A/N: This fic occurs about two years after Batman Begins and is based on the premise that Crane was never revealed as the Scarecrow. The police presence in the narrows was literally non-existent again as soon as everyone was rounded up into Arkham, and the antidote was distributed to as many people as possible. The social and economic gap between the narrows and Gotham's mainland is even wider now, and there isn't a lot of traffic between the two city sections.

Dr Crane returned to his post at the asylum despite rumours that he was behind the gassing, and he's been going strong ever since. Despite the fact that he was never formally charged, there was a lot of suspicion, and he was forced to lay low. Now, two years later, he needs something to bring up his reputation so he can continue living in the style he became accustomed to while working with Falcone.

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Ann stood in the doorway of the bar for a moment, looking left and right. When she determined the coast was clear, she stepped down onto the street and began her short walk home. Her short skirt came to just below her jacket and it made her feel vulnerable, but she had no money to do the laundry and the water hadn't worked in her apartment for almost two weeks. She had to conserve her clothing, and as such wore her work uniform to and from work. Though 'uniform' was only a loose term for the tight fitting skirt and halter ensemble.

She worked in one of the less seedy bars in the narrows, although what could be called 'less seedy' in the narrows would probably be seen as a total dive by the rest of Gotham. Unfortunately, there wasn't much she could do about her situation. Her parents had been killed during the gassing two years ago and her brothers, like so many others who hadn't gotten the vaccine in time, had gone mad. She used to go see them in Arkham, but after the first few visits she had been too afraid to go back. Chris and Derek barely knew who she was anymore, anyway.

So every night she trudged to Flea Whiskey's and worked as a waitress and occasional dancer, and every morning she trudged home. She was never attacked or maligned by the bar's patrons, and she counted herself lucky for it. Some of the other girls had taken up carrying pepper spray and tasers in their purses for their way home, and other girls had ended up letting the men have their way but charging them for it. Ann hoped she was never so desperate that she would have to sell herself to live.

But such was life in the narrows. There wasn't much anyone could do about it. The police had patrolled the neighbourhood for about six months after the attack on the city, but their presence had slowly begun to peter off. Ann knew she'd be lucky if she saw two squad cars per month. The reality was that everyone thought of the narrows as irredeemable, and Ann was inclined to agree with them. She wasn't cynical, she just knew that no matter how much work she put into her neighbourhood it would still be the narrows, and people would still be desperate.

She worked as director of the only youth club in the narrows. Her home base was in an abandoned warehouse close to the rest of the city, and kids came every day before, during and after school to hang out and stay out of trouble. Of course they didn't think of it as staying out of trouble, they thought of it as having fun and making friends, and Ann tried to instil a positive attitude in each of them. She knew how important it was to have people who support you and help you make the right decisions.

She worked the afternoon shift, from noon until eight, after which she headed home to change and then to work. Even though all the kids knew what she did for a living, that didn't stop them from liking and respecting her. She had laid down the law in the first week, and from then on the kids had been fairly respectful.

Now all she could think about was the six flights of stairs she would have to climb before she reached her apartment, and she could tell the sun was about to come up. She hated going to bed after the sunrise, but that night had been rough. One of the regulars had been harassing one of the dancers, and Ann and long been designated unofficial mediator. She had spent half an hour convincing the man that she should call him a cab, and then he had asked her to wait until it got there. Cabs were a rare and sometimes risky pleasure in the narrows.

She reached her building and pulled out her keys, only to hear the ominous click of a gun being cocked. "Give us your wallet and your jewellery." A young voice demanded.

Ann turned around and saw two young boys, both only about sixteen, standing in the spotlight of the streetlight.

"Hey!" She snapped. "Does it look like I have any money? And what have I told you about walking around at night. It's dangerous for you kids!" She crossed her arms and began tapping her toe. The boys frowned and stepped closer.

"Ann?" The first boy turned to the second. "It's Ann!"

"Aw shit." The second one said, then retracted it. "I mean, ah, darn it. Sorry Ann. We wouldn't have tried anything if we knew it was you."

"Oh yeah, no way!" The first boy said genuinely.

Ann looked at them for a moment then yawned. "Look, I'm too tired to argue with you right now, but tomorrow we're going to have a talk about this."

