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.

An End is A Beginning

She doesn't know. She doesn't know. She doesn't know.

Those three words had echoed through Teagan's mind on a constant, unmerciful loop for hours that felt more like an eternity, and yet she was not entirely convinced that she believed them to actually be true. She cast another glance at the neatly-folded slip of paper she'd been handed by another intern upon her arrival at the asylum; although its contents were seared into her memory, word by nerve-wracking word, Teagan clung to the empty hope that she had somehow managed to misread it.

Teagan,

Please meet me in my office at noon.

—Joan

It was exactly the same as before: simple, matter-of-fact, and highly alarming.

A number of startling questions occurred to Teagan as she stood before Leland's office door and tried to muster up the courage to knock. Had she done something wrong? She could not recall breaking any sort of office conduct, and had put a great deal of effort into being as unobtrusive and agreeable as possible. Had she not measured up to Leland's expectations? True, the course of her internship had been largely confined to Crane's office—by this point she'd organized a staggering amount of paperwork five times over—and involved little to no interaction with other members of the asylum's staff beyond polite nods of acknowledgment when crossing paths in the hallway. But given Crane's absolute dedication to avoiding even the most innocuous of scrutiny, any voiced displeasure with his teaching methods would have been noted and their routine immediately altered accordingly.

But if Leland didn't intend to reprimand or otherwise correct her, then what did she want to discuss? They had already shared multiple conversations pertaining to her internship, with Teagan supplying all the right answers and lines as instructed by Crane.

"I've learned so much from Dr. Crane," she'd told Leland, no longer casting her eyes to the floor as she spoke. "Far more than I ever expected to."

Leland had smiled warmly. "We're so fortunate to have Jonathan on our team here at Arkham. He's far too modest to ever sing his own praise, but he's easily one of the most gifted psycho-pharmacologists in his field. The miracles I've seen him work..."

"I can only imagine," Teagan had replied, and gave Leland a smile of her own.

But any amount of lecturing and idle chatter was preferable to the most disturbing possibility: that Leland had become suspicious of her and Crane. Teagan was certain that Leland was completely unaware of their excursions into the asylum basement (as evidenced by the fact that neither she nor Crane were presently wearing handcuffs), but even so much as a hint of distrust was dangerous. Their situation was a precarious one, dependent on absolute secrecy and caution, and it would take only one slip-up—one misplaced syringe, one missing inmate, one eavesdropping coworker—to result in their discovery and downfall.

And they'd been so very, very careful.

She doesn't know. She doesn't know. She doesn't know.

Teagan forced herself to swallow the nausea that rippled through her stomach in lurching waves and threatened to spill from between her tightly-pursed lips, contorted her expression into a friendly smile of tranquility, and quickly rapped her knuckles against the door before she could change her mind.

"Come in," Leland's voice rang out in her usual pleasant tone, and upon entering the office Teagan was greeted by her signature grin.

"You wanted to see me, Dr. Leland?"

Leland gestured towards a chair across from her desk. "Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

Teagan obliged. As she sat, legs crossed and hands clasped tightly in her lap, she thought back to her first day at Arkham Asylum; she'd been so overwhelmingly nervous, and Leland had been both welcoming and understanding. At the time Teagan found her to be reassuring, a God-sent source of comfort in the asylum's cold, intimidating environment, and was immeasurably grateful for her kindness and warm demeanor.

Now Leland just made her feel sick.

"Have you enjoyed your internship here, Teagan?" Leland asked, taking a sip from a coffee mug emblazoned with a large pink heart and the phrase WORLD'S BEST MOM printed in a decorative font. For reasons she was not entirely certain of, Teagan felt the sudden shameful urge to throw the cup onto the ground and crush it beneath her heel until it was nothing more than painted ceramic dust.

"Very much," she replied with forced cheer, straightening her glasses. "It's been a fantastic experience."

"Still learning a lot from Dr. Crane?"

"Absolutely."

"That's wonderful." Leland's sugary-sweet grin widened. "I'm sure studying alongside him has proven to be an invaluable asset to your curriculum at Gotham University."

"Oh yes, beyond measure," Teagan lied smoothly. In truth she had found herself so enamored with Crane and his toxin-induced worlds that her classes were becoming an exceedingly low priority, her attendance now sporadic at best. The years worth of work and sacrifice she had spent at college now seemed meaningless in comparison to her present occupation, and the lessons Crane taught her were more profound and awe-inspiring than anything she had ever learned within the walls of a classroom.

"That's wonderful to hear. You have a bright future ahead of you, Teagan. I've enjoyed your time with us at Arkham, and I have no doubt that you'll be successful at whatever you choose to do next."

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't understand what you mean, Dr. Leland."

