AN: Couldn't help myself. Sorry, Kitty. Gotham-inspired, because I'm already missing my murderous Mondays. This has gone through so many rewrites, it's not even funny. So here-if it's up I have to leave it alone.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-I was drugged. You were really, really out of it. It was priceless. Nice to see you were worried about me. You were in no real danger. Humph.

He doesn't know why he's here. He suspects it's guilt-guilt that he didn't get there in time, didn't figure it out before…this…happened. Maybe this is his fault to begin with-if they hadn't spooked the guy…

It doesn't matter. He's here now and standing here wondering about it isn't doing any good. He'll just go in for a few minutes.

"Who the hell are you?"

He didn't see her at first, and he hates to admit that she gave him a scare. It doesn't help that she's on her feet, a hardback in her hand. He's surprised she didn't throw first and ask questions later.

"Detective James Gordon."

"I see."

The girl-girlfriend? has to be-settles back into the chair, one hand holding the book in her lap, the other tightly gripping Jonathan's limp fingers.

"You were there." she says. Something about her reminds him of Alfred. "Weren't you."

"Yes."

"Why are you here?"

He does not have to take the third degree from a teenager!

"Thought I'd see how he's doing."

He can see her mulling it over. He's barely made himself comfortable-well, sort of, these chairs are murder-when she speaks again.

"Kitty Richardson."

"Nice to meet you."

She ignores that and reaches over to comb Jonathan's hair out of his face.

"Why are you here?" she asks again. "You don't know him. You never even met him, not really."

He doesn't know what to tell her. She's right.

He resolves, in the end, not to tell her anything.

When he comes back a week later, she's there again. He stays at the door for a few minutes, unsure if he should risk entry.

She's reading aloud from something, and it takes hearing her imitation of Bela Lugosi to realise that it's Dracula.

"You can come in, you know."

He wonders how long she's known he's there.

"How is he?"

"You've got eyes, don't you?" She closes the book. The ribbon says she's still in the early chapters. "He lent this to me, said it was one of his favourites."

"Mm."

He's got deep bruises from the restraints and, not for the first time, Jim wonders what he sees when he's conscious.

"How long have you known him?"

"A year and a half." She looks tired. Don't teenage girls have social lives? She doesn't look like a loner-no black nail polish or random piercings or anything. "He was very…civil…to me when we moved here. Didn't try to hit on me or anything."

She's leaving something out, he can hear it in her voice.

"Did he ever talk about his father?"

"Why? Isn't he dead?"

"How do you know that?"

"It's amazing what the nurses say when they think you're not listening." She reaches over and takes his hand. "One of them mentioned it."

"Oh."

They're quiet for several minutes.

"No, by the way."

"Excuse me?"

"He didn't like to talk about his dad. Or anyone in his family, really."

He wonders if he knew, what Gerald told him.

He doesn't mean to laugh, but the fact that she's got a 'Keep Calm and Carry On' mug just does it.

"Something amuse you?"

He forces himself to calm down and points at the mug.

"Sorry."

She scowls and wraps her fingers around the mug, obscuring the picture.

"Jonathan thought he was being clever. He knows I hate this saying."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It's everywhere." She shoots a dark look towards the boy on the bed. "Cheeky."

"Don't you have school?"

"It's summer holiday." she says, her tone absolutely screaming, 'you idiot'.

"Oh."

"Did you kill Gerald Crane, or did your partner?"

"I don't know."

"No?"

"No." He fiddles with a pile of get-well cards. "Does anyone else ever visit?"

"There's no one else."

"But…those."

She snorts and takes a sip of whatever's in the mug.

"You should have heard them. Two weeks before they were shoving him into lockers, and now you'd think he'd been promoted to sainthood."

