Bruce slowed to a stop in front of a door in the shadowy hall. The crevices around the door-frame glowed with an eerie white color, the only indication to Bruce that this was the room he was looking for. He knew the Scarecrow was hiding in there, which was ridiculous—for lack of a better word—since it was a restroom, and he could easily push open the door since there was no lock. Batman placed a black gloved hand against the door and pushed, but nothing happened. He frowned, creasing his rough features, and pushed his hand harder. Still nothing.

"What's wrong with this door?" he asked aloud, not expecting the response he got.

"Having a little trouble, Batman? A bathroom door just a bit too complicated for you?"

Bruce went still as the voice inside the room purred at him softly. He scowled harder behind his cowl and slammed a tight fist against the door. "Open up, Crane, or so help me I'll do it myself."

"Well, I don't plan on it. Guess that means you're stuck with the brunt work." Crane drew his knees up to his chin and gave a small, pleased sigh, watching the door with the interest of a curious child as he heard Batman's futile attempts to open the door.

Batman continued to pound against the door until his fists grew sore. He threw a look back at the open doorway spilling golden light onto the floor. Rachel was still in there. She was still sick. Bruce bit his lip and gave the door a final, firm kick. Nothing. Bruce didn't think Crane would be able to leave without him knowing. There were no other exits from a bathroom anyways. With that bit of reassurance, he quickly turned, his cape billowing behind him, and raced back to the room in order to call Alfred. Perhaps the butler could drive here and bring Rachel to the hospital.

-------------------

Jonathan listened as the Bat's footsteps grew fainter. He was leaving? Crane let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes roved over the ceiling tiles with a sort of hunger for a few minutes until he realized…he didn't have his glasses. Jonathan blinked, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He hadn't even noticed his eyesight was blurry. Perhaps the adrenaline and thrill of escape clouded Jonathan's senses. Perhaps the Scarecrow had been able to see past the blurry vision of reality and lead him to his safety. Whatever it was, Jonathan was annoyed that he had forgotten his glasses. He sniffed, wiping his sweaty brow on his sleeve and lifted his eyes to a large blob on the wall behind him. No, he thought to himself, it's not a blob…focus… Jonathan squinted and craned his neck to get a better look. He was right, it wasn't really a blob. It was a large air vent grill. Jonathan winced, trying to focus on the vent.

You could fit through there.

Again, the voice returned. Jonathan frowned. "What?"

Just pry off the grill and crawl through. You'll be out of here easily.

Now it was telling him what to do? Jonathan shook his head. "What are you talking about? I can't fit through that thing."

Yes you can…just tr—

Persistent little bugger…wait, what was he thinking? The voice was not even there, and here he was, giving it characteristics? Jonathan gave a sigh of irritation at himself for being no better than the mental patients back at Arkham. "No I can't fit. Look, my body frame is small, but it's still too wide…too angular for it. It's a big vent, but I still can't fit thro—"

TRY!

Jonathan clutched his ears, squinting as if some screeching noise had been blasted by his head. He stared at the wall opposite him in shock. Sure, his alter ego had yelled at him before. But not like this. No, there was no doubt in his mind now. This voice…this awful, persistent voice was real.

Jonathan blinked and nodded shakily, rising to his feet. "Alright, alright…I'll try. Hold your horses…"

Being a gawky, awkwardly tall young man proved to be useful as Jonathan reached up and wrapped his bony fingers in the metal grill of the vent. He pulled and jerked at the vent, using his foot as extra leverage by pushing it against the wall. He groaned and tugged, but this vent seemed more stubborn than those stall doors had been. He stumbled back a few feet, observing the vent in venomous hatred and clenched his fists at his side.

"This is ridiculous."

Jonathan…

"Yeah, yeah. I know. 'Try'. It would be a whole lot easier if the stupid thing wasn't bolted to the friggin' WALL!" He shouted, his voice bouncing off the grimy blue tiles lining the walls.

Temper, Jonathan…

Jonathan bit his tongue hard, ignoring the pain, and closed his eyes. "Yes…I know…temper…" and he continued to work on the vent.

-------------------

"Pale, dilated pupils…What else is she doing, Master Wayne?"

"She's convulsing…" Bruce murmured into his communication headset before quietly adding, "and bleeding."

Bruce held the shivering, shaking body of Rachel Dawes in his arms. Blood leaked from the corner of her lips, and her wide, terrified eyes darted in every direction. Bruce brushed some hair from her eyes and gritted his teeth as Alfred delivered the diagnosis.

"It sounds like an overdose to me, sir."

