A/N: This was totally spontaneous. :) I got the urge to write a what happened after chapter of sorts and this came to life.

Instead of a deleted scene/bonus chapter, it's an epilogue. It's probably a little dark, a little random, but like every chapter before it, I put a lot of love and work into it because I can't help but care about you guys. I want the work I put out to reflect that. :)

Consider this as another leg of the Blake/Jupiter saga.

I watched a little too much Law and Order SVU and it gave me...ideas. I don't know, but after two days of marathoning SVU, I had to write something dark. I regret nothing. ;)

Thank you to you readers/reviewers/followers/favorites and everyone in between! You all rock!

Hope you guys enjoy!

Warning: Jupiter's sanity is...questionable at best.

Love ya'll!

"Its not a cry you can hear at night
Its not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah"

'Hallelujah', Rufus Wainwright

Jupiter hates it here! It's a prison basically, in the most horrible sense of the word. There are bars on the windows and burly security guards prowling the halls. Not to mention she's under constant surveillance with solemn-faced strangers popping their head in her room from time to time. Every day she struggles to leave. Every day she fights them. She knows that no one cares here. They only shake their heads or frown or interrogate her with more useless questions. They never answer hers so, of course, she returns the favor.

She doesn't belong here, but no one else seems convinced of that. For the first month they actually strapped her to a stretcher, as a 'precaution'. She had moved so much the straps bit into her skin and left horrid red welts across her wrists. She assumes that's why they sedated her afterwards. It's only when the hours and days started to blur and she couldn't remember very much, that she realized there was something strong in the syringe they stuck her with.

The doctor assigned to Jupiter, a pale older man with liver spots, would walk in sometimes with a nurse trailing behind him to check her vitals. He'd ask her more ridiculous questions to which Jupiter would ignore, choosing to simply stare at him with contempt.

The nurse had asked once if he thought 'the patient' (they almost never called her by her name) was catatonic and he had sighed. If it was either out of exasperation or melancholy, Jupiter wouldn't know. It was starting to become incredibly hard to decipher emotions.

He'd written something down on his clipboard, seeming to stall a bit. When his gaze finally met the nurse's, there was something so wrong about his stare that Jupiter couldn't unsee - it had held so little hope.

Now, she can't look him in the eyes at all.

It's not always awful. Sometimes, Michael is there. He stares out the window, silently watching everything. Sometimes he talks to her, telling her to stay strong. He always promises that he won't ever leave her. She often finds herself reminding him anyways, "You can't go away. You're all I have."

In the beginning, a swarm of doctors tried to convince her to tell them the things Michael tells her. But the secrets and jokes they share are sacred. She'd rather die than ever betray Michael like that.

She doesn't know if Emily, Jeff, Terry or Sarah visit her. When she closes her eyes, hours pass like minutes. Every day seems the same and faces begin to haze. Eventually, she stops trying to keep up. It's not like she cares anymore.

She remembers vaguely that she used to like people, after all, she considered some of them her friends at one point, but Michael gets jealous now. He can hear her thoughts, he can control them too. Could he always do that? She doesn't remember. Sometimes he morphs the good memories, the memories that make her happy but don't include him, into disturbing ones just so Jupiter doesn't think them again.

But it's fine. His voice is the only one she wants to hear anyways. His memories are the only ones she wants to keep.

Her mother, the sole face that stood out amongst the haze, had visited her at some time. Dr. SadFace had declared Jupiter stable enough, but at that point, as per Michael's request, she'd stopped speaking completely.

Her mother, aged and tired, a ghost of her once spry self had walked in. Jupiter had sat up, but that was all she did. Her eyes never left her untouched lunch except to briefly stare at the fist her mother clenched on the table. The cross hanging from Venus' neck, gold and stainless, mocked her with its purity.

"I'm a Catholic now," Venus said, the words were gentle, a staggering contrast to the snarling tone Jupiter was so used to hearing. She stifled the near hysterical laugh threatening to overwhelm her.

"That means no more alcohol at least, not for now." There was nothing but optimism in the words, a hope for the future that her mother never seemed to have before. Jupiter had flinched, feeling bile rise in her throat.

"I know what it means," she heard herself say, but the voice was so disconnected that it could have been a stranger's for all she knew.

"I found God in all this. He helped me see the light. And I pray for you every day, Jupiter." A soft, cool hand had tightly clasped hers, but Jupiter only stared at her mother, unable to recognize the woman sitting across from her. Her mother seemed to be fading away and Jupiter couldn't figure out why. She was the one stuck here. If anyone was going to wither away, it for sure should have been her.

"I pray that he forgives you." Venus had smiled then but it didn't reach her eyes. It was then that Jupiter realized that her mother was trying to reassure her. Venus eventually changed the subject, probably because instead of seeming comforted, Jupiter looked horrified at the thought. There was no white light where she was going, to think that there was an alternative was so absurd it was comical.

She thought she was doing a pretty good job of appearing to be interested and following along with the conversation. At least, she'd been trying. That is until she had heard the whispered remark Venus passed to the guard on her way out. "She's just so...empty," her mother cried.

Her father, Grant, wrote to her, telling her about how he and his wife Lydia were expecting a child. Michael had to read the letter to her because her hands shook too much to keep it still.

He never visits or calls. She's not dumb enough to think he ever will. She buries the letter in an old book and tries not to look at it again.

John - just Blake, call him Blake, Jupiter or the Detective, please - comes to see her. She always listens to him as he talks to her, but she never replies. Though Michael talks to him, voice bitter and angry, reluctant to speak to the detective for reasons Jupiter doesn't know, Blake only focuses on her. He doesn't seem to ever hear Michael.