Jonathan suddenly twitches and whimpers, "Please…"

"Shh." She sets the mug down, takes his hand. "You're all right. Sedatives are wearing off." she explains softly. "They'll be in soon to give him another dose…you're all right, love, I've got you. You're safe." He doesn't try to pull his hand back, but he sure as hell isn't conscious, not really. "Shh, shh. It can't hurt you."

He should be leaving, anyway.

"Hullo, Detective."

"Hello."

"I thought the guilt would've worn off by now. Or are you hoping he can tell you something?"

There's nothing he can say that will matter now. Gerald Crane has been in the ground for weeks now, it doesn't matter what Jonathan knows.

Unless he was involved, but surely he won't tell them that.

The ribbon has moved to about halfway through the book.

"How is it?"

"Wordy and parts of it are a little awkward to read aloud." She rubs the fraying ribbon between her fingertips. "He woke up yesterday."

"Oh?"

"He's not himself, not yet. But I think he's getting better."

She hopes he's getting better.

"Did he say anything?"

"Something about a scarecrow."

"Do you know what he was talking about?"

She shakes her head.

"No. But he said something, actual words. And he knew who I was, for a minute or two. He said my name."

"That's good."

"Yeah." She cards her fingers through his hair. "Yeah, he's going to be all right."

He wonders how she can be so sure.

In all honesty, he's given up hope that Jonathan Crane will ever be back to normal. But when he pays a visit one sunny afternoon, he's met with a surprise.

Jonathan's sitting up in bed, looking tired and pale but lucid. Kitty's abandoned the chair in favour of a spot on the bed. The book isn't here-she must have finished it.

"Hello, Detective. This is James Gordon-I think he's been stalking you or something, he's been here an awful lot. Did you kill anybody? Anyway, he brought you here."

Jonathan gives him a wan smile around the straw in his mouth.

"Nice to meet you. And no, I didn't kill anyone. I wouldn't be stupid enough to be caught."

"They always get caught."

"I wouldn't."

He wonders if this is something they've talked about frequently.

"Yes, you would. You're too cocky not to get caught."

"I'm too clever to get caught. Have a little faith in me, will you?"

"I've read crime novels, and you'd be caught! It might take them a few bodies…"

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about this in front of the police."

She laughs and taps the cup in his hands.

"Hurry up before Nurse Frankentroll sees I snuck that in."

"I was happy with hospital ice cream."

"You don't want that, it's sheep's eyes."

"It is not."

"Then what is it? 'Cause that's not ice cream."

His only answer is a hesitant, "It's a dehydrated…something or other…"

"It's sheep's eyes." she says firmly. "Ignore him, he could make a living arguing with me."

"Somebody has to."

"Don't be cheeky or I won't bring you food next time."

He rolls his eyes and leans against the pillows.

"Did you need to see me about something, Detective?"

"No." Does he know about his dad? Probably, but… "No, I thought I'd see how you were doing, is all."

When he goes back a week later, Jonathan's sitting on the bed, dressed in jeans and a loose sweater.

"Hello, Detective."

"Hello. How are you feeling?"

He shrugs.

"The doctors said I can go home today, but to come back if I have any side effects including but not limited to: dizziness, confusion, hallucinations and homicidal or suicidal urges."

"That's good."

"Yes."

"Jonathan…about your dad."

"Kitty told me."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not." He drags his backpack over and starts fiddling with the straps. "I told him it was too much, he didn't listen."

"All right, love, Mum says…hullo, Detective."

She walks right by him and pulls Jonathan to his feet. She's short. He never really noticed before, but she's tiny.

"Hello."

"Jonathan? Ready to go home? Mum's already insisting that they starved you." She tugs on his arm. "I tried to tell her you always look like this, but she didn't buy it."

"Hang on." He turns to Jim and for a minute Jim swears he's…well…studying him. "Did you have any questions for me, Detective Gordon?"

Too many.

"No. No, you go on home."

Kitty pulls on his arm again and this time he lets her draw him towards the door.

"Okay. Good bye, Detective."

THE END