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.
Revelations
"Do you trust me?"
Teagan felt Crane's breath against the nape of her neck as his silky voice murmured into her ear, sending goosebumps prickling across her flesh. Her previous trepidation over their first two nights together had been replaced by a restless, compelling sense of curiosity that dominated her concentration during classes at Gotham University and swam through her thoughts at night as she lay awake and pensive in her bed. She yearned to explore the side of herself that she had not known existed prior to her enlightenment, even if she found the prospect of this strange self-discovery to be as frightening as it was exciting, and tonight she was ready to begin.
As she observed the patient lying strapped to the cell bed before her, assessing his appearance with the analytical decorum of a psychiatric textbook—oily hair knotted into clumped tangles from weeks worth of neglected hygiene, eyes glazed over in a vacant stare boring into the ceiling, no visible recognition to indicate awareness of their nearby presence, near-catatonic state save for intermittent blinking—Teagan could not help but wonder if she had looked nearly half as wretched when it had been her beneath the restraints.
"I trust you, Dr. Crane," she whispered, and her gaze never wavered from the patient even as she felt the cool glass of a syringe pressed against her open palm.
"Then do it."
With a seamless, practiced finesse that surprised even herself, Teagan carefully inserted the syringe needle into the patient's veins, pressed down on the plunger, and proceeded to inject him with a large dosage of Crane's toxin. Only when his blank expression contorted into a terrified grimace and the first panicked cry of horror burst from patient's lips did Teagan's hands begin to tremble—not out of regret or alarm, but with awe.
She turned to face Crane, wide-eyed and breathless.
"This is incredible, Dr. Crane," Teagan said with hushed reverence, casting another glance at the formerly-motionless man now violently struggling against his blinds as he continued to let out raw, guttural screams.
"So do you consider this—" Crane gestured towards the writhing inmate. "—to be an acceptable usage of psycho-pharmacology?"
"Yes, sir." As her doe eyes twinkled behind the thick frames of her glasses and a pink flush of excitement blossomed on her cheeks, it occurred to Crane that for the first time he found her to be truly beautiful.
"I see," Crane replied, his tone betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. "I'm sure you realize that this particular method of treatment would likely be regarded as...perhaps unconventional throughout the psychiatric communityif I ever chose to publish my research, and yet you still approve of it. Why?"
"Well..."
Teagan hesitated.
"Go on. Please."
She took a deep breath. "Moments ago this man was bordering on the edge of catatonia. His file indicates that he's spent years in the asylum with little-to-no sign of improvement despite receiving around-the-clock care along with a daily cocktail medication and the occasional intravenous nourishment, but within seconds of the serum being introduced to his system you gave him something that no one else in Arkham has been able to provide despite therapy session after therapy session and pill after pill. You liberated him from his own mind, Dr. Crane. You freed him."
For a moment the cell block was silent save for the patient's tortured screams, and when Crane spoke again his voice took on a low, thick tone that Teagan had never heard him use before.
"Miss James, do you truly consider they symptoms our patient is currently exhibiting to me "freedom"?
She paused.
"I...yes, Dr. Crane. I do. Before he could feel no emotion, and now you've made him experience the most primal, powerful emotion of all. And if you've taught me anything, Dr. Crane, it's that even the most prolonged of suffering the body endures is temporary. But the mind...the power of the mind lasts forever."
"Dr. Crane, he was just—just wasting away in this asylum. He was a victim of his own mind, rotting in his cell day after day with no real chance of ever improving, no matter how many times nurses spooned food into his mouth or wiped the drool from his chin or shoved pill after pill after pill down his throat. He may as well have been dead, and everyone knew it even if they didn't have the nerve to say it out loud. But now—now—"
Before Teagan even realized what was happening Crane had her pinned against the grimy cell wall, his lips crushing hers with an intensity that sent her head spinning and her heart racing even more than during the tender, careful kisses they'd shared before.
Crane felt her respond beneath him as she leaned in to return his kiss with a soft, hungry fervor of her own, and when he finally pulled away Crane was amused to hear her sigh in ecstasy.
Flagrant displays of lust were normally of no interest to Crane—he found it primitive at best, and vulgar at its worst—and he generally abhorred physical contact outside of his own initiative. But even he could appreciate the machinations of sex and its many uses; indeed, under the right circumstances Crane had found that he could actually enjoy the act, even if the number of disappointing encounters in his past far outnumbered the more fulfilling occasions.
Tonight, Crane suspected, would fall into the latter category, and before Teagan had even replied to his next question Crane already knew her answer.
"Will you come home with me?"
There was much Crane loathed about Teagan, from the many irksome mannerisms she possessed to the unwanted, hidden emotions she inspired within him that threatened his prized self-control in ways he had never before thought possible. Most maddeningly of all, Crane hated the way her awkward, meek presence reminded him of his own private self-doubts and brought the bitter taste of resentment to his tongue.