"God, this is all such a mess," Blake says, walking into the visiting room. Taking his usual seat by her, he settles himself in the uncomfortable plastic chair. He seems distracted and tortured. His face, as she can see, is near ghost white, his eyes seem to be fading more and more into hollow chasms she doesn't want to contemplate the depth of. His jaw is set as if he's holding back secrets that are slowly ripping him apart from the inside. He's even thinner than he was before.

She doesn't think anyone knows he visits her. She can't imagine his buddies on the force ever understanding his reasons, she doesn't even think he understands them himself. Why can't he just hate me?

"Adam's not pressing any charges. They can't even find him. Do you know that? It's like he up and disappeared," he chuckles, but it's dark and mirthless. "They also believe you're too insane to execute for the death of Michael Tiller, Jupiter," he murmurs. "It's a huge mess."

"She's not insane," Michael seethes, clearly offended. Blake, once again, doesn't appear to hear.

"Nothing makes sense to me anymore," he groans.

Leaning up, his eyes glance at her cautiously before his fingertips gently trace the fading scars on Jupiter's wrists. Blake's touch is light, almost distracted. She doesn't fight him - he's the only one brave enough to touch them - she thinks that's sort of remarkable.

"If - if love was something you were searching for," Blake coughs and halts for a brief moment before he finds the strength to summon the words. "It was always right here in front of you."

Her cheeks are wet and she suddenly feels too cold. It's refreshing to hear that, like finding an oasis of peace in this dark desert of her life, but it's too late.

Michael shouts, "Now, you've upset her!"

Blake doesn't stare down at her with pity or disgust. Instead, he brushes the hair from her face so she can see her pain reflected in his eyes. In moments like these, she wishes he was the first and only person she fell in love with. It doesn't make her any less sick, but it's a comforting enough thought to help her sleep some nights.

He silently pleads with her to stop crying. His efforts are unnecessary - she's dried up most of her tears anyways. They both know that.

What he sees in her she doesn't know, but she wordlessly pleads with him to leave, to find someone else. Though, he's the only person who still looks at her with hope. It's still way more than she deserves. He needs to let her go.

She won't have him waste away here with her.

But every time Blake visits, no matter how little of her true happiness she reveals at his presence, Michael makes her pay for it. He's jealous. Ceaselessly jealous.

Blake notices the new scratches, the bruises - evidence of her futile arguments with Michael. He never says anything, but his eyes hold misery. She lets him come to his own conclusions - no explanation she can invent will ever sound sane. Her truth, she's realizing, is vastly different from his reality. Despite that, he never seems disgusted by the scars, just saddened.

The staff question her on where the marks come from. The nurses and aids always seem to see them no matter how well she thinks she's covered them up. They swarm around her, but she always remains silent. Michael won't let her speak, even if she wanted to.

Sometimes, when she catches a glimpse of her reflection in a window or a shiny surface, she tries to see the woman Blake sees. The woman worth believing in. Her hair's longer, more tangly and her skin's a vicious red, but her eyes hold nothing. They just stare back at her lifelessly. She can't sleep on those nights, not after she's confronted with her own image.

Once in awhile she will glimpse Michael in a reflective surface. Those resulting nightmares are even more frightening.

One day, when she goes to take her shower - never baths, they don't allow the patients to take baths here - she sees, written on the walls in bright red spray paint, the word "Jubee." Over and over and over...

The light flickers, briefly immersing the place in darkness before it clicks back on and in its watery, aritificial glow there stands a man. He's wearing a green vest with dark purple accoutrements. His hair is a gaudy lime green while his eyes are hollow and creased at the corners. Horrid clown makeup is crudely painted over his face, making him look more psychotic than jovial. But it's the awful, freakish grin carved across his face that has her blood going cold in comprehension. She breathes his name: "Adam?"

He says nothing, and for a brief moment, she wonders if it's all a dream. Until he slams her against one of the painted walls, pressing her against the tiles with his weight. She chokes as the air is roughly knocked out of her lungs. Dread coils in her stomach and panic rises in her chest - he's going to kill her.

She waits for it - the brutal punishment that she expects from his hands, but it never comes. He merely places a soft kiss to her forehead, leaving a scarlet smudge on her brow from his lip paint.

The lights flicker again and when she looks around, he's gone. The only evidence of his presence being the writing on the walls, the red on her face and the Joker card clenched in her right fist.

Someone shrieks so loud that it's deafening. It's not until the nurses rush in, holding her and calling her name, trying to get her to focus, that she realizes that the horrible screaming is coming from her.

Michael follows her everywhere from then on. But she's too shaken to even acknowledge his presence, much less be distressed by it.

Blake assures her constantly that she's stronger than her demons - she desperately hopes he's right.

The day she tells Michael to go away, he makes her slip and fall in the shower, almost breaking her neck.

That's the day she asks Blake for help. She feels stupid and selfish for asking him, but she's also scared. He's the only one who seems to believe her.

His eyes light up and he says her name in a voice full of so much joy that it's actually contagious. She cries as he pulls her into a hug. Harsh, wracking sobs shake her whole body.

"I won't let Adam hurt you again. We'll get you out of here and we'll stop him," he promises. She feels as if a fog is clearing, finally. "I know," is what she says. There is nothing she believes with nearly as much conviction.

When she lifts her head from Blake's shoulder, Michael's apparition watching nearby briefly flickers. His constant, unnerving presence like an immovable shadow shrouding her mind, lightens and the short relief is so strong, it's like she can suddenly breathe and the air is fresher. She realizes then that she'll work to taste freedom again. It's a crazy thought, but it's the sanest thought she's had in a long, long time.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed! Love you all! Thanks for the support and sticking around. You guys are the best! ;)