He should have known Crane's toxin was different. He didn't have access to the same chemicals as before, and Bruce had just given Rachel more medication that she didn't need. He mentally slapped himself and placed a hand on her forehead.

"Master Wayne, I believe she needs medical assistance. And not from me. I've not got the experience to treat an overdose."

"Alfred, I can't leave to get help. Crane is still here…"

"Then I'll alert the authorities. I'm sure your friend Gordon will be at work. Perhaps they can contact the asylum to come and retrieve Crane."

Bruce placed Rachel on the ground and watched with a painful expression as she twitched and shuddered on the floor like a fish out of water, even opening her mouth every so often to suck in a deep, ragged breath.

Animosity filled the bat's eyes and a bubbling hatred overtook him. "He won't get away with this, Rachel…" Bruce rose from his spot like a grim shadow and disappeared into the hall once again.

-------------------

Crane grunted as the first of the screws finally popped out of the wall and hit his forehead with a soft clunk. He grimaced and placed a hand to his head, then drew it in front of his eyes. A reddish liquid shone off his fingertips, and he cursed under his breath as he continued to tug on the vent.

Jonathan froze as he heard a faint thumping against the door. The bat was back. The skinny man turned and waited with baited breath to see whether the man in black would break down the door.

So far it was just loud noise.

Jonathan began to pull on the vent again, this time a little more frantically. He had to break this thing and somehow climb up the wall to reach his freedom. And that didn't leave a lot of time if the bat broke his barricade.

Batman squared his shoulder and lowered it slightly. He needed to hit it with enough force at the right angle. With a careful eye, and satisfaction with his calculations, Bruce gave a running start and slammed his shoulder into the door.

In the bathroom, Jonathan whipped his head around just as another screw popped out. The stall doors warped under the hit they received, bowing slightly. "No…" Jonathan muttered through his teeth and began shaking the vent grill back and forth violently, a soft squeaking sound the only other noise besides his voice. "No!"

Bruce pulled back again, with more careful aim, and thrust himself against the door.

"Stop it!" Jonathan roared from inside as several of the stall doors broke free of their blockade and were flung at him, hitting the floor with a loud clatter. "Stop ramming my door! Didn't your mother teach you to knock!" Jonathan twitched as the third screw struck him above the eye. "Stupid—"

Jonathan was cut off just as another loud crash caught his attention. He knew his barricade had been broken, and didn't need to turn around. He knew the bat was probably pushing his way into the room. So instead of wasting precious time shouting profanities at the Batman, he yanked and tugged and twisted on the vent with all his might, praying it would come loose.

Bruce shouldered his way into the bathroom, looking down at the pile of twisted metal doors at his feet. Farther back stood the gangly figure of Crane, frantically pulling on the grill of an air vent. He was trying to escape. If he got through that vent…Batman would have a hard time finding him quickly.

"Get away from that, Crane!" Batman shouted, pushing as hard as he could against the door until it opened up enough for him to squeeze his upper body through. Flexing his arms, he placed either hand on the door and doorframe, and slowly but surely began to push open the blasted door. He carefully placed his foot on the fallen barricade and struggled to hold open one door while crawling through to enter the restroom.

Crane looked over his shoulder for a second. Wonderful. He was inside. Crane bit his lip harder and held his breath, not daring to release it until the final screw came out.

Why won't this thing break? WHY WON'T IT BREAK!

Patience Jonathan.

We don't have TIME for patience! Jonathan heard the bat slip through the door and closed his eyes. One more tug and it would come free, he hoped. Just one.

Jonathan's arms quivered as he gave the grill one final tug, a grow rumbling in his throat, and was startled when it suddenly came loose. With the reflex of a cat, Jonathan spun around and tossed twisted grill at Batman like a throwing star, laughing when the metal caught the hero in the face.

Jonathan leapt up, his spindly legs scrambling along the slick tile walls as beads of sweat poured down his face. He was doing it. It was working. He would get out.

Bruce grunted as the metal hit his face and felt the sting of a fresh cut on his cheek. Great. He got hit in the face with an old rusty bathroom vent. If he hadn't been so angry, he was sure he would have been disgusted.

But all he was focused on was the long legs poking out of the air vent. He would not get out.

The caped crusader lunged forward and wrapped a large hand around Jonathan's thin, pale ankle. Jonathan cried out, his voice echoing in the metal networking of air ducts, and kicked frantically.

"Let me go you VERMIN!" Jonathan heard a soft thump and felt his heel connect with flesh. He had kicked the bat in the face. "I hope that hurt!" Jonathan cackled, using his long arms to reach out and pull himself farther into the tube. He thought he wouldn't be able to fit through the duct, but it seemed, yet again, that the Scarecrow knew what he was talking about.

