Disclaimer: I do not own any Batman Begins/ Dark Knight characters. All other characters are mine.
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XOXOXO -Improbable Dreamer
Cat yawned, deeply, and rolled over on the huge mattress. Sunlight streamed through the cream-coloured curtains, landing on her face in streaks and blaring red through her eyelids.
"Fuck you." She whined at the sun, and hid her face under one of the many grey, plush pillows.
For the first time in months, Caterina had slept the entire night. Not once had she jumped from her bed in fright, her whole-body sweating, her face frozen in a scream. For the first time in months, she had woken up without the urgent need to run, to hide, to destroy herself.
She eventually gave up on falling back asleep, and decided to stretch and rub the drowsiness from her eyes. She peeled herself from the soft mattress, and rolled her shoulders back. Cat readjusted her large t-shirt, so that it hung comfortably from her body, and padded out of the bedroom.
The smell of something frying wafted from the hall and Cat's stomach audibly pined for the food. She turned into a well-lit kitchen, and took a moment to escape the drowsiness of waking.
A marble-topped breakfast bar was surrounded by several multicoloured stools, behind it, a small stove and length of bench sat below a rectangular window. The sunlight reflected off the benchtops and a small reflective fridge, giving the entire kitchen a homey-rustic feel.
Yvonne was standing behind the stove, moving a number of utensils and pans around the hotplate. She was already fully dressed in an ironed green button-down, and faded blue jeans. Her hair was neatly plaited, swinging gently from her right shoulder like a scarlet length of rope.
Cat plonked herself down on a purple stool, and felt very dishevelled in her over-sized penguin t-shirt, messy bun of blonde hair, and makeup-crusted eyes.
"Morning." She yawned, her voice scratchy and unused. Yvonne swung her head around to shoot Cat a quick smile, though it seemed slightly distracted.
"I made eggs." She replied lightly, pouring the contents of the small pan onto a blue, ceramic plate. Cat took the plate, salivating at the thought of eggs, spring onion, cream, and chives.
"Mmph." Cat thanked her quickly, remembering her manners while her mouth was full.
Yvonne smiled as Cat wolfed the serving down, and in the time it took her to serve her own plate-full, Cat's plate was practically licked clean.
"Ha," Yvonne chortled, leaning across the bar with the plate balanced in her palm. "They didn't give you scrambled eggs in the asylum?"
Cat shot her a look; a glare of utter disbelief.
Yvonne poked her fork repeatedly through the yellow clumps on her own plate, turning them over needlessly. Her appetite had somehow completely vanished.
"Cat- "
Her voice was soft, hesitant, and Cat barely registered the phrase at all.
"Cat." Yvonne repeated, her eyes still fixed on the eggs. "I need to tell you something."
"Uh oh," Cat smiled, wiping her mouth with a serviette. "Don't tell me we're out of eggs."
As Yvonne returned to the pan, to refill Cat's plate, her own stomach summersaulted violently. She bit her lip sharply, a debate raging in her mind. Yvonne hadn't gotten any sleep that night, she had been plagued with the thought of telling Cat the truth. How would she possibly react; knowing Joker was still out there and looking for her?
She pictured it, and the image projected into her mind with scary accuracy.
Caterina Morgan, a collar around her neck, her forearms soaked in blood as she gloated over her last kill. And her eyes transfixed on a man looming over her. "I did it." She cried triumphantly. "I did it all for you."
He grinned, holding up a switchblade and spinning it slowly between his thumb and index finger. "I know you did, sweetheart, now I want you to do one last thing."
The blade flew to her throat, appearing solely as a silver streak in the darkness. Joker held the blade with one hand to her throat, and with the other, forced Cat's arm up slowly.
"Go ahead." He murmured with a grin, forcibly closing Cats hand around the knife. "Do it for me."
She smiled, gazing at him in adoration, and then the blade skimmed along her throat like a stone on water.
"No."
The plate fell from Yvonne's grip suddenly, tumbling to the tiled floor and shattering on impact. Shards of blue ceramic slid across the floor and the scrambled eggs formed a sloppy pile.
"Oh!" Yvonne exclaimed, and knelt down with shaky hands. Her skin was pale and coated in a sheen of sweat, the vision had just seemed so real.
Cat jumped over the breakfast bar with athletic grace, and easily joined Yvonne beside the mess.
"Hey, don't worry," Cat picked up a triangular piece of plate. "I'll get you a new set of plates today, maybe made of solid gold?"
The line didn't even get a smile from Yvonne, and Cat glanced at her quizzically; she was chewing the lip-gloss from her lip, a strange sparkle in her eyes.
It took her a moment to realise that Yvonne was crying.
"I-I have to tell you…"
Cat stood up with the plate pieces, and lifted Yvonne up gently by her elbows.
"Tell me anything."
Yvonne coughed lightly, and dropped all the ceramic onto the breakfast bar. She leaned back on the stove with her arms hugging tightly around her middle. Cat noticed the anxious body language, and she smiled patiently as she waited for Yvonne to continue.
