Do not assume you know where this is going. Seriously.
I don't own anything but Lorna and Richard, blah blah blah. DC. The end.
------------------
FROM THE P.O.V. OF JONATHAN CRANE
I had remained awake long after she had fallen asleep, an arm loosly draped over my side as if afraid I would walk away. Meanwhile, I thought and traced my fingers through her hair. She looked young enough to be my daughter... She slept with her mouth closed and made no noise. Her body didn't move, save for the faint rise and fall of her chest with every shallow breath. I drifted in and out of sleep, but never stayed asleep, waking up at least every hour to watch her breathe again. I found myself reluctant to even move for my own comfort for concern of disturbing her sleep.
"...Hi," she said finally after hours. It was well into the afternoon. She opened her eyes slowly and raised them to meet mine.
"Good evening," I replied.
"You didn't leave."
"Ooooh!" my voice was dripping with sarcasm, "How OBSERVANT you are!"
This provoked an amusing reply consisting of a combination of a frown and a disgruntled remark that went something along the lines of, "Asshole."
She was the first to move. I had been laying in one spot for so long, aware, that my body wasn't responding to my commands to lift itself. I was content to lay and watch her anyway, naked, striding confidently to the kitchen to get herself a soda from the fridge. She had a tattoo along her side of a red oriental serpent weaved into thick, black tribal marks which accented her curves.
I chuckled, turning on my back and resting my arms crossed beneath my head above the pillow. Why? It felt like the thing to do. The situation amused me.
It was lieing on the matress alone that I remembered I still had a few jobs to do, one of which I had to take care of early tonight, within a few hours... I willed my body to move some more, wrapping the blanket around most of myself, not quite confident enough with my physical features to walk around in my birthday suit like her, and started attempting to scoop my costume from the ground. When I had my things in my arms, I looked up to find her, arms folded, leaning against the wall outside of the kitchen, just watching me, giving me that look again...
"No..." I warned, raising my eyebrows at her. "I have to go take care of some things right now."
"Off to go steal some Monets, some Rembrants, so you can bring 'em back and put holes in 'em?" she walked with the prowess of a feline towards me and turned just before we met, side-stepped to the closet, and took my hat and mask down.
She kept distracting me as I dressed. I should have never allowed her to know I found her attractive... Good Lord...
About half of an hour later, I was on my way... I know somewhere, someone wonders how we, the arch-criminals, got around the city so quickly. On foot would be the first assumption, but if you actually put effort into thought, that would be very unreasonable. What then? Public transportation? Take a bus? It wasn't as if I could go rent a car. I could steal one, maybe, that that was way too much effort than what it was. If I was to steal something, I would make sure I could use it, over and over when it comes to transportation. So how did I get there...? Why, horseback! Of course!
He was a great big Quarter Horse with a pelt of dark chocolate and a trim, black mane. I had 'Shanghi'd' him on a whim - I had started my trek ...on foot (with the intentions of fixing that, I assure you). Standing a specific way in the middle of a field, I don't look all that suspicious, and I had become very good at darting around in the shadows due to my years in the mansion as a youth. As he trotted by, it was only a matter of grabbing him by the mane and springing up. I didn't have the time to find a saddle, not did I care too much. The gate was already opened and the beast was without objection as I forced him faster and faster away from his pen until the residential area died away into a concrete jungle we call Gotham City. I made my way into the very heart, galloping past shrieking old ladies and fleeing families, hurdling trash cans and even baby carriages. It was a good horse.
At last, I finally arrived at my destination, slowing down to a simple walking pace as I approached the great guarded wall of the Arkham Asylum...
-----------
FROM THE P.O.V. OF DOCTOR RICHARD MARSHALL
He said he'd be here tonight. I was sweating an alarming amount seeing as how the room's temperature was chilled and the overhead fan was on. I hadn't known he had planned to make such a big scene, let alone drag Harvey Dent into it. I suppose that's what you get for not asking the specifics, though if I had asked, I doubt I would have been told. I had a nervous feeling as if I were dealing with the Devil Himself.
"Helloooo, Dick!" came the shrill ring of a voice tucked in the corner of my office, the source of which was a tall, heavily shadowed maniac with a pointy hat. He was grinning at me.
"OH MY GOD!" I exclaimed, for I had not seen him enter, nor slip into the corner like he had done, and I had been sitting in my chair for hours, until now when I fell from the seat in surprise. "...Crane," I said, sounding displeased as I rose up with the help from the desk.
"...Did I scare you...?" he asked innocently, taking a step out of the coner where I could see him better. He had this glint in his eye that told me about the pleasure he took from the sweat on my brow and the unease of my breath.
I sneered back at him and slowly took my seat again, "Cut the crap. You have them? With you?"
"Of course..." his grin transformed into a smug smile as he dispenced a burlap bag onto my desk.
I took the bag cautiously, as if it were going to bite me, and pulled it open the peer inside. The jewel seemed to generate a light of their own, shimmering like stars in the darkness. They mezmorized me, as I'm sure they would any man, but it wasn't just the wealth they offered. It was the idea. These jewels would provide Arkham the funding necessary to build a better security system. Everyone knows the government doesn't give us enough. That's why this place is the revolving door it is for criminals. But with this? No more of that. We will have the cutting edge.
"Thank you..." I told him with the senserity of a giftcard, rasing my eyes to look on the mangled form of a man with a few issues.
"No, Doctor..." his lips divided in the cut for a mouth in the mask to grin at me again wickedly. He moved around me towards the door and opened it without even checking for clearance. "...Thank you..." and the door shut, the sound echoing through the room and fading until the only noises were the blades of the spinning fan, and my breath...
I leaned back in my chair and gave a great sigh.
"I saw Crane outside," said a sharp, female voice from my door. Dr. Patricia Wiley was peeking her head in. I saw her eyes drop to the sack on my desk. "...Is that--"
"Yes," I nodded. She gave me a thumbs up and a weak smile before disappearing again.
I guess... if you deal with the minds of criminals for long enough... it starts to rub off on you...
-----------
FROM THE P.O.V. OF BRUCE WAYNE
It would be like Crane to abandon a partner for his own sake, but I can't be arrogant and assume Harvey was making sense when he was screaming 'Scarecrow'. I remember Crane being securely locked away last time I heard anything out of him, and it would be odd if the papers didn't say anything about an escape to warn the public. I would have heard... something...
It took hacking into Arkham's files to get the answer I was looking for. It turns out that Jonathan Crane had been released with a clean bill of health. That was entirely wrong and anyone who read the file knew it. No wonder there was no mention of him in the media. They wanted to keep it a secret. Why?
The possibility hit me that, if Crane was at the jewelry heist, and he did make off with the loot, that he was working for... Arkham itself. Talk about your odd couple. Somehow, I just didn't see that working out. Crane would need more incentive to work for them, and on the side of Arkham, why would they enlist the services of a known maniac? A criminal? A killer. Is the world really that corrupt? Are there no more good men left?
It's only a hunch for now. I need more. Evidence. I'll start with getting to the bottom of why they let Crane out in the first place...