The two boys looked ashamed, staring at the ground and scuffing it with the toes of their shoes. "We had to! Mickey's dad is getting worse! He's not giving Mickey any money for food or anything!" The other boy, Mickey, quickly elbowed his friend.

"Shut up!"

"Is that true Mickey?" Ann asked, frowning.

He shifted, looking away and then looking back at her. His eyes were shiny and bright, and she sighed. "Put that away, Damien." She said, nodding at the gun.

Damien looked down at the hand that was still pointing the cocked pistol at his mentor. "Sorry." He said sheepishly and returned the safety before tucking it into the back of his pants.

Ann looked at the two boys for a moment, the turned back to her apartment door. The door opened not without a little effort, and the hinges squealed as she pushed it open. She stepped inside and turned, looking at the boys. "Well? I can't let you boys roam the streets all night, can I?" They looked at each other and quickly skipped up the steps.

The climb to her apartment seemed longer with two teenage boys at her back. She wasn't worried about what they would think of her place, most of the homes in the narrows were pretty equally matched. She just wondered what she was planning on doing with them once they got inside.

She didn't have much to offer them to eat, maybe some spaghetti or canned beans. She didn't know; she rarely ate at home. She tended to eat at work most nights; she could eat before work, and sometimes afterward, depending on what time they got everyone out. Often, one of the regulars would buy her a meal, but they knew not to expect anything in return besides a friend. She knew better than most what good someone to lean on could do.

Ann came to a stop in front of apartment 602.

The door was ajar. "Oh shit." She whispered.

"What is it?" Mickey asked from behind her.

"Damien, is your gun loaded?" She asked quietly.

"…No." He answered suspiciously.

"Give it to me." He looked at her in confusion before handing it to her. "Stay out here." She ordered. They protested but she quickly shushed them and gingerly stepped into her apartment. She clicked on a lamp next to the door, gun at the ready, but it didn't turn on. She felt around the lamp and realized the bulb was missing. When her eyes adjusted and she saw that her one room apartment was empty she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, and her pulse slowed a little. Her relief was short lived, however, when she heard the toilet flush.

She raised the gun shakily and her breathing quickened. The bathroom door creaked open, spilling light into the tiny apartment, and she was greeted, at first, to a silhouette. The man was tall and thin, and he seemed to be wearing a suit. Her eyes flicked over to the sofa where she suddenly remembered seeing something out of the ordinary. An expensive-looking suit jacket was draped over the back of it.

The man took a step forward.

"Stop right there! I'll shoot!" The gun wavered in her hand, and she took a step back as he took another step forward. The boys outside had clearly heard her shout, and they rushed in angrily.

"Ann, are you okay?" Damien asked, as he and Mickey flanked her protectively.

"I suggest you call off the children and send them home, miss Dunne. You wouldn't want them to be hurt, would you?" The man stepped closer, and Ann could finally see his face.

"Doctor Crane?" She squinted.

"The same." His superior smirk was familiar to Ann, who had seen him once or twice when she went to visit her brothers, and had even spoken to him once. She had understood what the papers said about him being a wanted man, but he seemed to be doing some good now that Arkham was back under control. Although it was bursting at the seams with people who had never gotten the antidote to the gas that had spread two years ago, he seemed to have things well under control, and was even working toward opening a new location to deal with overflow.

She lowered the gun, and Crane's smile widened. "A wise decision."

"Boys. Go straight home. If I'm not at the clubhouse by noon, go to Miguel and tell him the last person who saw me was Dr. Crane."

The boys looked uncertain, but they went, and Damien took his gun with him. Miguel was the leader of the Crows, a gang that policed her area of the narrows, and he would know what to do if she went missing. She turned back to Crane and looked at him with eyes narrowed.

"What can I do for you? Or do you break into people's homes for the thrill." The tone of her voice gave nothing away, and her eyes were narrow slits.

"You are the first." His glasses made his eyes seem slightly bigger than they were, giving them a hypnotic air. His exaggerated features made his face a captivating sight, but Ann knew better than to stare overlong at his pronounced cheekbones and full lips. She stared straight into his eyes, not backing down.

"What do you want?" She asked again.

