A/N: Hi there! If you're starting this story from scratch, welcome! But just to let you know that I'm in the process of rewriting it, so there's going to be a disconnect between the old and the new chapters for a while until I get them all done; please read the latest update for more info, but I'll mention at the top of each chapter if it's a new one.

And sorry in advance: like last time, I'm still trying to ensure I'm using American spelling (e.g. realize instead of realise), but I'm sure some Briticisms will slip through.

Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own anything from The Dark Knight trilogy.

The Dark Knight is still one of my absolute favourite movies and I'm so excited to get right back into the thick of this story. Please feel free to leave any constructive feedback but above all I hope you enjoy the new chapters!

Chapter one: Traffic Jam

Updated 6th December 2020

I jolt awake with a shudder as if I've been electrocuted. My eyes snap open, muscles tense and coiled to spring. After a dazed few seconds, I realize I've had another bad dream.

The rush of understanding brings back the squeezing feeling inside my chest along with a burning in my cheeks. I'd managed a week this time. Going back to square one feels like a kick in the gut.

The angles and corners of my bedroom peel into view, cream wallpaper with golden, buttery sunlight filtering through the blinds. The train pulling into Boulevard C station nearby is a dull, metallic shriek behind the window.

A knock at the door makes me start, afterimages of the nightmare still flitting around my head.

"Cora? You ready to go?"

"Uh, sure?" I groan.

It begins to dawn on me that I'm laying on top of my quilt and that I'm fully dressed: jeans and a t-shirt. My mouth is still tingling with my spearmint toothpaste. I begin to understand this isn't the first time I've woken up today.

My laptop is open beside me on sleep mode and a cluster of college prospectuses are littered around the bed, one lying open and face down across my stomach. My brain kicks into gear.

"You okay? Can I come in?"

"One sec!"

I snap my laptop shut, then seize all the prospectuses and shove them under my pillow. Before I'd dozed off, I'd been glued to images of NYU again. Even as I shrug on my jacket, I remember the weekend city trip my dad and I had made about four years ago now, drifting through Washington Square Park with the legato melody of a saxophonist intertwining with the dead leaves in the air. I'd stood and stared at Washington Square Arch until the outline of the Empire State Building, just visible down Fifth Avenue and backlit against dusk clouds, had scorched itself into my eyeballs.

I grab my phone off the nightstand. "Okay."

My dad pokes his head around the door, a casual jacket slung over a pale blue shirt. It still sets me off-balance to see him in anything other than his work suit.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just couldn't find…" I scramble for something to point out.

My eyes land on the yellow sticky note on my shelf: the book Mr Holloway had recommended after class this week.

"Got it." I slide it along with my phone into my jeans pocket. "Come on, let's go."

I urge him out on the balls of my feet before he can take a closer look around my room.

It's a brisk, chilly morning outside, cooler than it has been for a while, with a breeze that rakes through my hair. The boughs of the neatly-trimmed trees that line the road creak and shiver. The boulevard is quiet on the sidewalks as always, even more so with no commuters today. Mrs Buchanan, the owner of the clothing boutique adjacent to the entrance to our apartment building, shoots us a ruby-red smile from behind the cash register. We give her a wave.

There's a dark green van parked on the corner of Chase Gardens, the avenue that shoots off perpendicular to our own. I wonder whose it is out of habit – everyone knows everyone's pride and joys around here – but the van lurches forward and is already skidding around the bend and out of sight.

My dad looks up from his phone at the noise. "Asshole. We could grab some lunch after we've done our shopping?"

"Sounds nice." I try to cover a yawn as we get into the car, hoisting my bag up my shoulder.

"Sleep alright last night?" he asks as he turns on the ignition.

"Not too bad."

"Is there a reason then that you fell back asleep this morning?"

"I just stayed up late reading." I force a shrug, looking out the passenger-side window to people-spot as we pull away from the curb.

"It's not the wisest idea to be staying up so much right now, you know."

"Don't you think it's kind of weird to have early nights all the time, Dad, even on weekends?"

"Not at all. Not when you've got applications to start working on."

I lick my lips. "I'm working on them."

We slow to a stop at a crosswalk. The guy making his way over turns to raise his hand in thanks, doing a double-take when he spots who's behind the wheel.

"What's the book you need?" my dad asks, pressing on the gas again once the man's safely across. I still feel his eyes on us from the sidewalk as we go.

"An Introduction to Media Communications. Mr Holloway said it would help with my personal essay."

"Let's hope they have it in stock."

We round the corner that takes us past City Hall. At this time in the day, the colonnade that fronts the building's entrance is in gloomy shadow; when I was a kid heading past on the school bus it always used to give me the creeps, like it was the lair of some monster.

I sense my dad glance at it as if checking all is well.

"Look, while we're on the subject, I wanted to talk to you about something," he says. "I know it's time for you to start narrowing down the schools you want to apply to. The folks at work keep reminding me. I was just wondering whether the college here in Gotham is going to be one of them?"

