A/N: Well vacations been nice but my best friend's dad died last Friday so anyways, that's my reason for not updating sooner. Thanks again for all the reviews. I'm not too sure I'm happy with the way this chapter turned out. It doesn't quite portray Jonathan like I usually do so let me know if you like it. I may edit and change parts later so... Anyways just enjoy the chappie!
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Christine was sitting on a metal examination table watching Dr. Crane shuffle around his medical supplies to find what he needed. Her breathing was still shaky and erratic but it was calm compared to her thoughts. She wasn't sure whether she should stab Jonathan in the back and run or feel serry for him. The latter option seemed the more ludicrous of the two. Why should she feel sorry for him because he drugged himself with a probably illegal drug? No she shouldn't. Stabbing him in the back sounded good. It would definitely satisfy her need for revenge. On the rational side she had no weapons to stab him with.
"Here," Jonathan broke into her thoughts. "This should numb you while I do the stitches." He was holding a syringe in his gloved hand. Previously he had removed his suit coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves.
"Stitches?" Christine asked with doubt. "Is that really necessary?" First of all she had no desire to have something drawn back and forth through her skin. Secondly she wasn't about to trust Dr. Crane to be honest about any pharmacudicals he gave her.
"Yes. Without them the wound won't close properly and will continue to bleed. It's also more likely you will get and infection if you don't get them." His voice was patient as though he was dealing with a child.
"And how do I know this isn't just another sadistic ploy?" The tone of her question may have been sarcastic but her face showed that Christine expected an answer. Crane nearly rolled his eyes but caught himself before such a juvenile response.
"You don't know," he told her. "All you can do is trust me." Christine laughed out loud when he said this.
"Right, trust you. The same guy who just gave me these injuries is asking me to trust him to treat them properly. And I suppose I'll just have to trust that what's in the syringe is actually localized anesthetic." She hugged the rag she held to her stomach tighter. "No thanks."
"Look," Jonathan said angry, "I've given you an explanation. Take it for what it's worth but if you don't let me treat this wound it will give you even more problems." Deciding she had no choice in the end anyway Christine sighed and moved the rag. Beneath was her bloody t-shirt covering the cuts on her stomach. Crane cleared his throat.
"What?" Christine asked. She lifted up the shirt to expose her stomach and looked with facination as he gave her the shot. The girl had never been squemish around blood or needles however she had enough experience with stitches to not get excited.
Jonathan meanwhile went to grab some gauze pads and disinfectant to clean the wounds. He worked for awhile and to Christine's credit she didn't wince as the cleaning stung her or as Dr. Crane's cool hands touched her. Much progress was made but the blood on the shirt kept dripping down and making the wound messy again.
Jonathan paused and looked up at Christine who had been watching his progress carefully. Their eyes met for a moment before he spoke. "Um, it might help if." He was having a hard time putting this delicately so Christine would not get upset with him. Unfortunately she wasn't getting the point.
"If what?" she asked annoyed. Jonathan chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment to think. He thought perhaps being more specific might help.
"The blood," he began, "that the shirt soaked up is making it difficult to clean the wound." For the first time since Christine had met him Dr. Crane seemed nervous.
"Oh," was all she said. What's the point? she wondered.
In frustration to the girl's sudden bout of cluelessness he decided to be very direct. "I need you to take your shirt off." The silence could have been measured had anyone had the sense to do so. Christine shot Jonathan a look which would have killed him had he not been prepared for it. She opened her mouth to speak but somehow the words just didn't seem appropriate. Shaking her head she rolled her eyes. Below the surface Scarecrow still watched and longed to exploit this apparent distrust. "You can put a clean one on after I'm done but I'm not going to get this cleaned if it's still on." Again the silence set in. Turning Jonathan grabbed a towel out of one of the innumerable drawers. "Here, you can cover yourself with this if you don't feel comfortable." Christine took it and Jonathan turned so he was facing the sink. Unfortunately there was a small mirror there.
Oblivious Christine turned her back to him and carefully slid her bloody shirt over her head. Some of the blood smeared onto her face but she was beyond caring at this point. Jonathan watched as she wrapped the towel around her chest, although he could only see the back. Something in him kept his eyes glued to the girl in the mirror and he scolded himself for it. He hated being reminded that in the end he was only a man.
