Disclaimer: I don't own Crane or anything else associated with Batman Begins. However, the other characters and the plot belong to my brain.

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Katie entered Crane's cell the next morning still clad in her olive green pea coat. She placed two covered paper cups of coffee on Crane's desk and a paper bag. She slipped out of the coat and laid it on the back of her chair.

"No one should be subjected to the breakfast you had yesterday. Sorry it's decaf, it's the best I could do without interfering with your meds. And speaking of meds…"

Katie left, returning momentarily with a tiny paper cup holding Crane's red and yellow capsules.

"Don't want to forget these, either," she said, opening the paper bag and placing two bagels on the desk. "Do you know what you would like to talk about today?"

Crane took a long, slow sip, attempting to hide the sweet relief of his first taste of coffee in months. He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Nah."

"Oh, don't make me choose," Katie said while chewing.

"That's not very lady-like, Dr. Saunders."

Katie swallowed. "I'm not often lady-like, Dr. Crane. Much to my mother's dismay."

"And what about your mother? Let's talk about her."

"No, no. Pick another topic."

"How about the dry weather we're having? It's doing a number on my skin."

"Or," Katie looked down at her notebook, "why don't we talk about yesterday afternoon."

Crane's lips parted slightly as he pictured the daydream from the shower. "What do you mean?" he asked after a moment, trying to sound casual.

"The guard left a note for me. It said that you asked for your evening medication early. Why?"

Crane unlaced his fingers upon realizing his nails were digging fiercely into his skin. "I heard a voice without a body. That kind of thing makes you want to be medicated."

"Usually you hear them later in the evening?"

"If I hear them, yes, it's after dark and before dawn."

"Well it might have been me."

Crane's eyebrows furrowed. "Uhm…what?"

"You met me yesterday, which might have thrown off your internal schedule. Everything here is so ordered, a new person can really mix things up."

Crane let out a breath and stared at his coffee. He was letting her get under his skin and she wasn't even trying. He thought about the daydream in the shower for the rest of the evening yesterday, wishing it wasn't so pleasant, forcing himself not to imagine the dream further.

"Yes, Dr. Saunders, that was probably it. I'm much better now. And there is something I would like to talk about. I want to know a little more about the privileges you're offering here now. Are there any work-related ones? Mopping, peeling carrots, making birdhouses, washing windows…?"

"Yes, there are some work rehabilitation programs. I'll have to get back to you on the birdhouse part though."

"What do I have to do to get one of those jobs?"

"You can't."

"You just said they're available."

"Yes I did. But not for you."

"Are you purposely trying to irritate me, or are you just good at it?"

Katie sipped her coffee. "Dr. Crane, we offer work rehab to people who rob 7-11's because their toothbrush told them to. Not for…well, you."

Crane knew Arkham Asylum inside and out. The blueprints were practically burned onto his retinas. There was no escaping Arkham from the lower levels. But up in the offices…

"Can we meet somewhere other than this cell? I might be able to think better outside my kennel."

"For now we have to stay here. Personally I would also prefer to meet somewhere else on the grounds. But you need to open up to me a little more before we go gallivanting."

Crane sighed and straightened his posture. "Fine. You tell me what you want to know."

Katie picked up her pad and pen. "Let's talk about your preoccupation with fear."

"A heady subject to start off with, Dr. Saunders. I'm sure all your schooling taught you to begin with my childhood."

"We could start there, if you'd prefer."

Crane's lips broke into a toothy smile, "Dr. Saunders, my childhood is none of your concern. A pretty little thing like you likely grew up coddled in the arms of Society's best, having cute tea parties with your daddy while mommy baked cinnamon rolls. Let me guess – Ivy League? Voted most-likely-to-succeed? Homecoming Queen?" Crane caught the first micro gesture of displeasure on Katie's face. His smile broadened.

"Don't look so proud of yourself," Katie said, "For a formally renowned psychiatrist you're way off the mark. We're not here to talk about me, though."

"I deserve to know more about the person administering my therapy, don't I? For example, what are your credentials?"

"Now, that we can talk about. I received my undergrad, grad, and doctorate from Gotham U – not quite Ivy League, but still respectable. I double-majored in psychiatry and urban planning, and graduated first in both departments. After my internship and residency, I worked in a federal prison treating the most severely mentally disturbed patients. Then I spent a year in Mexico consulting the construction of an asylum for the criminally insane, then six months working in the asylum we built. I received a call for a job here, and, viola."

