Author's Note: Nobody reviewed my last chapter, so if you don't think that I should continue with this story, please let me know. Here's the next installment...please let me know what you think!

Chapter Three: Crane

Dr. Jonathan Crane sat in his office flipping through Heather Herst's file. Nothing in it seemed very out of the ordinary by Gother standards. Her mother had died when she was seven and that same month her father had started to abuse her. When she turned ten, she had been raped by her seventeen year old half brother. She had run away from home two weeks after her thirteenth birthday and been picked up by the police on prostitution charges a month later. She was returned to the custody of her father, but ran away again that same night and disappeared from the radar for more than two years. At fifteen, she started working in a sleazy bar down by the docks and had been working there ever since. She had just turned twenty-two and had apparently decided that it was her time.

The peculiar thing about Heather was that she had once upon a time been a heroine addict, but had cleaned herself up. She had cared enough about her body to wing herself off of drugs, but thought herself worthless enough to die. What a contradiction she was!

He tossed the folder on his desk and leaned back in his chair, pulling his glasses from his face and massaging the bridge of his nose as he did so. Heather hadn't said much to him at the session earlier that day, but he had learned a great deal about her nonetheless from her body language. She had been shivering, but then again, the aylum was always freezing. She had accepted his personal sweatshirt, which told him that she would be open to the idea of trusting him at some point. When she sat down on the sofa, she had curled up comfortably and relaxed telling him that she was not afraid of him. No big surprise there when he thought about it. He guessed that there wasn't a whole that actually did scare her. Looking back at the paper trail of her life, he couldn't convince himself that her bravado was an act. She had grown up in a world where fear was not considered to be an option. But Jonathan had every confidence in his abilities. He knew that everyone was afraid of something and he would find out what it was that scared her.

He stood up, slipping his glasses back up onto his nose, shrugging out of his suit jacket and jerking the knot in his tie loose. He paced around his office trying to clear his head. His mind kept wandering back to the image of Heather when he had first laid eyes on her. She had had an escort on either side of her, holding her arms, but she did not struggle against them and she had shown him no fear. She just stood there, petite and defiant, her button nose turned up at him. He had noticed her plump lips, particularly the bottom one. It had been busted open. He eyed both of her guards and noticed that one of them had a stream of blood trickling down his knuckle. He hadn't doubted for second that the big brute had hit her, but it was hardly of any concern to him. However, a purely territorial urge had come over him and he had fixed the offending guard with an icy glare before giving his attention fully back to Heather. She had stared up at him, green eyes narrowed into slits, her lovely young face partially obscured by her red hair which had been hanging wildy around her shoulders. Basically, he had examined every inch of her with his eyes. She had stood with her shoudlers hunched slightly forward, one hip cocked out, and she had been tapping one foot impatiently. That bit had actually made him smile. When he spotted her wrists, he made a mental note as to how far up the bandages went on her arms. He wanted a glimpse at those cuts.

There was a knock at Jonathan's office door, breaking him from his thoughts. "Come in." he called.

The door opened with a high pitched creak and the silhouette of Dr. Stanly Mildred came toddling into the room. The two men were cast in shadows, for the only light in the room came from the small table lamp on Jonathan's desk.

"Stanly." Jonathan said in acknowledgement of the man's presence.

Mildred sat down heavily onto the sofa with a loud huff escaping his lips. "Dr. Crane."

Jonathan crossed to the other side of the office and switched on both of the standing lamps in the corners of the room, instantly brightening up the darkness. Once the lights were on Jonathan went to his desk and fell back into his chair, stretching his arms up and tucking them behind his head. "Tell me, Stanly," Jonathan started, "what do you make of our pretty little patient?"

"I think," Mildred began as he pulled a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his glistening forehead. Too many stairs. He paused to catch his breath. "I think that you should keep a watchful eye on Simon and Hal. Especially Hal."

"Why do you say that?"

"He was practically licking his lips when he saw her."

"Yes. I noticed as much."

"And you don't care if he defiles the poor girl?"

"The word defile implies that there is something to tarnish and I'm not entirely sure that there is."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm entirely serious, but you're asking the wrong question. Do I believe that he can defile her? No. Do I believe that he can rape her? Yes. Will I allow it? Of course I won't let Hal do anything to her. Surely he knows that if he were to try anything, I would deal with him immediately and he doesn't want to answer to me."