He looked out her window. There wasn't much of a view; just a couple of bright neon signs advertising dancing girls and cheap booze. The street was fairly dark, and garbage was strewn across the pavement. She knew he could see the shine of old crumpled cans and bottles in the moonlight, and Old Harry, who slept on the one working vent every night and wandered around the neighbourhood during the day. She didn't know what he was thinking or why he was standing in her small apartment, but she was eager for him to be on his way. After all, she had promised to meet the boys at the clubhouse at noon, and she wanted get at least a few hours of sleep.

"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if your brothers had been saved in time?" He asked her, and his voice was a startling break in the silence.

She pondered that question for a moment. "No, I can't say I have."

He was quick to respond. "So you don't lie awake at night imagining a real family in a real house? Maybe you live in a neighbourhood where you don't have to befriend murderers and thieves to survive. Maybe you're happy. Maybe you don't have to deal everyday with trying to help kids that are only going to stab you in the back later." He paused. "As illustrated earlier tonight."

Throughout his speech Ann could feel the anger rising. How dare he come here and belittle her life and the lives of the people she loved? He had no right! "How dare you! Of course I wish things were different, but they aren't, so I have to deal with that! What the hell are you doing here anyway? Get out of my house!" She pointed violently at the door, and growled when she saw him smile once more.

"Calm down, miss Dunne. I wouldn't want to have to sedate you." With a flick of his wrist- that Ann couldn't understand since his sleeves were rolled up- a syringe appeared in his hand.

She gasped, and picked up the umbrella that rested near the front door, brandishing it like a sword. "Stay away from me!"

"I think you want to put that down and take a few deep breaths." He warned coldly, taking another step closer. The needle glinted in the bathroom light and Ann shivered, panic overtaking her body. Her eyes darted from side to side, wondering what do to. She knew running outside dressed the way she was would be just as dangerous as staying inside, she just had to decide which certain danger she was more willing to face.

"I'll only use this if you make it necessary." Crane said calmly, referring to the needle. "If you'll agree to come quietly, I'll just put this away."

Ann weighed her options. "What exactly do you want?"

"I just want to talk. I have a proposition that I believe might interest you a great deal." His voice became soothing and low. Gone was the cold gaze from only moments before. His bright blue eyes had become muted and calculating. Ann guessed that he was trying to set her at ease by remaining calm and rational, but he was only making her more nervous.

When she though about it, she knew that doctor Crane was a very powerful man. For some reason he had immunity from all the gangs, and even though people suspected he was somehow linked to the gassing incident, there was no concrete evidence. He was still one of the highest regarded doctors in Gotham, though he rarely left the narrows, and he was very well connected. She knew that if she ran he would find her, and that the finding might not be pleasant. With a sigh, she let the umbrella drop from her fingers.

"Okay. I'll come with you."

Crane nodded, capped the syringe, and put it into a little padded pouch in his pants pocket. He turned and flicked off the bathroom light. The streetlights were suddenly the only illumination in the room. "After you." The doctor said, and Ann stepped outside.

"You don't need to do that." Crane said as Ann locked her apartment door. She just ignored him and locked it anyway, brushing past him as she headed quickly down the stairs. He was directly behind her the whole way, and she knew she didn't have a chance in hell of getting away from him.

When they got down to street level Crane directed her to a car that she hadn't noticed on her way in, probably because of the attempted stick-up. He opened the back door and she slid inside; surprisingly, he slid in next to her.

"Don't you. . ." She looked up at the front and realized there was a burly man sitting in the driver's seat. Crane didn't say anything, but the driver started up the car and seemed to know exactly where to go.

After a few minutes of driving it became clear to Ann that they were going deeper into the narrows than she usually felt comfortable going, and she could only assume that they were headed to the asylum. She had only been there a few times, but she remembered it as a big, foreboding building surrounded by a lethal-looking iron fence.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later they pulled up to the front entrance of Arkham. The driver punched in the access code and the gates swung silently open. They stopped at the front door and Dr. Crane got out.

Ann hesitated. She remembered the smell of the asylum most of all. It was like the worst hospital smell she could imagine multiplied by ten. The walls and floors were always shiny white, and the staff always looked a little too. . . sinister.

She reluctantly clambered out of the car and noticed that the sun was beginning to rise. She smiled a little at this, remembering the motto she had had painted in the main hall of the clubhouse: Walk with hope in your heart and you will never walk alone.

The thought of that quote, and the kids who depended on her, was enough to steel her resolve and strengthen her heart. She walked into the huge building with her head held high and her heart full.