"And you weren't voted most-likely-to-succeed?"

Katie's face softened. "More like, most-likely-to-lose-her-lunch-money-to-some-asshole."

Crane looked away from her. "Oh, please."

"No, it's true! College was my prince charming. It took me away from the torments of grade school, which followed me all through high school. Kids were terrible, family sucked."

"Good for you."

Katie realized she hit a nerve. "I apologize," she said after a pause. "Just know it wasn't all rainbows and sunshine. Most people don't gravitate towards criminal asylums with that kind of background, anyway."

Crane didn't look at her.

"You can talk to me about anything in your life, past, present, and future. Mundane or extraordinary. How about starting with something mundane?"

Crane thought for a moment. "The showers here."

"The showers here, what?"

"The entire showering situation. It's degrading. For all I know, a group of guards and nurses could be sitting around the shower monitor passing around a bowl of popcorn."

"Stand up."

Crane looked up at Katie.

"Come on, stand up. Marty?" Katie called to the guard. "Can you escort us to the east wing?"

Katie motioned for Crane to leave the cell. The guard double-checked Crane's handcuffs, and Crane stiffened as Katie took gentle hold of his upper arm and led him down the hallway.

"Care to clue me in?"

"Nah." Katie looked Crane in the eye and smiled.

Katie was much too close for comfort. The warmth of her hand gave Crane a little chill down his neck. Her hair bounced on her shoulders as they walked, assaulting him with its clean, strawberry scent. Stupid woman, Crane thought. Stupid, delicious-smelling woman.

Katie led them past the shower to a steel door. The guard unlocked it.

"This is the shower surveillance room. This is Trevor."

A thin man in his mid-thirties with frizzy black hair waved from behind a monitor.

"For five hours spread out each day, Trevor sits here. Does anyone ever join you?"

"No, Dr. Saunders. Even if I asked them to, they wouldn't."

"Never?"

"Never, ever. I also have a privacy screen on the monitor, so unless someone is directly over my shoulder, they can't see what's going on. No one's every tried, though."

Katie led Crane back down the hallway.

"Does that make you feel any better?" Katie asked once seated back in their respective chairs.

Crane's silence was enough of a "yes" for her.

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Crane cursed Katie during his shower. He wasn't nearly as bothered anymore.

Returning to his cell, Crane and the guard exchanged glances as they heard the "click-clack-click-clack" of high heels running down the adjacent corridor, getting progressively louder and faster. Katie burst around the corner, practically running into the two men. She held a bloody hand over her forehead.

"You alright, Dr. Saunders?" the guard asked.

"You should see the other guy!" she called, still running.

She wasn't joking. Moments later an inmate was pulled down the hallway by four guards. His nose was bleeding into his mouth and he looked only semi-conscious. "Fucking bitch," he muttered

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Katie retrieved her college yearbook from one of her overstuffed bookshelves. She settled into her sofa, also overstuffed, and leafed through the pages until she came to the section titled "Gotham University's Professors". Her eyes rested on a candid shot of Crane instructing a class. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled to just below his elbows and his tie was loosened. The photographer caught him in the middle of a sentence, arms out as if he were holding a large, invisible box. His eyes sparkled and there was a hint of a smile on his face as he spoke.

Please, please, let him be this man underneath, she thought.

She figured he would recognize her within the first session, but after the first week there was still nothing. Would he be mad at her for holding the information back? Would he even care? Which bothered her more?

Katie wanted all her patients to improve, but she knew her desire for Crane's success was personal. Her heart skipped when he asked about work opportunities. It was a sign that he was ready to think about life outside his confinement, she thought. Dr. Desai would never let Crane take that opportunity, however, at least not any time soon. Maybe she could take him out of his cell for a session, though. Maybe Desai would agree to that.

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"Where's the field trip?" Crane asked the guard escorting him through the Easter-egg colored corridors of Arkham. Katie didn't show up for their meeting. Instead, the guard handed Crane a jacket to put on before the handcuffs and locked the door behind them.

The guard escorted Crane onto the elevator, down four floors, and through a maze of hallways. Crane knew them well and fought back his vehement contempt for his current situation. They approached a set of double doors that Crane recalled opening to a field riddled with weeds, mice, illegally dumped Gotham trash, the occasional fear toxin victim-gone-wrong…

The memory cut off as the double doors opened. The vast fenced-in area now resembled a park more than a wasteland. Crane's upper lip curled, as if the double doors had opened to reveal a sea of vomit.