We've hit downtown and the traffic here is at a standstill; there must have been an accident. The car stops and starts every couple of seconds as we crawl down the street. It gives my dad the chance to shoot glances at me.

"If so, I could help you with your application. It was my school, after all. I may even be able to find a copy of my old personal essay."

I grimace. I'm weighing up the words I want to say on my tongue, swashing them around in my mouth like they're a bad taste.

"I'm not sure I want to apply there, Dad."

My stomach clenches as soon as they're out, seeming to echo in the silence. Before long, I have to brave a peek over at him. He's focusing on the traffic ahead of us even though there's no sign we're going to move anytime soon. His jaw works as if he's considering what to say and how best to say it, too.

"May I ask why?" he says finally.

"Just a couple of reasons."

"What are they?"

"I just need a change."

I can feel that sick, squeezing feeling inside my chest again. I shift in my seat and stare back out at the throngs of people on the sidewalk, lowering my window a couple of inches. The bangs and clatters of some nearby roadworks fills the cramped space of the car.

"I just thought you would've wanted to –" he makes a hesitant gesture with his hand resting on the steering wheel, "stay close by."

"None of my friends are staying around here. I wouldn't be the only one who's leaving. I mean, don't you want me to go and see what's out there?"

He nods. "I get that. But I think you're all too ready to discount the option of an excellent college."

"Didn't Jonathan Crane work at GU?"

"That's not the point, Cora."

The mugshot on every news programme in Gotham of the infamous psychiatrist-turned-outlaw and ex-professor of psychology at GU creeps into my head. I hunch further into my jacket to keep from shivering.

"I wouldn't want you to go unless it was absolutely safe. The cops will pick this guy up any day now."

"But that's not the point, Dad. Look, wouldn't Mom have wanted me to get out of here? Don't you think she would have wanted us both to start again somewhere new? Away from all the memories and… Dad, the traffic's moving. Dad!"

He's shaking his head as if he's just waking up. He curses as someone blares their car horn from behind us, stepping on the gas. I raise my window to dampen the noise and he holds up his hand in apology, glancing at the rear-view mirror.

"Listen, what do you need? More counselling? Whatever it is you need, I'll get you it, I promise."

"Yeah, that's what I need. Another person who's paid to listen."

"Cora."

He's focusing on driving now but even without looking at him the grin slides off my face, buckling under the weight of the plea in his voice. I stare down at my hands, gently unfurling my fists to see the marks left by my nails.

"Cora, I've booked you in for an open day at GU. It's next Saturday at ten."

"Wait, what?"

I jerk around from the window, voice still hoarse. The car judders forward another couple of yards.

"Are you serious? When did you do this?"

"Last night." He sighs.

"So, you're hiding stuff from me now?"

"You'd have shot down the idea as soon as you heard it. You owe it to yourself to explore all your options. I'm only trying to do what's best for you."

"You don't think I can make the right choices."

The realization hits me in the gut.

"Cora, that's not what I'm saying at all. Please, honey, let's just –"

"I'll get the train back later."

We're still at a standstill. I get out of the car, my dad barking, "Cora. Cora!" even after I've slammed the door. I dart onto the sidewalk, keeping my gaze firmly on the ground. I feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease as I'm swallowed by the foot traffic, having to focus on keeping a steady pace with everyone or else risk being elbowed in the ribs.

By the time I've walked for a minute or so, I know I've gotten far enough down the road for my dad to have lost sight of me if he's still watching. Or maybe he's too caught up thinking about Mom to care.

I head onto a narrow side street that seems for the most part invisible. It's lined with dustbins, a metal fire-escape spiralling down to the ground from a mezzanine three storeys above. I go further down until the tumult of the road is just a buzz in the background, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. There's a bag of garbage at my feet and something inside me makes me kick it so hard I feel a jarring in my leg.

I can't make the right decisions. I know he's right, and he knows it too.

Side-stepping the trash, I lean back against the wall, allowing the fog in my brain to clear. I know I've made a stupid move coming here, the hair on the back of my neck prickling at the thought of who could be watching me right this second. It only makes me start thinking again about the colleges I'd been researching all summer. Not just NYU at a 90 minute train ride away from Gotham; it was a college worth the extortionate student loan I'd be faced with if it meant I could keep my dad happy by seeing him often.

I think of the landscapes of Pennsylvania that look like they're straight out of a watercolor painting, but the longing comes tinged with an uncomfortable gnawing as it strikes me again just what I'd be leaving behind for four years. Gotham was where I'd grown up, after all. It was where my mom had passed away. It was where we'd choked our way through the fear gas last year.

Who knew if I'd ever come back once I'd left Gotham.

I'm brought back down to earth by the sound of another car horn blaring from down the street. I scuff the ground with the toe of my sneaker. I don't want to imagine the look on my dad's face when I head back later – the look he'll give me if I keep refusing to even consider a college that will mean I can stay here. With him.

Wincing, I pull out my phone and bring up my friend Alice and I's messages. Then, shooting her a quick text, I get off the wall and head out of this street before I push my luck any further.