"Yesterday evening…when I was walking home…" Her confidence faltered, and she had to swallow a lump of raw emotion.
'...I know you did, sweetheart, now I want you to do one last thing...'
"He…I saw…"
Cat smiled reassuringly, and pulled Yvonne into a tight hug, unfortunately and unknowingly cutting her off.
"We're friends, right? You let me stay here, you can literally tell me anything and I swear I'll be on your side. I'll always be on your side."
Yvonne blinked back tears, and managed a watery smile. Her mind was finally made up; she knew what she had to do, what it was her duty to do.
"And I'm on your side," She pulled away, resting her hands on Cat's shoulders. "Always. I just wanted to tell you that…that I ran into some of Joker's men."
Cat's face scrunched into a frown, the light sparkle in her eye fading into a dull gleam.
"W-What happened?" She asked, her voice shaky.
Yvonne cupped her cheek reassuringly, and gave her an expression of 'prepare yourself'.
"They…they found his body."
Cat was buffeted by the news, and literally fell back onto the bench. Her breathing was haggard and she was pressing her elbows against the cool marble, barely propping herself up.
She opened her mouth, but her voice, like her gaze, was distant and transparent. Cat shook her head slightly, and managed to regain some of her composure, she calmed her breathing and sat up a little straighter.
Yvonne watched her, wondering if the dull ache in her chest was a result of the lie, or of Cat's broken reaction.
"I-I'm sorry." She took Cat into another hug. "I know he was still significant to you, that kind of thing doesn't fade after therapy."
Cat allowed herself to cry, the guilt of the action suppressed by Yvonne's understanding. If there was a medical explanation to her grief, perhaps she was allowed to feel it.
"Th-thank you for telling me." She managed in a soft voice. "That must've been difficult for you."
Yvonne tried not to think about it too much, thinking about it hurt her chest. She merely reassured Cat that 'everything was going to be alright.'
But reassuring herself that she had done the right thing was a more trying task.
He looked up at the clock, just as the minute hand ticked over the 5 o'clock mark. It was well and truly past afternoon now, and yet Caterina had failed to show.
"Boss," A thug approached him cautiously. "We're packing the van, you ready to leave?"
Without warning, Joker pulled the handgun from his pocket and fired a bullet through the thug's right eye, a yell of anguish escaping him.
"Where is she!" He hollered at the bleeding corpse, kicking it viciously.
"Where the fuck is she?"
He continued to swear and beat the thug, his eyes stinging with tears of anger, his foot meeting the thug's torso in heavy thunks.
Eventually his adrenaline gave out and he paused, doubled over and breathing hard. The other thugs were clearly clever enough to keep their distance, they surrounded the hotel entrance with their guns at the ready.
Joker collapsed to the carpeted floor, his crisp suit seeping with the blood of the recently deceased thug.
With a hollow laugh, he fell back and stared up at the ceiling.
"Sweetheart." He muttered, balling up his fists and digging his nails into his palms. "Sweetheart, where are you hiding?"
Joker laughed again, louder, fuelled by deranged grief.
Without getting up, he dipped an index finger into the thug's pool of blood, and began to finger-paint on a clean square of carpet. A slow humming escaped him, and more tears blurred his vision as he finished his gruesome artwork. After a minute or two, he had drawn a rather crude depiction of a pair of eyes, rimmed with long lashes.
"I'll find you." Joker's whisper was oddly gentle, and he ran a finger affectionately around the 'eyes', tracing their shape, memorising it.
"Whatever it takes, I'll find you."
He stepped out of the hotel, his left arm stained a deep red. The thugs acknowledged the blood-stains cautiously, and attempted to stand confidently before him.
"Well, boys." Joker smiled at them, running his tongue swiftly over his bottom lip. "Looks like we need to send a louder message."
They all packed into the van, surrounded by a few cardboard boxes stockpiled with weapons, explosives, and bundles of cash.
The driver turned to Joker, awaiting a destination.
"Okay," He clapped his gloved hands together, obviously overcompensating cheeriness. "Let's make our mark, we'll start with that psychiatrist, her lovely little wife is waiting for us in Major Crimes Unit-."
Joker pulled the switchblade from his suit pocket, releasing the wickedly sharp blade with a grin.
"-I think we should pay her a visit."
Cat hugged her torso, trying to insulate out the cool March night. In the distance, a slow siren was rising and falling in pitch, echoing through the night like a chilling howl. She had spent the day in a weird, dream-like state; unable to fully comprehend the situation.
"I can do this." She muttered, wiping her streaming nose with the back of her hand. "I can do this."
With the knuckle of her index finger, she lightly tapped the door and stood back. After 4 seconds of silence, the clinking sound of a turning lock emitted from behind the door, and it opened with a slow creak.
"Caterina?"
The figure stared at Cat, seemingly surprised to find her standing on his doorstep and shivering in the chill night.
"Can I come in?" She chattered, and he obliged with raised eyebrows.
