"Give me one good reason I shouldn't give you my medicine, Dawes…" he purred, his voice harsh and cold and his grip still strong as he held her hair.

Jonathan watched on, his eyes searching her face. She was so scared. Pale, shivering, eyes as wide as saucers. A small grin crossed his features.

Rachel choked as she tried to speak, her voice quivering and soft as she struggled and squirmed in her seat. "I…I'll help. I can…I'll find someone t-to help you, J-Jonathan. P-please…let…let me h-help you…"

Help him? Help him? Who did she think she was? No one could help him. Jonathan Crane was not to be fettered by anyone.

"Wrong answer. I already have someone helping me. Good night Rachel…"

The twisted, perverse pleasure of seeing her scream in terror sent a thrill in the young man's body. He never liked Dawes as anything more than a sparring partner. Their hatred was mutual, unspoken but obvious. He would never see her as anything more than a pretty face and shallow, pathetic morals.

He felt no remorse…no guilt over sending her mind into plummeting darkness. He had tried it before with no second thoughts. What was so different this time?

This time…it had worked.

Jonathan let out a laugh, and another, and another, until the dark room was filled with a cackle, emanating from the black heart of the maniac. It was loud, filled with such glee and triumph it would have made anyone shiver in recoil.

This time…he had won. And he would win again…he just needed to get out…

"CRANE!"

The voice startled Jonathan from his blissful slumber, eyes snapping open in alert. His lips were twisted into a smile in his sleep, but slowly fell back into a limp look of indifference when he turned his head up towards the large guard beside him.

"No need to shout, Grant. I'm insane, not deaf."

Grant rolled his eyes and made an obscene gesture before two more guards entered the cell. "Get up, Crane. Time to go to the rec room."

"Oh goody," Jonathan replied with a false grin, his eyes dancing with an impish light. "Do we get coloring books too?"

"Depends if you shut that smart-mouth of yours and get up 'afore I make you."

"Make me what? Shut my mouth or get up?" Jonathan choked as he felt Grant's meaty hand wrap itself in the neck of his jacket, right under the base of his skull, and jerk him to his feet. The young man coughed, his arms wriggling in their restraints, unable to claw at the man's hand to get air. He couldn't breathe.

Grant's eyes twinkled as a sneer crossed his lips. "Well, looks like I did both at the same time." He watched Jonathan squirm, enjoying it a little too much, before releasing his grip as the other two guards began undoing Jon's straightjacket.

Jonathan didn't say another word, and didn't dare look Grant in the eye. He waited until the jacket was taken completely off, leaving only his bright, traffic-cone orange jumpsuit showing, before speaking again.

"You know, you could get in trouble for hurting your patients…"

"Look who's talking," Grant snapped as he placed cuffs on Jonathan's wrists and feet. "Start walkin' princess, or your time'll be up before you get there."

Jonathan restrained a growl. He hated that nickname. So degrading…

The walk down the empty corridor felt like the march to his execution. Jonathan listened to the sound of rattling chains, echoing off the walls and ceiling. Had he been wearing white, Jonathan would have resembled a ghost, so pale and morose…it was a wonder he hadn't begun wailing and moaning and shaking his chains like most phantoms do.

The recreation room was nothing more than an old library converted into a sort of small living space. Books lined the wall, ranging from "War and Peace" to "Cat in the Hat", for the…simpler inmates.

The times allotted for recreation period was set into blocks, that way any inmate allowed a rec time was given a specific time each day, and when that time was up, the next group came in while the others were driven back to their cells like cattle.

Jonathan was shoved through the door and gave a snort of disgust as he glanced around the room. There were those he remembered…patients…most or all had suffered some testing under his care. Some were pacing the floor, ranting aloud, or simply rocking back and forth in the corner. Others weren't mental patients, nor had they undergone testing (though Jonathan was definitely up to it) because they were the thugs he bailed out of prison time.

There were also women in the group, albeit very few. Not many women out there in Gotham needed to be locked up in Arkham. And if they did…well, Jonathan almost pitied them. The things that went on here…even he was mildly disgusted at how they were treated by guards or doctors or other inmates. No wonder they shied away from the others, usually together in a group reading or painting or doing other girl-type things Jonathan could care less about.