"Well, with your internship ending tomorrow I assumed—"

Leland's voice suddenly sounded far away, drowned out by Teagan's panicked thoughts as she tried to process what she had just heard.

Now?! Already?!

Every glorious moment she'd spent with Crane had blurred together into a single daydream-like haze until she had lost track of time entirely. She cared nothing for seconds or minutes or hours when she was with him, except to note that time never lasted long enough when they were together but far too long when they were apart. She thought even less about her internship and its longevity—her reason for entering the program had long been abandoned, the concept of class credits and course hours trivial in comparison to their actual work.

And now that was all going to end, and Crane would be lost to her forever.

The room began to spin and Teagan gripped the arms of the chair to keep from swaying.

"Teagan?" Leland's concerned voice called out to her. "Teagan, are you okay?"

"I'm sorry, I don't feel very well," she replied weakly, concentrating all her effort on remaining calm and expressionless. "Would you excuse me, please?"

Before Leland could reply Teagan had bolted from the room, and in the safety of the vacant hallway she allowed herself to weep.

There would be no more hours spent at Crane's side, either within his office walls or walking hand-in-hand down the smooth stone stairs. No more late-night research, no more experiments, no more secret sessions where his lips met hers as a toxin-poisoned inmate screamed a chorus of agony and terror.

No more. Nothing. The End.

Well, Teagan thought to herself wryly as she fumbled at the doorknob to Crane's office with shaking hands and vision obscured by tears, at least I meant something for a little while.

Crane sat on the edge of his bed, a thick folder near-bursting with dog-eared pages cradled in his hands. He flipped through each one, slowly digesting every crisp printed word and every handwritten scrawl, until he had reached the end: a single page, blank except for the word AFTER written at the top. Crane closed the file carefully and ran his thumb along the label, across the name spelled out in a thick black font against the folder's light cream color.

JAMES, TEAGAN

He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and let out a quiet, heavy sigh.

Crane owed his ability to create a sophisticated toxin under the noses of his colleagues while remaining undetected for years to one singular personality trait: his honed skill of observation. He absorbed every detail of his surroundings, from the glaringly obvious to the minute, and filed them all away in his memory to later be studied whenever they became of use to him. There were rare lapses—allowing himself to tune out Leland's voice during conversations had led to him being caught unaware and vulnerable at the beginning of Teagan's internship—but Crane was nothing if not adaptable, and he had managed to remain one step ahead of the asylum staff for almost the entire length of his employment.

As such, he'd been well aware of the internship program's impending conclusion. Rather than alert Teagan to it, he instead chose to remain silent—a decision that worked out nicely for him. She had run into his arms, shocked and devastated and confused, and Crane was able to play the hero once again by proposing a solution that made her so euphoric with happiness she'd nearly swooned on the spot. As she buried her face in his chest, beaming and flushed pink, Crane was torn between the desire to smile and the urge to be sick.

He did neither.

Teagan had become useful to him, a test subject as enthralling as she was maddening, and reacted to both him and his toxin in ways he had never before conceived or thought possible. She now welcomed the needle with a faint smile rather than a grimace, offering Crane her mind to transform however he pleased. He need only ask.

She had even accepted Scarecrow. He thought back to her fingers caressing his burlap face—gentle, wary, cautious but affectionate—and how the moment she'd pressed her lips to his stitched mouth Crane had felt truly loved for the first time in his life. He realized then that she was devoted to everything about him, both human and monstrous, and would never turn away from either face that he wore. He need only ask.

The revelation had frightened Crane, and when she finally pulled away he'd dug his teeth into his bottom lip until the copper taste of blood danced on his tongue.

She had become something more than a test subject, something warm and soft that burrowed under his skin and made him feel strange, inconvenient emotions that he could not and would not name. He resented her for it, and yet he did not wish for things to change.

She was naïve—infuriatingly so—and the way she clung to him was far more irksome than it was endearing. But even if he loathed to admit it, Crane had grown fond of her, and for the first time in his life he had someone who was his; completely, irreversibly, devotedly his, now and forever.

You've come a long way, baby.

A sudden knock pulled Crane from his thoughts. He rose from the bed, cast a final glance at the file in his hands, and locked it away in a desk drawer before slipping the key into his pocket and walking across his apartment to answer the door.

He opened the door to find Teagan standing before him, a large canvas bag slung over her shoulder and a battered suitcase at her side.

"Hello, Miss James," Crane greeted her briskly. "Did you bring all of your things with you?"

She blushed. "I'm sorry, I hope it's not too much—"

"Not at all. Please, come in. That bag looks awful heavy, and I'm sure you'd like to unpack as soon as possible."

Teagan smiled timidly and stepped through the doorway, into Crane's apartment and into her new life.

Yes, she'd crawled under Crane's skin, and perhaps he was beginning to like it.