Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any aspect of the Batman universe. I own nothing save for any original characters that I have created.

A Willing Participant

The morning after her encounter with Crane in Arkham Asylum's basement, Teagan awoke to the shrill blare of her alarm clock, stared blankly at its digital numbers glowing in the early darkness of her apartment, and decided to not attend class for the first time in her entire academic career.

It was an uncharacteristic act of irresponsibility, and one she would have normally regarded as borderline outrageous; her education was of such great importance to her that she had never before been so much as a single minute late to a lecture, even when faced with the challenges of navigating the city's seemingly-endless flow of sidewalk traffic and adhering to Gotham City Rail's rigid, unforgiving schedule.

Instead, she spent the morning hours poring over the previous night's events until each exquisite, agonizing moment ran through her memory on an endless loop. The nightmarish face with eyes that shone blue, the hideous sense of fear burning through her mind, the feeling of Crane's lips pressed against her own—

But why? Why me?

The restraints had left behind bruises on her wrists and ankles, and Teagan felt strangely validated as she examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror; last night had not just been a wistful dream, and the evidence lay vibrant in shades of violet and blue across her pale flesh. The words Crane had spoken to her, the hot sensation of his mouth against her throat, the small amused smile on his lips after the kisses had ended and she gazed at him with cheeks flushed pink and disheveled hair—it had all been real.

She knew, of course, that the sane and logical approach involved picking up the phone to dial the Gotham City Police Department, her college adviser, and Dr. Leland in whatever order her brain could muster and alert them to a psychiatrist practicing at Arkham Asylum forcing bizarre experimentation onto unwitting interns. Both Crane and the monstrous terror he had inflicted upon her would be locked away forever, deep in the bowels of the asylum, where neither he nor it could never haunt her again.

It was the right thing to do. It was what she should do.

But as she sat at the edge of her bed and stared down into the black screen of her cellphone, Teagan realized that the only thing that frightened her more than another possible encounter with the loathsome face was the thought of never seeing Crane again.

Indecisive, still moments passed, and eventually she placed her phone aside and began to dress for work.

Crane said nothing beyond his usual formal greeting when Teagan arrived at his office that afternoon, and although she waited with bated breath the day continued to drag on in silence. As hours passed without so much as a single word from Crane, Teagan began to wonder if she should be the one to initiate the discussion she so desperately wanted.

What if this is another test? What if he's expecting me to talk and I'm failing miserably?

But the courage to speak never came, and instead she continued to quietly file papers and prayed that Crane would say something, anything, to indicate that last night had not entirely faded from his memory.

Or—even worse—what if Crane did remember, but no longer cared?

Perhaps he had awoken that morning and realized the awful, crushing truth: that Teagan was nothing more than one intern among many, a temporary specter in his workplace who's name would likely be forgotten the very instant she walked out of his office for the final time, and someone far too insignificant to be included in anything as momentous as groundbreaking psychological research. She could not blame him for recognizing how unremarkable she truly was, nor would she argue if Crane were to admit that last night had been nothing more than an egregious lapse in his judgment—indeed, the only thing about herself that she believed to be "extraordinary" was how mistaken Crane had been to think of her as anything but painfully, pitiably dull.

At least I meant something for one night, she thought to herself, and blinked back tears.

"Miss James?"

The sound of Crane's quiet murmur sent a jolt of surprise through her body and nearly caused her to spill the stack of freshly-printed patient admittance forms cradled in the nook of her arm. She forced her expression into a calm, casual smile—or at least her best impression of one—before turning to face Crane's desk, her heart racing.

"Yes, Dr. Crane?"

He was not so easily fooled. Teagan's elation over finally hearing him speak—and her fear of what he might say—was as apparent to Crane as the quick glances she had shot him over the past few hours when she thought he was studying his paperwork (he had, in truth, been studying her).

But he'd play along.

"Are you free this evening?"

Her eyes lit up with excitement.

"Oh, I—"

"I do apologize for asking at such terribly short notice. I'll understand, of course, if you already have plans..."

"No, not at all, Dr. Crane! I—what I mean to say is yes, I'm available for, um, whatever you—"

"Excellent."

He gave her a small fleeting smile before returning to his work, and when her back was turned to him Crane could not help but smirk.

"Are you comfortable, Miss James?"

Even as foreboding gnawed at her, Teagan felt her pulse quicken with dizzying excitement when Crane rolled up her blouse sleeve and gently pressed his fingers against the bare flesh of her arm. Her stomach turned as she breathed in the basement's damp air, stale and reeking of mildew, and tried not to think of what was going to happen next.

She nodded, forcing herself to smile.

"Good," Crane said, and rewarded her with a small smile of his own. "You don't by any chance have a fear of needles, do you?"

Teagan shook her head. "No, sir, actually the only thing that really scares me is—"

"We'll find that out soon enough, Miss James."

The thought filled her with renewed dread, and she felt her heart race as she watched Crane prepare a syringe with delicate expertise.

"I'll offer you one final opportunity to excuse yourself from this experiment, Miss James: are you sure you want to proceed?"

Her every instinct screamed at her to run, to leave the basement and never return to Arkham Asylum, to forget the name Dr. Jonathan Crane and his toxin and his kisses and all his pretty words and just run run run...

Instead Teagan pushed all rationality aside, gripped the dusty cell mattress with blanched knuckles, and nodded.

"Yes, Dr. Crane," she whispered. "I'm ready."

Teagan closed her eyes, and seconds later she felt the needle pierce her skin.