"Hal isn't smart enough to realize that he won't be able to sneak and get away with it." Mildred said.

"I'll keep an eye on him." Jonathan complied.

Mildred nodded and stuffed his hanky back into his pocket, "Will you be needing a ready sample of the toxin?"

Jonathan thought very carefully about the idea of dosing Heather with the powdered fear. It still needed some tweaking and honestly, he wasn't ever certain if he would ever want to use the toxin on her. "No." he said, though he was still considering, "No. Not yet."

"Why did you take her on?" Mildred asked.

"So far, we've only been able to test the toxin on men who are criminally disturbed," Jonathan began, "and I would like to have a reasonably sound mind around to try it on...and a woman at that."

"And yet you won't test her."

"I need a few more sessions with her." Jonathan mumbled distractedly, "I need a better grip on her...state of mind."

"Hmm." Mildred said, "Well, anyhow, here are the results from Andrew's test."

"About that, his reaction didn't seem as strong this time as it did before. I didn't think it was possible to develope an immunity."

"It isn't, but I had lowered the ammonium hoping that it would let out more of the serum." Mildred told him, flipping through his chart.

"So, the ammonium empowers the serum...interesting." Jonathan pondered. Mildred could practically see the wheels in his mind turning. He didn't doubt Dr. Jonathan Crane's genius for even a second. Many people had underestimated Jonathan due to his apparent youth, but they hadn't managed to even slow the young man down. He was officially the youngest director in Arkham's history, and very few people even knew the depths of his true intelligence. "Try upping the ammonium just a bit in the next batch. I want to see just how far we can push the envelope without actually breaking it."

Mildred nodded and scribbled down some notes, "All right. The adjustments won't be difficult at all. Well, if you don't need anything else, I think I'll go home to bed."

"That's fine. I'll see you in the morning."

With quite a bit of difficulty, Mildred pushed his great round body up and off the couch and lumbered out the door, leaving Jonathan once again alone with his thoughts. He rubbed at the back of his neck and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, exhaling a long drawn out breath. Something about Heather's attitude intrigued him. He wanted to probe her mind; to open her head and look around inside. Sighing heavily to himself, he reached under his desk and searched with his fingers until he found and pushed the small round button that was located there. A gentle buzzing sounded as a panel of the wall where one of his many diplomas was mounted slid upward revealing a large flat television screen. The picture flickered to life and the screen was immediately filled with the cell that Heather was currently pacing back and forth in. This was courtesy of a camera that was hidden high out of sight in the upper corner of the room. It allowed him to see every inch in that room. He watched Heather push on the walls and bounce on the floor and he felt a smile slide across his lips. She was trying to amuse herself. Apparently, she didn't like laying about and got bored easily. Jonathan was all of the sudden bombarded with the urge to know everything about this woman; her hopes, her dreams...her fears. Especially her fears. And he would find them.

He watched her jump onto her bed, pull her knees up to her chest, and begin to rock back and forth. His smile grew at the sight. She was jittery and unable to stay still; she wanted out of that room. Instinctively, he grabbed his pen and jotted himself down a quick note:

Possible claustrophobio.

He needed to figure out what it was about her that he found so utterly fascinating. Perhaps it was the way she seemed so fearless. Maybe he should try some toxin on her. No. No. It wasn't ready, yet and he wanted to be absolutely certain before he did anything to that mind of hers.

His office phone gave a shrill cry, pulling him back to reality. "Dr. Crane." He answered.

"Doctor, I'm sorry to bother you but the patient in cell 15H is causing a rather noisy disturbance." the voice at the other end of the line said.

Jonathan glanced at the screen to see that Heather was now kicking and pounding on her door.

"Should I deal with her?" the guard asked.

"No." Jonathan said too quickly for even his own comfort, "I'll see to her."

He strolled confidently through the halls of the asylum toward her room. His face was a calculated cross between boredom and completely expressionless. The loud crashing of her feet on the door echoed down the hallway, becoming clearer and more distinct as Jonathan drew closer. He stopped in front of the door and peered through the window at her, locking with her green eyes almost instantly. The relentless beating ceased and Heather stepped back allowing Jonathan enough room to open the door.

"Good evening, Heather." he said as he entered.

"Evenin', doc." she replied, still fidgeting and in constant motion, "You got any cards or somethin'?"