"Done," Christine called out with scorn. Her glare said anything that she could have come up with.
"Thank you," Jonathan said, carefully avoiding looking up from her stomach, pretending not to notice the way her left bra strap had fallen off her shoulder. He returned to cleaning her wounds and then he was done he saw what Scarecrow had done. His face showed the distaste so uncharacteristically that Christine took notice.
Looking down she too saw what had shocked him and winced. There glaring in beads of red were the letters SC. "SC," she mused. "Does that mean anything to you?" His moments hesition told her that whatever he said would be a lie. Usually he was so good at lying. Why the change?
"No," he calmly told her. One glance at her eyes told him she knew he was lying.
This time Christine took advantage of the situation. Leaning forward she whispered, face to face with Jonathan, "Liar." He caught the reference and turned to grab sutures off of the counter.
Ripping open the packaging he took it out and told her, "Lay back." Happy with her little victory of disturbing Crane, Christine obeyed. She propped her head up with her bloody hands so she could watch with morbid curiousity. One by one she watched as Jonathan stuck the curved needle through the edges of her wounds and tied the dissolvable thread off.
Jonathan pretended to be intently focused on his work but his thoughts were elsewhere. Tonight he had lost control more so than on any occasion previous. This illness was intensifying with time and every time he lapsed Christine just happened to be there. Something about the girl was triggering him. Perhaps her fear? The way she tried to hide it instead of just playing victim.
And here she lay, so falsely trusting. They both knew she was only putting on this act to keep Jonathan's less friendly (imagine that) side at bay. Christine was wise to do so. Had she not she would have found herself in a very compromising posistion, shirtless, injured, and on her back.
"There," Jonathan said. "I need to wrap this around. Can you sit?" Christine did so, carefully holding up the towel to cover herself. Jonathan took the roll of gauze and told Christine, "Hold the gauze pad in place." She did so and gently he took the roll in one hand and reached the other around Christine to grab it. For a moment they were dangerously close but soon it passed and Jonathan tied off the ends. "Ok."
"I still need clean clothes," she said looking at him standing there. Observing her lack of shirt and bloody pants he nodded.
"Right." Jonathan had forgotten. Given the choice he would have made her walk back as she was but his more rational side told him that would be a poor move. "I'll bring your bag, and you should probably clean up as well." Taking stock of herself, bloody hands and smears, she agreed.
"I take it I can't get this wet for awhile," she stated.
"Correct. You'll just have to sponge bathe. I could have an aide help you."
"No," she told him. "I'm not crippled." Then as an afterthought she added, "Yet." Who knew what may happen next time Jonathan's other side decided to show up.
"I really am sorry about that," he apologized. For once he was totally honest. With that he left to send someone for her stuff. He waited outside and once they came back he left for the safety of his office.
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Something was terrbily wrong with him. Jonathan knew that much, but for all his genius he could not figure out what. Yes he was suffering from SDD however none of the typical treatments were working. This was probably due to the fact that his disorder was not organic in nature but rather had been brought on by an outside chemical. If only he could figure out a way to reverse the drug's effects maybe then his symptoms would disapate. Maybe.
The only problem was he had already been immunized to the toxin which was introduced into his system. He had made sure of that just in case there were any accidents. Only the dosage which he recieved had guaranteed any reaction at all. Try as he might Jonathan could not come up with another way to cure himself.
He sat at home in one of his favored arm chairs pouring over test results and medical journals that he had read before. Perhaps he had missed something, something crucial. His breakthrough may be lying in that one paragraph he had only skimmed or in the notes beneath some obscure fact. He couldn't give up. He wouldn't. That was not the way Jonathan Crane lived his life.
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Christine lay awake, breaking her promise to Crane that she would sleep. She had tried, really, but nothing had brought the elusive peace any closer. All she could do was stare up at the ceiling and think, always thinking. Often she wished that she could simply cease this action on command. This night her thoughts were very troubled.