Batman, however, had other plans. As soon as Jonathan's heel struck him, he pulled back on the man's ankle, hearing a slight pop when he did so. Jonathan roared with pain and scrambled within the tube, clawing like a wild beast against the smooth metal siding. That was his bad leg, the one that had been injured in his fall from the horse. As he was pulled back, his hand slipped out from under him and his chin hit against the bottom of the metal duct with bone-jarring force, stirring up the dust inside. Almost instantly, he felt another hand grab his loose wrist and, like a wine bottle cork, he was pulled out of the duct.

For an instant, Jonathan was airborne. Light filled his vision as blurry images whizzed by his eyes, useless without his glasses. For a moment, he wondered if he was dead. How did he die? He couldn't have died.

Just then, reality struck Jonathan in a very painful way as he felt his body collide against the bathroom mirror, sending shards of silvery glass spraying everywhere.

Jonathan squalled in pain and felt two strong hands prop him up once again, much to his displeasure. He was in too much pain, and his head pounded is if a stampede were trampling around in his mind. He wanted to just sleep. Jonathan managed to open his sore eyes and looked down, staring at the scratched, bruised, and bleeding figure of Batman.

"I…" Jonathan's voice was weak and tremulous as he licked his full lips, tasting blood. "I feel sick…that wasn't nice."

"I'm not a nice guy. And you deserve worse than a little headache." Bruce hissed, gritting his teeth in hatred. "After what you did to Rachel, you deserve more pain than I can provide."

Jonathan still hadn't been relinquished of the Scarecrow's personality and couldn't help but crack a small, but painful-looking, smile. "Oh? How is the little lady doing?" He leaned forward and sneered. "I'm sure it must have been quite a sight. Her eyes wide with terror, that pretty little face of hers twisted with fear…too bad I missed it…" Batman shoved him further against the wall, using every bit of strength not to kill him then and there. Crane smiled toothily and licked his bloodied lip once more. "Hey, Bats…when the nice men in white coats come for your little girlfriend," he lowered his head slightly, letting the shadows cast by the bright fluorescent lights shroud his features save his shining eyes and pearly smile, "tell them to put her in a cell by mine. I want to hear her screams of fear…they'll put me to sleep, you know…" As he spoke, his thin fingers were slowly making their way to his coat pocket. If he could just reach his fear toxin...

Jonathan yelped as he was suddenly thrown from the counter and to the floor covered with mirror shards, stifling another cry as the broken glass cut into his palms. He grunted and pursed his lips when Batman placed a foot on his back, pushing him down further on the mirror shards.

"You're a monster, Crane," Bruce hissed, his body heaving.

Jonathan said nothing, but let his head rest on a rather large piece of mirror. He closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths as he felt warm blood seep slowly from his wounds. This was it. The bat…the bat would kill him here and now.

Jonathan…

Jonathan shook his head weakly. Leave me alone. He's won. Can't you see? You didn't keep your promise…you promised me I would be safe if I went after Dawes. You've had your fun.

Jonathan, open your eyes.

Jonathan hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was see his own death in the pieces of mirror around him displayed hundreds of times over.

But slowly he obliged, just to humor himself.

What he saw when he opened his soulless blue eyes to face the mirror shard caused all color to drain from his face.

He didn't hear the wailing sirens of the approaching police force.

He didn't hear the voice of Lieutenant Gordon as he and his squad burst into the building.

He didn't hear the soft gasps and murmurs of disgust as paramedics went to help Rachel, He didn't hear when the attendants of Arkham entered the building behind the policemen, hurrying to track him down and take custody over him.

All he heard was a dull, empty voice. All he saw were his blue eyes shining in front of him, staring back from the shard of mirror. All he saw was his face covered with the rough burlap mask of the Scarecrow, even though he very well knew his mask was back in the other room

Don't worry, Jonathan. Like I said…I always keep my promises.

A/N: Fight scene! Mrow.

Hey, if guys like catfights, aren't girls entitled to like...dogfights? Is that what they're called? Well, that's what I'm calling them.

I never realized that taking my aggression out through fight scenes is quite theraputic. Poor Jonathan, though. He got a bit roughed up. But he's a tough guy. Insane, mentally unstable...but tough.

Just one more chapter until this story is o-v-e-r. Gee, that went by pretty fast. I'm gonna miss writing about the twiggy geeky psychiatrist now :(

So, enjoy the story while it lasts!

...Amazon...