so shorter than him, so she looked up with a smile that reflected all kinds of shyness.

So much for confidence.

"Hi," Hannah said, smiling shyly.

"What's wrong?" asked Crane.

"I..." Hannah began. Fuck, what could she say? Yes, I'd like to have sex with you very much so, does that sound like something you might be interested in...doctor?

"I couldn't sleep," Hannah finally managed.

Crane stared at her as if she was demented.

"'Couldn't'? Or 'can't'?"

Hannah cocked her head to side, saying, "There's a difference?"

"Of course, there is." Crane replied.

"Oh," was all she could respond.

Hannah took in his morning appearance. This was how he looked when he awoke each morning. This was what Doctor Johnathan Crane, Scarecrow, looked each time he woke up from his bed, well-rested, and apparently, in the middle of dressing for the new day. When Hannah said nothing for save her soft 'oh', Crane smiled at her, white purely teeth revealed to her.

"I'm in the middle of dressing, but if you'd like to wait a few more minutes, I'll be dressed to receive." Crane offered.

"Uhh, sure, yeah. Okay." Hannah said. Awkward, awkward, awkward, awkward.

Crane opened the door a few more inches for her to enter, and side-stepped with her entrance. He closed it behind him as she sat on his bed, and Crane passed her to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

Hannah stood to her feet, glancing at the laptop that was left open for anyone to see. The screensaver was a blue icon that looked, in a word, deeply unfamiliar so it didn't concern her. She mildly touched the mouse so the screen retreated back to its origin before the screensaver was activated. It was a mess of documents, all pulled up on the computer—research, most likely.

She retreated to the bed when Crane opened the bathroom door, stepping out in a three-piece suit, and placing his glasses on his nose. He glanced at the laptop, then turned to Hannah suspiciously.

"You know," said Crane gently, "if a person—particularly a woman—is going to intrude on a man's privacy," He held his hand out to the laptop specifically, "I'd suggest you find a way that makes it less noticeable." He smirked when Hannah's face fell into a deep shade of red, bracing her embarrassment.

"I was just curious." Hannah offered.

"Curiosity is a dangerous thing." Crane responded calmly. He sat in the wooden chair that aligned with his desk, on which the laptop sat, now completely forgotten. One leg crossed over the air, and a clipboard on his lap, Crane flipped the page and scribbled a few notes, then looked up at Hannah, who watched him precariously; she bit her lip when he smiled at her.

"Care to tell me about these dreams?" Crane offered.

"What, are we in therapy?" Hannah joked.

"Only if you want to be." Crane responded lightly.

Hannah blushed red.

"Normally," said Crane clinically, "People dream about something on which their subconscious is currently debating."

That voice he used when he spoke about patients or medicine in general returned, made Hannah's hands sweat a little. She placed her hands flat on her thighs, rubbing them on her pants, hoping this small methodical fidget would take away the rapid beating in her chest, or the drop of her stomach descending lower into a place that burned when Crane smirked at her again.

Does he know?

"These dreams," said Crane, "are limitless in meaning, but with the context of what's happened so far, you can possibly acquire some understanding through the process of elimination."

"What does that mean exactly?" offered Hannah. "I mean, I've dreamt of falling out of planes, but that's not to say I would—as of this moment—need to pack a parachute."

Crane chuckled, "That's true. However, dreams aren't quite that literal."

"So what would falling out of a plan indicate?" Hannah returned. "I'm not afraid of heights."

Crane made a face as though he were taking in this statement with consideration and possibly apathy. He stood to his feet, walking over to her so Hannah immediately stood. She stared at him carefully, wondering what he was up to but he grinned at her, amused.

"Are you alright, Hannah?" Crane asked. "You are awfully jumpy today."

"Bad dreams kept me up; I'm just tired." Hannah said softly.

"You could try sleeping."

"I have," Hannah insisted. "I can't sleep knowing Mom is out there...with him."

Crane smirked at her—this time, it wasn't really amused. Maybe it was satisfaction in knowing she wasn't as comfortable with Joker as Allegra, or it was simply the tone she had that was filled with dislike.

"Don't trust Allegra being out with the Joker?" offered Crane, sitting on the bed with her.

"Her, I trust. It's him I don't." Hannah returned unhappily. Her eyes widened, looking at him suddenly, "Don't tell him I said that."

"I won't." Crane replied. He touched his lips with a finger, smiling at her. "Your secret is safe with me; confidentiality rights, and the like."

"Don't tell Allegra either."

"You have my word." Crane promised.

They were silent then Hannah looked at him imploringly. She turned her body to him, which made Crane look at her uncertainly. Between them, they shared a look that was quite obvious to the rest of the world but not obvious to them what Hannah was silently beseeching, and what Crane was attempting not to behold.

"Johnathan," said Hannah softly (her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name), "Can I ask you a question...it's about Allegra."

"Sure. Ask me anything." Crane returned.

"Wanna open that can of worms?" joked Hannah.

"If you wish it." Crane responded.

His low voice made Hannah's skin commit crimes to lustful goosebumps. God, what if he said that in her ear?

"Do you...do you love Allegra?" Hannah asked quietly.

"No." Crane returned. "I don't love her. I'm infatuated with her mind."

"I don't think there's a difference."

"There is," Crane insisted. He touched Hannah's shoulder. "You're too young to understand it."

"According to everyone here, I'm too young to understand anything." Hannah argued coldly.

Crane sent her a small smile.

"No one really loves Allegra, Hannah. Not even you," Crane said gently. He gesticulated with his hands sometimes as he spoke, a means of signing whatever he intended but he perhaps was unaware of this detail. "You love her guidance, her motherly attention. I'm infatuated with her mind—it's fascinating to me."

"What does Joker love?" Hannah dared to ask.

Crane smiled, "That, I'm not sure. But from what I've observed, he favors her rage."

Hannah made a face that hinted a mixture of surprise and disgust as she said, "Better him than me."

"You and me both." Crane agreed.

They were silent.

Then Hannah looked at him, "Do you think I'm crazy?"

Crane chuckled saying, "Are you asking my professional opinion?"

"Yes." Hannah replied, smiling at him. "I'm asking for a professional opinion. Tell me. Do you think I'm nutso?"

Crane shook his head, "You're not 'nutso'. That's not the clinical term I prefer using, but there is your answer none the less."

"Do you think Joker's crazy?"

"Yes." Crane replied. He touched her cheek. "Without a doubt."

Hannah smiled back at him, her hand touching the back of his that caressed her left cheek. A moment passed when they looked at each other a little too long. Crane dropped his hand from her face, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"If you don't mind, Hannah..."

Hannah happily took the excuse to leave saying, "Oh sure—gotta get ready for the day, and such. Oh...uh good look with your um...research." Hannah said, glancing at the laptop. She quickly stepped to the door, her heart beating out of her chest.

"Hannah."

Her hand was on the doorknob; Hannah looked around to see Crane smiling deviously at her.

"Come back again—I love our therapy sessions."

Hannah raised her eyebrows in surprise, but quickly took her leave while she still had a heart to feel it beating. She opened and closed the door on her way out, breathing quickly.

What have you done, Hannah? What have done.