Stuck in the Elevator

Little Misunderstandings

Firstly, I want to thank all those who took the time to read as well as emptyvoices and royalty09 for reviewing my first chapter. I'm really interested in the perspectives of the readers.

This chapter details interaction between Crane & Rachel. The Batman makes a cameo, but not in the way you might think. The plot continues to borrow from the movie, with my own input of course.

Disclaimer: Again, only original plot is mine; the rest belongs to some people who I don't know.

Crane saw Rachel turn towards him but decided to ignore her until he was absolutely forced to say something. Even then, he would articulate the most conceptual of words and if necessary, psychological jargon he knew she would not understand, as he had done at the courthouse that day. She had been more than a little displeased at his testimony over Victor Zsaz, but he had cleverly managed to leave her with a bewildered expression that he had thoroughly enjoyed. So he continued to stare ahead as if something fascinating had caught his attention.

"Would you mind telling me exactly how Falcone went from a perfectly sane criminal to being barely coherent and on suicide watch? It seems a little sudden." The small confinement of the elevator prevented her voice from being carried and its' tenor was painfully amplified; she was aware that she sounded strained. As soon as she had started to speak Crane's transparent eyes had glided sideways and observed her from the corner of his glasses but he had otherwise remained motionless. He now turned his head to survey her for a few seconds before casually repositioning his entire body to face her as he folded his arms in one smooth gesture. A casual observer might have thought of his body language as somewhat alluring, but in the shaded lights and claustrophobic interior of the elevator Rachel found it to be disconcerting. It's just because you're a bit woozy, she reassured herself. I've never been intimidated by him, I'm not going to be now. Besides, he looks tired and he's got nowhere to go. Unless he decides to crawl through the air vents, she thoughtwryly. She wouldn't put it past him.

Crane was feeling drained, but not so much so that he failed to notice Rachel's appearance. Although she had spoken in a stern manner, her firm words were belied by a pale, sickly look on her delicate face and her voice had sounded just a tad breathless. He bestowed her with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his glacial eyes.

"Sanity is never perfect, Ms. Dawes. You might assume that a crime lord with as much power as Mr. Falcone would be invincible. His supremacy was a mere illusion, a fact that I suspect he realised all too well when he was caught. No one knew what was transpiring in his mind." He paused thoughtfully and gave a shrug before continuing. "I myself was surprised when I heard that he'd attempted suicide. The mind is a strange thing, you know; it plays tricks on you all the time," he finished with a soft, rather suggestive tone.

Rachel gaped at him; she couldn't help herself. Just what the hell was he trying to do? He honestly believed that he could throw her off with his insignificant blather and maddening, stoic expressions. He had done the same thing that day, when she had confronted him after Zsaz' trial. His ambiguous answer and blatant refusal to cooperate had frustrated her. What had confused her, though, was the way he had spoken to her. She had demanded an explanation from him, pointing out that he had already testified on behalf of three of Falcone's thugs. When he had finished babbling some crap about insane people being attracted to organized crime, she had bluntly called him corrupt. Then, he had done a strange thing. They had both been staring at each other in the eyes, she challenging him and him wanting to intimidate her. He had moved nearer to her so that their faces were dangerously close, all the while maintaining eye contact. She had been undaunted and continued to stare at him, waiting.

You assume that my actions help these criminals, he had whispered, so close that she had felt his breath on her face. Don't. I don't think that you'll understand, so I'll just say that if you truly appreciated what these people do you might thank me. As he had murmured the last four words he had dropped his frosty eyes to stare, ever so briefly, at her lips, which were slightly parted from shock. Then he had turned and she had felt his hair brush against her cheek as he had walked away. She had managed to recover and follow him but he had seen fit to deliver some choice words to Carl before stalking out of the courthouse. He probably thought he was scary, but he certainly didn't scare her. She didn't know precisely what he had meant by that, if it was a threat or just more of his pointless jabbering. Despite many days, even weeks of research and investigation, she had been unable to uncover any suspicious activities his part, other than his insistence that Falcone's goons were all insane. She had been exasperated as to why he was behaving in such a way and although she would not admit it to herself, she was reluctant to believe that he had been bought off by Falcone. It just didn't seem like the quietly eccentric boy she had known in high school. She realized that this was a foolish assessment. He had plenty of reasons to be troubled, she knew. But his brief marriage and high school experiences were personal problems and Rachel didn't know how that was related, if at all, to anything he might be doing now, providing he had actually done something illegal. He had not, in any of their past altercations, offered a hint of justification for his actions and apparently that was not going to change anytime soon.