But as disquieting as it was to admit to himself, Crane had taken a great deal of pleasure in her transformation. She had allowed Crane to to break apart her psyche piece by piece and stitch it back together into something new and frightening, something that was everything he had ever wanted and everything he thought he could never have. Although Teagan's journey began out of academic curiosity, she had ultimately become an active and willful participant in her own unraveling—and she had done it all for him.
And now she stood before him, dark hair tousled and teeth digging into the pink flesh of her bottom lip, and whispered her answer to the invitation Crane had never before extended to another person.
"Yes," Teagan replied, and as the patient beside them lapsed into merciful unconsciousness she surrendered herself to Crane once again.
9.
10.
11.
Glowing red numbers counted to twelve before the elevator doors opened to reveal a long, brightly-lit hallway, the walls a shade of creamy yellow and its carpet plush beneath her feet. As she followed Crane out of the elevator and down the hall Teagan felt overwhelmingly self-conscious; she imagined tenants lurking behind every door with their eyes glued to the peephole and their brow furrowed with disapproval, unseen scandalized neighbors whispering among themselves, and the thought made her face burn red with embarrassment.
Inexperience had led Teagan to find the prospect of spending the night with Crane to be as daunting as it was exciting. A thousand scenarios raced through her mind, ranging from arousing to mortifying, and when Crane finally came to a halt before a door numbered "941" to retrieve a set of keys from his pocket Teagan felt almost dizzy with anticipation. A turn of the key, a click of the lock, and before she had a chance to peer through the open doorway Crane had pulled her into the shadows of his apartment and shut the door behind her. A sliver of moonlight peered through curtains to illuminate the apartment just enough for her to recognize a few distinct shapes—a bookshelf packed with rows of leather-bound volumes, a dining table with its surface buried beneath thick stacks of papers, a small kitchen devoid of any appliances save for a coffee maker and the boxy outline of a microwave—before Crane's lithe fingers encircled her wrist to guide her through the darkness.
"Um, Dr. Crane, is it okay if we turn on a—oh!"
The warm glow of a lamp's fluorescent light-bulb lit up the room before Teagan could finish her sentence, and as she surveyed her surroundings—a dark gray quilt with matching pillows, a closet door left ajar to reveal a modest collection of suits, a pair of thick curtains drawn tightly shut to conceal Gotham City's nighttime menageries of neon signs—Teagan realized she was standing in Crane's bedroom.
"May I?" Crane's voice rang from behind her, followed by the sensation of her coat sliding from her shoulders.
Crane had been with women in the past, both out of a need to smother a peculiar urge that arose every once in a while and to maintain a facade of normalcy by engaging in distant, stilted relationships for the sake of appearances. He had not disliked any of his partners, but he did not care for them either; they were a means to an end, nothing more and nothing less, and when they were gone he did not miss them. But things with Teagan were different—he wanted her, even if the attraction sickened him. He wanted her in the same way he coveted power and fear: as instruments to play until he had mastered them to perfection.
He removed his suit jacket before sitting on the edge of his bed, loosening his tie with one hand and beckoning her forward with the other. Teagan took his hand and he pulled her toward him, and as Crane began to unzip the back of her dress she had to grip his shoulders to keep herself from swaying.
"Dr. Crane..."
"Hmm?"
"I haven't really done..well, you know, this...very many times." She cast her eyes to the floor, embarrassed by her admission.
"That's alright," Crane replied, slipping her dress from her shoulders and down her hips to expose bare skin and the black lace of her undergarments, "I have."
She was soft beneath his lips and his touch, smooth and pale like porcelain, and as his hands began to explore flesh and nylon and silk Crane could feel her grasp loosen from his shoulders and drift upwards to run her fingers through his hair. He looked up from his seated position to see her head gently tilted back so that her long hair brushed against her spine, her lips parted in silent bliss and her eyes closed behind the black frames of her glasses. He thought of their first clumsy meeting in Joan Leland's office; she had appeared to be a hopelessly bashful waif of a girl, unassuming and nervous and frankly pathetic, and Crane had taken an instant dislike to her. But she was different now, even if Crane continued to find her exasperating, and the comparison of the timid girl who quietly filed his paperwork on a daily basis to the girl who currently stood half-naked before him amused Crane so much that he was unable to keep himself from smirking with triumphant glee.
You've come a long way, baby.
He pulled her onto the bed and positioned himself on top of her, planting a kiss on her lips before turning his attention to the rest of her body.
"I think I love you, Dr. Crane," Teagan whispered breathlessly, her eyes sparkling with a combination of devotion and awe.
Crane smiled, wetting his lips to savor the taste of her lipstick and skin.
"I know," he replied, and leaned forward to turn off the lamp.