This night was the fourteenth that she had been here. Two weeks. Already 3 of the children, Greg, Alice, and Lucy, had all gone home safe to their families. Christine had slipped them all notes saying basically the same thing but her last had been more desperate than before. So far her efforts had yeilded nothing in the way of help from the outside world. Pretty soon she would have to take matters into her own hands, not only for her sanity but also for her life.
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In a room across town three silent characters sat around a table, each one looking around to be sure they were alone. After what seemed like an eternity one of them spoke up, the one who had called them here.
"You know why I asked you here?" he stated more than asked. The other two nodded in response. "I waited this long because I wanted to be sure and as I predicted recently both of your youngest children have returned to school, correct?" When the two nodded again the man continued. "And you both received notes from them shortly before that." The two looked at each other before hesitantly nodding. They were afraid, very afraid, and that was why their children were now safe. "Well then, what are we to do?"
"Nothing," said the mother there. She had a wise look about her from raising 3 children in the Narrows. Her short blonde hair was pulled back in clips and her green eyes shone with tears. "We can do nothing."
"That's not true," the third one added. He was a young hot shot cop strait out of college. "We could do something."
"But what?" the mother asked in desperation. It was the first who answered.
"We fight this." His voice was old and determined despite his age of 35. "We get someone who can help us plan and then we go and make this right."
"Who?" the woman said. "Batman is dead. There is no other who could ever face down that man." There was a silence.
"There is one who would try," the young one said. The other two looked at him expectantly. "Fellman." After a night of discussion they all decided that perhaps it was time to network and find a way to get those kids out of Arkham.
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Christine woke with a start, not remembering falling asleep. She tried to sit up right away but the pain form her stomach shot through her body and made her cry out. The children, who were all awake, rushed over to her.
"What's wrong?" asked Emily. "Are you ok?" Her little eyes were full of concern. Such a sweet girl.
"No no, I'm fine," Christine lied. "Just a little pain in my back." Accepting the answer the kids rushed away as fast as they had come. She had decided not to tell the kids what happened that night with Jonathan and therefore had to keep her injury a secret. Had she told them it would have caused mass panic that she did not have the energy to deal with. Well, at least not anyone else's mass panic, she thought. She could barely handle her own. Sitting up slowly this time Christine gently brought her feet down to the floor and sat there gaining her equalibrium.
Tony was playing with little Mike trying to ignore Emily who was throwing balls at his head. Justin and Charlie were chasing each other with toy guns. How she managed to sleep through all of their chaos Christine could not figure out. Carefully she stood and made her way to the bathroom. By the time she came out the food cart had come bringing with it Dr. Crane. Quickly Christine grabbed her tray and retreated to the end of her bed to eat.
Jonathan noted her behavior but did not persue it. For now he was trying a new method of keeping Scarecrow at bay: avoiding Christine whenever possilbe. So far it had been working. He had been himself for two days, a fair record, but he could feel it taking a toll. Little things brought Scarecrow close to the surface and he knew that this avoidance would only hold it back so much. Eventually he would lose it at the most inopportune time and then what could he do? What would happen if Scarecrow came out while he was testifying? He refused to think that, but instead chatted with Charlie.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked. His pen was poised over the yellow notepad.
"Yep," Charlie told him. "But there was that dream again." The child's face took on a scared look and he dropped his voice to a whisper. "The one with the monster."
"You mean the scarecrow?" Jonathan asked.
"Sshhhhhh, they might hear you!" The little boy glanced around as though he expected one to jump out from under a cot.
"Right," Jonathan replied softly. "Your secret is safe with me." With that he took his leave and went to talk to Emily, the only young girl left. Sadly for her it looked like Mike would be the next to leave. After finishing his chats with all the children Jonathan cautiously made his way back to Christine.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Fine," she bitterly said. Rightfully so she was still very angry at him over what had happened. She vowed revenge to herself and knew she would see it through, no matter what it took. He had chosen the wrong girl to slash.
"That's good," Jonathan replied, making a note and turning away. He left quickly. Avoiding Christine made his brief encounters with her more intense. Perhaps a different strategy could be taken. Maybe if he saw her enough he could immunize Scarecrow to her and thus reduce Scarecrow's power over him in her prescence and overall. Unfortunately he doubted Christine would agree to shadow him, even if it meant she could be rid of Scarecrow. That was how much she hated him.