Crane continued to be lead by the arm until they reached a basketball court. The court had its own fencing with a set of bleachers just outside the barrier, a guard at each interior corner. Two teams of four men tossed loud, raunchy taunts at one another almost as often as they tossed the ball.

Katie waved to Crane from the bleachers. The guard left Crane standing in front of the bleachers and walked over to talk with another guard through the fence.

"I figured you would be at home licking your wounds," Crane called to her with a smile, eyeing the bandage above her left eyebrow. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and the sun lit up her light brown eyes. Crane didn't notice, however, because he hadn't seen sunshine in months. Katie looked away so as not to laugh at his squinting.

"How do you see so well without your glasses?"

"Nothing to see, really," Crane shrugged.

Katie patted the bleacher bench above her. Crane navigated the bleachers cautiously and sat. Katie turned around to face him.

"Is this better than your cell?"

"Honestly? I don't know."

"You asked to meet outside your cell and I delivered. Be more specific next time."

"This is fine." Crane cringed as a player celebrated his 3-point shot with a solid ten seconds of swear words.

"Do you know what you want to talk about today?"

"The devolution of the English language."

Katie peeked up at Crane as he watched the game in horror. "I held up my end of the bargain. Now it's you're turn."

Crane broke his gaze and glanced down at Katie briefly. He sighed. "Pose a question. I'll consider answering," he said, returning to the game.

The morning sun's orange glow made Crane look somewhat healthy. She felt a little braver that morning than usual, with the sunrise dancing in his sea-foam blue eyes.

"Ok. How about…do you remember me?" She held her breath.

"Which one of us is the crazy one, again?"

"No, from before. Before last week," Katie instantly felt less brave and twisted her head to watch the game.

Crane looked at her and was greeted with a straight shot down her v-neck sweater. Sitting there, laughing at him, was that little gold heart. He clenched his jaw. He could hear his pulse in his ears. She was that girl. The only student to ever make him think…thoughts.

His silence worried Katie but she wouldn't look back. "I'm sorry if you're upset I didn't tell you right away. I thought you'd remember. I guess I wasn't thinking. You only have a handful of professors as a student, but professors have hundreds of students. So maybe it doesn't matter and now I'm rambling."

He remained silent. Damnit!, Katie thought, this is so unprofessional and embarrassing. She turned around and looked at him.

"Ah yes. Excellent student, if I recall. Very involved in class." His forced smile looked more like a snarl.

"I apologize."

"Nonsense."

The girl with the crush, and here she was, having chosen him as her patient.

"If you're uncomfortable working with me-"

"I would tell you."

"You're positive?"

Now Crane smiled confidently. "Of course, Katie."

Her first name on his lips made her heart flutter back to six years earlier. She smiled to herself briefly, but Crane caught the dimples. In a moment, he scrapped the plans for escape he had been concocting in his head for the past week. This little development made it a whole new ballgame.

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For the month following Katie's admission, Crane worked extra hard to let her think she was progressing with him. He revealed bits and pieces of his childhood, adolescence, all the way through his fear experiments. Katie wasn't foolish, but her judgment was clouded. She would have seen through the game with any other patient.

"I want to ask you something, but I don't want you to gloat," Crane said to Katie

Katie looked away from the court they watched each morning and looked up to Crane. "Ok. I promise I won't gloat."

"Will you take me to one of the game rooms?"

Katie turned back around and watched the game.

"You're gloating, aren't you?" Crane said with a sarcastic sigh.

"Maybe. A little."

Katie called the guard over and the three wound their way through Arkham, up to the game room on Crane's floor. The room was the size of a small ballroom with ceilings just as high. One wall was occupied with floor-to-ceiling windows (barred, of course). Along the other walls were sporadic bookshelves of games, magazines, and newspapers, as well as tables and chairs. At such an early hour, there were only two other inmates accompanied by their two therapists, all playing a board game by the windows, and a guard at the door. Towards the center was the TV Crane recognized from before.

"What would you like to do?"

Crane paused as if he didn't already know his choice. "Maybe some TV games. But – no, nevermind – I don't know how to play those."

Katie laughed so hard that tiny tears welled in the corner of her eyes. After several second her laughed slowed into a long, high sigh. "TV games!" she repeated.

"If you're going to make fun of me we can forget this whole thing."

Katie sucked her lips between her teeth to stop laughing. "I'm sorry. I didn't get enough sleep. Come on, I'll show you how to play some video games." She looked back at the guard and smiled.

Crane sat on a small sofa. Katie looked through the stack of games on the shelf under the TV.