The deep, sweeping pulses of pain were now too difficult to ignore and Rachel simply had neither the material nor mental capacity to argue with him. The frigid atmosphere of the elevator was doing nothing to soothe her cramps; what she needed was warmth. She leant over and casually placed her brown handbag on the floor and draped her coat over it, not bothering if they got dirty.

"Well, we'll soon know what's really wrong with Falcone so he can be where he actually belongs," was all she could manage. She gingerly stooped down and, being careful to arrange her skirt around her boots so that she wouldn't sit on it, squatted with her legs together, balancing on her feet. She wanted to sit but couldn't risk it, even though her skirt was dark- coloured. Rachel was painfully aware that Crane was observing her, but she was past caring about maintaining appearances. She encircled her arms around her the front of her legs and hugged herself, hoping the ease in her position would convince her tight muscles to relax. She rested her chin on the top of her knees and let out a shuddering breath.

"Something wrong?" He sounded mildly curious, but Rachel did not notice. Crane was once again struck by that peculiar feeling of presentiment. Rachel's sudden change in countenance from when they were in the hallway should have left him elated, but it only added to his anxiety. So even venomous shrews had sick days, it seemed. He frowned in thought as he studied her; she really did look ill. He was unsure of what he should do, as he knew she would view any concern on his part as suspicious. He removed his glasses and hid them in the front pocket of his suit jacket as he tried to clear his mind. Rachel was ill, but he had something to do. What? He ran a hand through his hair, perplexed.

"No," she said without looking up from her position, jolting him from his disorganized deliberations. He gazed down at her, pondering. He should probably find out what was wrong with her.

"You look ill. Are you claustrophobic?" he asked distractedly.

Rachel was fuming; of course he had to turn this into a psychoanalysis session. He probably knew what was wrong and was just torturing her to pass the time. She didn't have to look at him to detect the mocking tone in his voice. Her hand itched to slap him but she knew that that would have to wait for later. "No," she managed to articulate through gritted teeth. She really could say no more than that.

Crane had expected her to be obstinate and decline his offer for help. She seldom let sickness interfere with her work, something he had known about her from since high school. He recalled her refusing to go home and miss her classes unless it was extremely urgent. A vague memory suddenly came to him as he gazed at her. They had both stayed back late that day and they were waiting for the rain to stop. He had come upon her in what seemed to be severe pain. He had been kind to her that day, he remembered. But that was before she'd become a meddling bitch, he amended. She most likely would not recall that little incident, as she seemed only to focus on his deeds with which she was displeased. He frowned again and violently shoved the memory from his head. He abhorred any recollections from high school, even the pleasant ones, as few as they were.

"Are you sure? You look as if you're in pain," he said almost without thinking. He concentrated on evoking what had been his plans before they had gotten stuck.

God, he was relentless. Why didn't he just come out and say it. He was doubtless trying to get her to admit it so he would get the chance to play the perfect gentleman and pretend to help her. Whilst she was unable to give him a sound tongue- lashing at the moment, she refused to comply with his bullshit. She wasn't going to explain anything to him. Well, maybe she would say something to justify her behaviour, something that might persuade him to shut his trap.

