When she finally mustered the energy to open her crusty eyes even slightly, she couldn't remember where she was. All she gathered was that it was indoors, with muted indigo-colored walls, and some sort of dark wooden furniture. The shapes weren't distinctive enough yet through her foggy vision. The light was dim and didn't highlight much of anything. All she knew was that she was lying on something comfortable.

There was a weight pressing over her entire body. It took a few moments, but finally she realized it was a weighted blanket. Okay, I'm on a bed. She remembered something about weighted blankets helping with brain trauma, somehow. She couldn't recall where she had read or heard that, but the thought had sprung up nonetheless. Her brain certainly felt scrambled. Another thought: There was a distinct presence behind her. Summoning whatever energy she had, Dahlia carefully leaned back a touch and looked over her shoulder.

Crane's face was there, eyes closed, breathing softly. Her own breathing paused, then continued silently as she took a moment to really observe him. He was on the bed with her, laying on his side over the covers, an arm over her waist, asleep. Something in her chest expanded. Dahlia leaned further towards him, lifted her chin, and gently pressed her lips to his. They felt dry, but warm and lovely. She wanted to do it again, but hesitated once her consciousness caught up to her actions.

Taking a deep inhale, Crane stirred. His round, icy eyes slowly opened, and found Dahlia close and conscious. Perhaps something in him acted on impulse as well - He drifted forward without pause and kissed her. Dahlia's chest seized with wonderful fright. It was as if every interaction with him had been leading up to this so secretly desired moment. She cherished it so intensely, unable to believe it was happening. His hand slid up her side and smoothed through her hair as he kissed her again, and again, and again. Each more passionate than the last. And she kissed him back.

While still caressing her neck, Crane pulled away and rested his forehead to her cheek and took a few breaths. Then, he moved away and sat up. He took a moment to adjust the long-sleeve tee he wore to bed, then yawned as he stood up.

Dahlia took a deep inhale and exhale, watching him. The moment, now passed, still lingered. She asked with a smirk, "How'd you sleep?"

First he looked at the floor. Then he pursed his lips and looked back her way. "Overall ... pretty well." They lingered here another moment before she asked,

"How did I end up here? What happened?"

Changing gears, Crane replied with a deep sigh, "You showed up on my porch, battered. What do you remember from the last few days?" He moved to a pile of clothes and a bag atop a corner desk. Dahlia recognized the duffel bag as her own, and now vaguely recalled packing it. Actually, the more she looked around the room, the more she realized this must have been Crane's bedroom.

Everything was sore in her body, but still she managed to push away the weighted blanket and sit up straight. At that point, she realized that she was in only undergarments. "Um ... I'm not so sure yet, my head feels foggy. Some kind of fight?" A point near her temple was throbbing. When she reached up to feel, there was a heavily textured bandage there.

Crane nodded. "That was two nights ago now." Picking up a blouse and jeans, he headed back towards the bed and sat at Dahlia's side. "A PhD doesn't qualify me as a medical doctor, but I'd wager an educated guess that you received a concussion. Besides the obvious physical signs of trauma, you weren't lucid the handful of times you woke up. And, you've now got five stitches," he motioned to the area Dahlia was poking around at, "plus some deep bruising on your back and arms."

She looked back down to her arms and saw that, indeed, several bruises had popped up. A bandage was wrapped around one of her forearms. Then she asked, "Do I need to go to the hospital or something?"

"No need. I treated you here. And I can get you painkillers as you need." The entire ordeal was disheartening for them both. Crane had a killer poker face, but Dahlia could tell her was upset merely by his constrained tone of voice.

Crane shifted gears again. "Ease any concerns, by the way - I was a gentleman with you." He offered the clothing. "Amelia Kendrick was here to help, and left some supplies for you."

That was actually kind of surprising. "You called Amelia?" Dahlia took the clothes from him and laid them on her lap.

"Hmm. You were mostly unconscious, and I needed an assistant." He smirked. "And maybe a voice of reason."