"There's racing games, sports games, puzzle-type games, retro arcade games, role playing games, adventure games, party games-"

"What games can two people play?"

Crane caught Katie's smile in the reflection of the TV. "A racing game or a sports game is probably best."

"Ok, then. Let the race begin."

Katie handed Crane a controller. "Practice first. You're the yellow car in the center of the screen. This button," Katie pointed to the controller held loosely between Crane's hands, "makes your car go forward, this button throws you into reverse, this button makes your car break, this button holds your car to the road when you take a sharp turn, these buttons change your point of view, and these buttons help you do tricks."

Crane stared blankly at the controller.

"All you really need to know for now is go and stop. And the little stick moves you side to side."

Katie un-paused the game. Eleven cars sped away from the starting line.

"Green button."

Crane held the button down.

"I think I killed my driver."

"That's ok, try again, but steer this time."

The little yellow car took a 360 into an onramp.

"Yes, I definitely killed him this time. People actually do this for fun?"

Katie rolled her eyes and sat next to Crane on the small sofa. There was just enough room for them both side by side. "Ok, pay attention to what I do."

The little yellow car navigated between the eleven others, avoiding absurd amounts of obstacles in the road. Katie took the car around the track three times until she finished first place.

"Did that help?" she asked, looking at Crane. He was already looking at her face, not the TV or her hands. Their noses were merely six inches apart. "Want to try again?"

"I can't really tell what you're doing with your hands from this angle."

Katie leaned closer to Crane and tilted her hands towards him. "This better?"

"Much better," he said quietly, his mouth three inches from her ear.

Katie took the car on an identical run. "Ready to try again?"

Crane took the controller from her hands, brushing his fingers against hers as he grabbed it. The yellow car made it halfway around the track until it met its fiery demise against a guardrail.

"You're making progress!"

"Only because you're so helpful." He meant to sound cheerful and innocent, but his early morning throat caused the words to come out whispered and low.

Katie slid from the sofa to the floor. "Would you like to play something else?"

"But I was getting better."

"How about checkers?"

"Did I do something to make you uncomfortable, Dr. Saunders?" He managed the innocent tone at last.

"No, no, no. I think someone else wants to play." Katie gestured to an inmate waiting on a chair nearby.

"Ah. Well," Crane approached a bookcase filled with games, "how about Scrabble?"

"Now you're talkin'."

Katie carried the game to a nearby table surrounded by four chairs. Crane sat in the one directly next to her.

"You aren't going to sit across from me?"

"No. This way we're less likely to make eye contact. Keeps you guessing."

Crane held the bag of letter tiles for Katie. As she pulled her letters out, Crane grabbed her fist gently in his. "Ah ah ah. You take one first and we see who gets the lowest letter." He held her gaze and smiled as he released her hand.

"That's not how I play." Katie lined her tiles up on her little stand. She arranged and rearranged the letters, waiting for Crane to choose his.

"Do we always have to play by your rules, Katie?"

Katie glanced at the guard still standing by the door, but now across the room, then to Crane. She kept Crane's eye contact.

"If you want to play at all, yes. We'll always play by my rules."

Crane looked at the guard, but the guard was watching another inmate lead the little yellow car to victory. "Oh come now, Katie," he whispered, "you were once very interested in the way I played. You haven't lost all interest, have you? No more respect for your professor?"

She felt like the naïve little girl he accused her of being at their first meeting.

"What do you want, Crane?" she asked in the best professional tone she could muster.

"Oh, not much," he said, smiling and looking off to the ceiling. His gaze fell back on her and his smile widened. "Just the very same thing I think you still want, deep down under that therapist's hat you're wearing." He reached up and brushed the scar above her eyebrow with his fingertip.

Katie calmly slid her chair out from the table and, without looking back, walked straight to the door.

"Take him back to his cell," she said quietly.

"Did something happen?" the guard asked with concern.

"No, that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid. Let him know I'll see him Thursday."

Crane watched Katie whisper to the guard, then slip out the door and walk swiftly past the window. He kept smiling, vividly picturing his plans for Thursday.

Katie locked herself in her office and put her face in her hands. She was ashamed at the amount of effort it took to walk away from the table. Even more than that, she was ashamed at how good it felt when he set those big eyes on her, as if he were the one in the position of power. "You haven't lost all interest, have you? No more respect for your professor?" She pushed her fingertips into her temples when she thought of the response she wanted to say.

"I never lost interest. Not even now."