Crane had intended to spend a few hours in his lab that evening before Rachel had insisted on meeting with him. He was about to put the finishing touches on an improved formula. As they were speaking he had decided on testing the old version on her, at the insistence of his old and unwanted but ubiquitous friend, whose whispers were lately becoming more and more unbearable. Then they had gotten stuck in this damned elevator, so he couldn't very well gas her in here. He had the mask in pocket and a full canister but it was a closed space and they were stuck in here for awhile; it would appear strange when— Oh shit!! His azure eyes widened as it hit him full force: that simple, seemingly obvious little matter that had somehow managed to elude him all these weeks. Only now, when he had been forced to remain at a standstill both physically and mentally, had his subconscious backtracked and revealed to him his shocking error. He was moved to reach out and touch the wall with one hand, as if for support, and clutch at his hair with the other in an almost comically distraught gesture, as if he were the doomed knight in some tragic love story. How could he have been so stupid? He struggled to come to terms with what might very well be a fatal blunder on his part if it was not soon rectified. First, he had to calm himself; he could do nothing about it while he was in here. Already, his mind was beginning to outline the new plans; his priorities had been rapidly rearranged.

"It's umm……food poisoning," he heard Rachel say in a muffled voice.

"Food poisoning," he said slowly, as the words were new to him. He was still shaken from his recent revelation and he had momentarily forgotten his last train of conversation with her.

Rachel sucked in her breath in anger as well as pain. He was being a regal dick; he either knew exactly what was going on or was enjoying her display of weakness and wanted to prolong her discomfort by making her tell him what was wrong. She lifted her head and prepared to ignore the pain for a minute so that she could give him a little something to put in his pipe and smoke…………………

Meanwhile, somewhere outside of Arkham………………

A figure clad in black from head to toe stood in the north grounds at Arkham. The smooth, black leather outlined a sinewy shape that could only belong to a man. He was pacing restlessly across the manicured lawn, silently filled with coiled tension, like a predatory cat. When he came to stand below a window on the first floor, not too far away from where Crane and Rachel were stranded, he paused dramatically and looked up, his sleek black cape billowing out behind him in the cold night wind. He was the Batman, and he was royally pissed.

He had been filled with premonition and sick dread as he had followed Rachel from his mansion to the asylum in The Narrows. Everything he had been denying for the past couple of weeks could no longer be ignored, not after what he had seen tonight. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but in the end he had a job to do so he would force himself to put aside his personal feelings—as best as he could try—and do what was necessary. At present, however, he was filled with seething rage coupled with astounding disbelief. He hadn't expected his suspicions to come to fruition; it left him with a sick and bewildering feeling in his stomach. Initially, he had told himself that he was just being a bit paranoid, a side effect of the intense training he had received; after all, he had been taught to mind his surroundings, to detect the slightest hint of unrest. When he came back to Gotham he had anticipated the worst, but this was just ridiculous. It was beyond any reason or logic that he could comprehend.

He had first noticed the signs that day at the courthouse, but had persuaded himself that he was being unreasonable, that he didn't have sufficient evidence to support such an outlandish theory. But after that night at the restaurant, after he had visited her office that day, after she had so hastily left his mansion that evening, her distant behaviour, he knew that he had been right. He accepted that she had changed in all the years he had been away; apparently she had changed more than he realized. This had been the final nail in the coffin; what he'd witnessed tonight and everything else clarified what he had not been willing to accept but what was undeniably true.

Rachel was having an affair with Dr. Crane.

It was crazy, but true. He smiled bitterly as he thought of how pleased Ducard would be at his astuteness. She was up there now, not discussing Falcone as was supposedly her excuse for being there, but assorting with that low- life Crane. He had given her the benefit of a doubt even after all he had detected, but she had not yet left the building. He was not one to jump to conclusions, but what else could be keeping her for so long? She had forgone any opportunity to rekindle anything they might have by skipping his party to come here for a romantic rendezvous with this criminal, who, for reasons beyond that which Bruce could grasp, had somehow captured her affections. She was smitten with him; it was obvious despite her efforts to conceal it. As he'd gradually come to the realization that she might have feelings for Crane he had been jealous; it was easy to admit it to himself. He had tried to rationalize her behaviour, telling himself that she had developed some sort of kinship with him, just a friendship to cope with the increasing dismal situation in Gotham. After all, they had known each other when they were teenagers. But did she know that Crane was contributing to Gotham's downfall, as he had found out so arduously a mere two days ago? He had confessed to himself that he was somewhat glad that Crane was involved with Falcone; it gave Bruce a legitimate reason to dislike him and condemn their relationship. He knew that whilst Rachel was aware of and probably disapproved of his penchant for labelling criminals as insane, she had no idea about his twisted hobbies. If she did she wouldn't have continued with their liaison.