"Not readily available, no. But I can pick some up for you tomorrow." he answered.

Heather appeared to be very ill at ease. She kept slapping one hand with the other, "Well, maybe we could go for a walk, then?"

She still had on his sweatshirt.

"I fear that that would be considered inappropriate behavior on my part." Jonathan told her.

"Oh, come on, doc!" Heather pleaded, "I won't tell if you won't."

"I'm sorry, Heather, no."

"I'm bored." Heather whined, "And there is nothing in this room!"

"I could get you some sleeping pills."

"How many?"

"Not enough to harm you."

"Well, then what's the point?"

Jonathan grinned, but quickly wiped it off of his face. "You really should try to remember that we are not here to aid in your self-destruction."

Heather sighed, "Pity."

Jonathan wanted to laugh, but he knew that he couldn't. One of his strongest qualities had always been his self restraint. He clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat, "Is there anything else?"

"No." Heather said deflated, then eyed him suspiciously, "Wow, doc, you almost look casual.

The comment confused Jonathan at first, then he looked down at his appearance which he had forgotten all about. He felt as if the floor had shifted beneath his feet when he saw his current state of dress. He had not meant for her to see him looking so unprofessional. "I apologize. I..."

"Don't." Heather interrupted, her eyes sparkling at him, "I think I like you better this way. You don't seem quite so stuffy."

"Stuffy?"

"Yeah, stuffy." she said smiling ever so subtly as she walked around him in a slow circle. For some reason, her slow dragged out movements made him think of a predatory car. "All you need to do now is roll up the sleeves and untuck the shirt and we might just have something we can work with."

"I don't think I understand."

"No. I didn't think you would." She stepped toward him and reached for his waist, "Here."

Before Jonathan had the chance to react, she had caught the material of his shirt in her hands and jerked one side free from the confines of his belt. She put a hand on his shoulder and stepped closer to him as he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. She stepped closer still, so that the entire length of her body was touching his, her mouth a mere breath away from his own.

"Now," she breathed, running one hand down his tie and the other down his arm, "we just have to give you a rumpled look. How can we do that, I wonder?"

"I wonder." Jonathan repeated, unable to tear his eyes away from her.

She unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve with one hand as the other snaked to the back of his neck. Jonathan felt the tug as she pulled his face toward hers and just before their lips met, he felt her fingers brush against his bare wrist and instinctivelt shot away from her. Heather stared at him in shock from the sudden rejection.

"This would definitely be considered inappropriate behavior on my part!" he said quickly, tucking his shirt tails back into his waistband and exiting the room without so much as another word.

He more or less sprinted the entire way back to his office where he tore open his cabinet and pulled out the bottle of twelve year old scotch he had hidden there. He rarely ever drank, but at that moment he needed it. With a mere two minutes, if that, of physical contact, that patient...the girl had managed to cause him to come completely unhinged. He buttoned the cuff of his sleeve with one hand at the same time he was pouring himself a full glass of scotch. He down it quickly and poured another. He glanced over his shoulder as the television which was still on. He stared at Heather who was curled up in a ball on her bed. As he as looking at her, he felt a twitch between his legs and in a panicked speed he switched off the screen. He ripped his glasses from his face and flung them onto his desk before massaging both of his eyes. He needed a cold shower. There was something about that woman that was doing things to him; causing stirring that shouldn't be there. She was reminding him that deep down, he was still only a man...and he hated her for that.

Maybe allowing her to come to Arkham was a bad idea but how was he supposed to have know that? He fell back into his chair, closing his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt at fighting off his oncoming headache. He knew that it would do no good but it was something to do...something that he could focus on. He glanced one last time at the blank screen before again hitting the little button and allowing the wall panel to fall back into place. He finished off his drink, grabbed his jacket and shuffled out of his office to get back to his apartment as fast as he could possibly drive. He just needed to get himself away from her, that was all. Away from the temptation of her.

What was wrong with him? He wasn't like this! He had never allowed himself to be susceptable to the wants and lusts of other men. What was it that made this girl so damn special? Her fearlessness. That had to be it. It was the only logical explanation. He couldn't read her as he could other people and it was making him insane! That settled it. He had never before let his personal feelings influence a decision but something had to be done about this, and soon! He decided that within the week, he would use the fear toxin on her. Once he saw her cowering before him, he was almost certain that his irrational infatuation with her would end.