"Alright, go read or something." Grant gave Jonathan another hard push, nearly sending him into a headfirst fall. Jonathan managed to steady his balance before tumbling, and threw a hateful glare over his shoulder at the guard. If only he had but an ounce of fear toxin…oh he'd love to see Grant suffer.

Jonathan stopped in front of the shelves, his head tilted slightly, and quickly picked out the book he wanted. With a slight glance at the guards, he quietly headed for a secluded spot of the room, the table right under the large barred window, and gently placed his book before him.

"Great Expectations…" the corners of his pouting lips turned up in a grin and he slowly placed a finger in the loose spine of the book. Watching the guards, he inconspicuously wriggled his digit, pushing a worn, ragged piece of paper out of the tight confines of the binding. Jonathan unfolded the paper, placing the book on top of it in order to obscure his activities and make it seem less…obvious.

His eyes scanned the paper, taking in each line and detail. He had been very thorough the past few months he was locked here. Arkham had always been his home. He knew her as well as he knew every line in his psychology books. Using what knowledge he had, Jonathan was able to construct a crude but highly accurate map of the grounds. He used the pencils and paper from rec time and worked on it every day for weeks after he slowly began to regain the "normal" half of his mind.

As well as making the map, he had been studying them. The guards. Their patterns, their walks, their rounds…he could time each one down to the second. Being in isolation taught him to train his ears. The shoes they wore, different than those of visitors, were easily distinguishable and able to be studied from the comfort of his cell. Eating time was the same for all, so he could calculate when they'd be done feeding and the halls would be clear. At least temporarily.

Jonathan was so absorbed in his drawing that he almost didn't notice the new presence in the room. Some of the guards chuckled and pushed their hats up with their thumbs as they watched her. Jonathan only took notice when someone gave a startled squall. His eyes snapped up immediately.

He knew that voice.

"L-Let me go!"

"Hey, I'm only tryin' to be polite. Look, you can sit here and pai—"

"LET ME GO!" She screamed again and took a swipe at the guard holding her elbow. He laughed, as if it were some amusing game, and bit his lip.

"Can't a guy be a gentleman?" He released her, cackling like a hyena as she slumped to the chair and stared at the small blank canvas and bright paints before her.

Well, well, well…if it isn't little Miss Dawes…

They don't usually allow suicidal patients out of their cells.

I'm sure even Miss Dawes wants a little fun time.

I'm sure that's what the guards are after too… Jonathan sneered mentally as he looked at the men standing by the entrance, muttering to each other with sick grins on their faces. Pigs.

Jonathan watched Rachel as she looked around the room, her brown eyes wrought with fright, and waited patiently until she did the inevitable. With a sweeping glance, her eyes locked on his and momentarily, they sat watching each other. Rachel didn't move, and it looked as if she weren't breathing either.

What's the matter, little Rachel?

Jonathan didn't take his eyes from hers, but stuffed away his map and shut the book before slowly standing to his feet. The young woman did nothing but watch, her eyes growing steadily wider as he took long, drawn out steps towards her. His head lolled to the side, an intuitive look coming over him as the distance between them shrank more…and more…until he was standing behind the easel and canvas, well above it, and looking down at her.

"Miss me?"

Rachel blinked, saying nothing. Her eyes spoke volumes however. Unshed tears, wide and terrified. Her lips quivered like she was about to burst into sobs, her tongue occasionally flickering out to wet them. Jonathan sneered and folded his hands before him.

"Well?"

"P-Please go away…" She murmured, her voice trembling.

"Miss Dawes, please…" He took a seat beside her enjoying when she slowly leaned the other way to keep as far from him as possible. "Aw, I don't bite. Come, come. You're the only person around here I can relatively tolerate. Besides, we're friends right?"

"No," She whispered quietly, picking up her paintbrush in some attempt to ignore him.

"Well, that just hurts my feelings."

"You don't have feelings."

Jonathan shrugged and nodded. "I suppose you're right. Though I do have one feeling right now…"

Rachel looked up warily from the corner of her eyes, her brown hair covering her face.

"I have the feeling you aren't enjoying your stay here. What's the matter? Don't like the food?"

Rachel said nothing, but watched her canvas as she dragged paint across it. Jonathan felt his cocky smile droop to a frown and leaned beside her ear.

"It was them wasn't it?"