The Batman resumed his tireless strides, fuming as he recalled the scenes that had led him to uncover this fiasco. He had been outside the courthouse the very first time. He had only caught glimpses as he couldn't risk staring into the building without drawing unwanted attention. There was police around and he had been dressed as a bum. The little he had seen, however, was what had initiated his misgivings: Crane standing alarmingly close to Rachel and then giving her a fleeting kiss. When he had turned back, from what he could gather by straining to read Crane's lips, he had been telling Finch to mind his own business, if he had any. When he had walked away apparently Finch had confronted Rachel; he hadn't caught what she had said but she'd clearly been angry that Finch was interfering. His last look told him that Rachel was trying to pacify Finch by offering him a small kiss on the cheek. Bruce guessed that Finch had a thing for her and she was trying to let him down gently. Then at the restaurant when he had spoken to her the first time since coming back, she hadn't been as receptive as he'd hoped she would be. She had kept stealing glances behind his back. When she had walked away and he'd turned to look, he had seen Crane through the glass window of the pharmacy across the street. Then he had gone to her office last week to visit her, but she hadn't been there so he had asked the law intern when she was coming back. As the young girl was consulting the secretary he'd overheard her say that Rachel hadn't been in for the morning and that Dr. Crane had called for her. When he'd gone to her apartment she wasn't there.

Then there was that little conversation tonight. She had seemed angry when she was told that Crane had moved Falcone to Arkham, and Bruce didn't think she was faking. She had been eager to get to Arkham, he had noticed, and she had left looking somewhat distressed. Even though his earpiece was not working properly and static had disrupted most of what was exchanged between them, he heard enough. Her back was all he could see, but Crane had appeared sorrowful. Between spurts of noise he had picked up Crane saying "—you can see" and Rachel, "—you enjoy..." before both were cut off. Both of them had said "I do" in soft voices and after some indistinct murmuring Rachel had clearly said "tonight". He had seen Crane look at her possessively before they had gone into the elevator. Then he had climbed back down to deal with the shock. She had asked her sweetheart for a favour regarding Falcone because of her job and he had undoubtedly complied. Bruce was enraged beyond belief. Just what did Rachel see in Crane anyhow? So he was a smart doctor, but was abusing his power and knowledge. He sure wasn't much to look at, Bruce thought, even though Rachel wasn't the superficial type. He was whiter than a stork's ass and he had a face like a gargoyle with a clown's greasepaint. He probably smiled twice a year, or every time he gassed one of his patients. He was obviously disturbed and apparently had a fetish for recycling his Irish Potato bags. Seriously, what grown man wore a burlap sack on his face to scare people? Did he have any idea justhow preposterous he looked? Probably not. Bruce supposed he had taken special care to actually stitch the mouthpiece and the eyeholes in their proper place so that he would look like a real scarecrow. Bruce paused to swipe away extra eyeliner he had used to colour his face where his mask failed to cover. He gritted his teeth; his irritation with the whole situation had reached exorbitant levels. He just could not process the fact that Rachel, his Rachel, was truly attracted to that sallow, slimy cretin. Regardless of that fact, he was going to deal with Crane, such that when he was finished scarecrook would need to wear his brown diaper bag 24/ 7.

He sighed with determination as he walked towards the asylum; he knew what he had to do.

A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed this one. There's just one more chapter to go, where Crane and Rachel have a final tête-à-tête before they leave the elevator and Batman gets himself involved in things.

Once again, reviews are welcome.

FalconHorror.