She smiled. This sounded like it could be telling. "Voice of reason?" The mood shifted, as Crane's faint smile disappeared. He took both of Dahlia's hands in his, affectionately massaging her palms.

"I told you that I wouldn't let anything happen to you, and I ... failed. And it won't happen ever again."

That was something she felt she could take to heart. After a very long pause, he scoffed and muttered, "Dahlia, please, you're killing me." He picked up the blouse and held it over her exposed bra with his head turned. Maybe if she had been in better and more mischievous spirits, she'd have really pushed those buttons.

The day the dean died was the first day of Crane's life where he seriously considered changing his long-term goals to the benefit of another human being. In his lifetime prior, there was never any meaningful family around, never any friends, never any serious girlfriends. Humans were kept beyond arm's length. Everyone was a means to an end, and destined to serve a function. That elusive mind of his was difficult to explore, purposely forged that way in order to survive. Efficiency was paramount, with no room for lingering distractions.

But Dahlia Rhodes ...

... was indescribably special. He truly feared he might have felt more strongly for her than he was comfortable admitting. It was never intended to go this far. But he couldn't find the willpower to stop. And he knew that if this was the path he wanted to navigate, that he actually wanted to take seriously it was going to be littered with obstacles. One obstacle in particular needed to be addressed before much time passed.

Two days before the meeting at the docks was when the dean pulled a surprise meeting with Crane. The entire conversation had stuck in his memory, word for word, as narrated by the dean's placid voice.

"Jonathan, I want to talk with you about one of your students, Dahlia Rhodes. Any guess as to why?" Crane knew why, but didn't answer. The dean continued. "Now, I'm sure that the nature of your relationship with Miss Rhodes, as with all your students, is purely innocent. But the several opinions that crossed my inbox aren't quite as virtuous. Students and faculty both are gossiping and making accusations of fraternization. This is purely their perception, keep in mind. But, we both know that perceptions may induce some unwanted consequences. It might be in your best interest to do whatever you feel is necessary to lay low." Crane was expressionless. The dean rested one hand over the other on his desk, a gold band on the left ring finger gleaming from the desk light. Then he finished, "I'd recommend you think my advice over, before you find yourself in a tough situation in which you're wrongly accused."

The room fell quiet. The dean didn't mind permitting the silence.

Crane finally said, "You're an honest man, Mr. Dreier. Since the day we began working together, I had a feeling that I wouldn't enjoy coercing you to step down."

Dean Dreier's brows furrowed at what he felt like was a distasteful joke. After another few seconds, Crane stood and headed for the door. He locked it. The dean didn't react, and only watched as Crane dropped back into his seat with a sigh, a tuft of his hair falling over his forehead. Something about his usual pattern of speech changed. Now, he spoke with a bit more speed and energy. "Rebecca Charles is an honest woman." The corners of Dean Dreier's mouth dropped subtly. Crane continued, "It somewhat surprised me to discover that you aren't actually paying her much for off-the-books child care. From what I could tell, she didn't want anything to do with your bank account, and she doesn't care about ruining your public reputation. Who'd have guessed that a modest little kitchen hand was flirting with you because she was actually interested? Poor thing must have been heartbroken, to lose a good, honest, family-oriented man like yourself." The dean was expressionless and quiet. Crane permitted the silence for another several moments. Then he finished, matter-of-factly, "You will announce your retirement from Gotham State University effective tomorrow, or Estella Dreier will no doubt take your first family's children with her somewhere you will never be able to sniff out."

The memory with the dean was electrifying. Even faced with the prospect of a life turned upside-down and destroyed from the inside out, Dean Dreier didn't bend to Crane's threat. That kind of courage was why Crane did generally enjoy and tolerate him. But tragically, Dean Dreier ended up paying for it with drug-induced heart failure in that same office minutes after their conversation ended. Why such an impulsive act of terror? Because the dean made a threat with something personal to Crane. Something unfamiliar, terrifying, and sacred.

The day the dean died - actually - was the day that Jonathan Crane realized that he fell in love with someone.