Her eyes flitted back up to him as he inclined his head towards the group of guards. She stared at them, then at him, before delving back into her work. Jonathan snorted in laughter and shook his head.

"If I was still running the place, Miss Dawes…if you hadn't ruined my life and my work and plans…trust me they would have been LONG gone by now."

"If you were still running the place," she breathed, "I think your patients would be long gone by now too."

"Oh Rachel," Jonathan laughed. "Still bringing up conspiracy theories? Just because I maybe tried to poison the water supply doesn't make me a bad person."

She shook her head as he laughed again. She didn't like looking at him face to face. Without those glasses he usually wore, without that barrier between her and his piercing gaze, she felt completely open, her soul on display for all to see, and, more disturbingly, for him to analyze.

"You know, if we are to be in a place like this for so long…I think we should put our past behind us. A fresh start. What do you say?" Jonathan extended his hand. Rachel glared at him, her lips curling into a snarl.

"I say I take this paintbrush and shove it up your—"

"Temper, temper, Miss Dawes. That's not very ladylike."

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

Harvey Dent strode down the hall, a package in one hand and wearing a smile. He hoped a visit to Rachel would cheer her up. He knew that under that terrified exterior, the old, cheerful, hard-headed Rachel he knew was still there.

And Rachel loved presents. He was bringing her a diary, hoping that perhaps if she wrote out her emotions, it would help cope with her stay. She was like a little sister to him, and seeing her in such a state brought heartache upon him.

Harvey was led towards the rec room by a guard, though he doubted he'd need the help. He could fight for himself if need be.

The door was pushed open for him and he stepped into the room, his ears filled with the buzz and occasional screams coming from the inmates.

"Where's Miss Dawes?" He questioned to the man who led him here. The guard jerked his head up, gesturing to where she sat. Harvey looked over casually, expecting her to be reading a book or something.

A cold, violent hatred took over him as he stared at the man beside her. That little…Couldn't he just leave her be? She looked angry and was speaking hurriedly to him. He seemed uncaring and egged her on, a smile over his pale face.

That was all it took. That mere glimpse…

Harvey dropped his present and pushed his way through the people. Not even Rachel noticed him until he picked Crane up by the back of his shirt, catching the young man off guard, and turned him around to face him.

"Mr. Dent?" Jonathan asked, puzzled. "You're here early."

"What do you think you're doing?"

Jonathan glanced over at Rachel, who looked equally surprised. "Talking to Miss Da—" His sentence was cut short by the horrible cracking of Harvey's fist against his jaw. Crane stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. For a moment, he stared at Harvey, his eyebrows drawn together as if he couldn't believe the young man had hit him. Then, with a similar wobble a toddler learning to walk might have, he veered to the right and crumpled to the floor, stunned. The other inmates stared, some of the thugs howled with laughter, while Harvey hovered over Jonathan, shaking his hand and flexing his fingers to ease the pain of impact.

"Don't," he said quietly, breathing heavy as the guards slowly made their way over. "Don't you ever get near her again…"

Jonathan's eyelids fluttered, still unable to grasp what had just happened. All he knew was he couldn't open his mouth, and, as struggled to breath, a warm liquid oozed from his lip. The tang of fresh blood stung his taste-buds, and stars now flickered in his vision. As the guards brought Harvey and the other inmates away, he saw Rachel shrink back in fear, watching him as one might watch a dying animal. Pity, but nothing she could do to help.

Jonathan coughed, taking in a ragged breath as a sharp pain shot through his skull.

Perhaps we should take slower steps. Make friends with Dawes after you make amends with that guy.

Can we just skip it and get out of here?

By the way you just took that punch…trust me, Jonathan. You're not ready for the outside world just yet.

It wasn't enough that the guards and inmates were laughing, but now his own mind mocked him.

Jonathan gave a groan, his vision growing blurry until it faded into nothing.


A.N.: Don't worry folks. For anyone thinking it's gonna turn out to be a lovey story between Crane and Rachel, or even Harvey and Rachel...you will be sorely disappointed (or relieved). Crazy Crane has too much fun tormenting her to actually develope any feelings. And Harvey is just big brother out to protect his friend.

Just wanted to clear that up. :) I hope you guys are liking it so far! You know I love to hear what you have to say. (hint hint...yeah...I'm subtle...)