"So," Crane shut the door behind her and crossed his arms indignantly over his chest. "Is there method behind this particular madness?"
Cat fidgeted with her black coat, averting her gaze in shame.
"I-I need your help."
He seemed surprised, and gestured for her to follow him with a bemused expression. They walked down a bare hallway with dark walls, and came into the main room. The living room was much like the rest of the house, dimly lit, unadorned, filled with only the essential furnishings. Cat took a seat on a black leather couch, it was uncomfortably solid and she ended up merely perching on it.
"Go ahead," Crane gestured a hand rigidly, and joined Cat on the couch. "What is so important that it couldn't wait until morning?"
She struggled with her thoughts for a few moments, and found an odd sense of comfort in being so close to the help she desperately sought after.
"I just found out…They found Joker's body."
Crane watched her for a moment, before slowly removing his glasses and folding them in his lap.
"I see." He replied quietly, rubbing the two indents left on his nose from the eye glasses. "And how are you doing?"
Cat seemed surprised by his genuine concern, and she sunk lower into the couch as she allowed herself to collect her own thoughts.
"Honestly," She muttered, her eyes oddly dark. "It's fucking with my head. I know I should be fine, relieved even, but everything…everything hurts. I'm seeing red, and I feel like I can't trust myself, I can't trust my own fucking body. I just feel disconnected, and I feel like without a tether…"
Cat's recount dwindled, and she looked up with tears prickling her eyes.
"...I feel like I'll just fade."
Crane had his hands netted together in earnest thought. After a moment-or-two of silence, he cocked his head and blinked in sudden realisation.
"And you're coming to me," He stated plainly. "What about your friends? They don't trust you?"
Cat shook her head slightly, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear.
"The problem is actually the opposite."
Crane's face broke into a small, knowing smile, an expression that filled Cat with unease.
"They would never understand," She quickly excused herself. "They couldn't even begin to know the situation I'm in. As far as they're all concerned I'm…coping."
"I see, let it be another skeleton in the closet."
Cat shrugged in response, but she was chewing on her lip anxiously and wouldn't meet Crane's penetrating gaze.
"I guess." She managed, after a moment. "But you have to promise me that whatever…happens, happens…they won't know. It'll be our secret."
Crane held up a pinkie, his eyes twinkling in anticipation.
"Pinkie swear."
She followed him down a second hall, her stomach dropping lower and lower with every step. Crane seemed calm, excited even, and he hummed a light-hearted tune as they traversed through his apartment. Eventually, they reached their destination of Crane's study, and Cat waited awkwardly in the black door frame whilst Crane rummaged through a set of cabinets.
"Well?" She tapped her foot impatiently, trying to crane her neck to catch a glimpse of his actions. "Do you have it."
Crane straightened from the desk with a smile and a small black case. The container was similar to a glasses case; slightly oval in shape with a simple metal latch keeping it tightly shut.
"Here." He smiled triumphantly, and brandished the case to Cat. "I knew I had some lying around."
She made a grab for it, but Crane quickly lifted it from her reach and tutted noiselessly.
"Uh uh," He grinned, enjoying the power. "We haven't agreed on payment."
"What the hell could you want?" Cat spat, folding her arms over her chest and trying to hide the growing blush on her cheek; she hated condescension.
He shrugged slightly, but the gleam in his eye betrayed a much darker intention.
"Let's just say," Crane held out the case. "You'll owe me a favour, each time."
She scoffed in disbelief, but snatched the case from his grasp anyway.
"Whatever, it's a one-time thing anyway."
Cat flicked open the latch and pried apart the case. Inside, nestled in a black foam indent, was a small glass bottle filled with clear liquid. Attached to the bottle was a tiny, silver needle, its tip carefully covered in a sterile plastic cap.
"One-time thing?" Crane repeated with a smile, he was staring at Cat, searching her expression as she gazed down at the drug.
"This is a special toxin, I formulated it just for you in the Asylum. It gives you that little adrenaline rush, quietens the thoughts. But if it's a one-time thing you've technically reached your limit, and yet, here you are."
She decided to disregard this observation, despite all the truth it seemed to hold.
"You know," He continued slowly. "It does make an awful lot of sense. You're addicted to adrenaline, to danger, and without Joker, you're not getting your fix."
Crane laughed, obviously finding the situation humorous.
"Feel free to come as often as you like." He carefully removed the bottle from the foam, and applied the needle to the cap to draw in approximately a teaspoon of the liquid.
He watched Cat administer the drug, and she closed her eyes as it began to take effect.
"Caterina Morgan, you're mine now." Crane murmured, and he turned his head to gaze out of the nearby window. He couldn't see anyone, and yet it wouldn't surprise him if someone was watching, someone invested in Morgan.
Cat was no longer listening; she was too far gone.
He smiled, a smug, triumphant smile, out onto the streets of Gotham. All he saw was his own reflection in the window, and yet a single thought was playing on repeat in his mind.
Your move.