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I've moved the OC analysis to my journal, because it's spawned quite an intriguing discussion. The details of that discussion would be longer than this chapter. Thank you to everyone who has weighed in here, and thank you to the those of you who have always been honest, supportive, and have approached critique from both a writing stand-point and an entertainment standpoint.

Coffee
by Jack Velvet

Bruce left early, hoping that Crane wouldn't mind absconding an hour earlier. Of course, the possibility that Jon wouldn't be at Le Café yet existed, but he knew that he could just order their coffees and get to his apartment to pick him up. During winter, sunlight faded fast, and he didn't want to give Croc's crooks an edge.

He spent some time researching Pamela Isley, since he needed that information badly and knew his plans were now skewed. He found a link to botany, and a couple of abstracts and studies with her name on them regarding—much to his delight—chemical compounds in plants and their effects on organic tissue. He couldn't figure a motive, but understanding a little bit more about the person behind the robberies and Crane's copied toxin gave him a much needed edge.

But in his haste to do Batman's homework, he forgot to notify Alfred about the other part of the night. He dialed the manor's number.

"Yes, Master Wayne?"

"I'm having a guest over tonight. Would you mind cooking a vegetarian meal? No chicken stock or anything."

"Why, I do believe I have quite a few ingredients on hand, sir. Who, may I ask, is coming?"

Bruce cleared his throat. Rachel. "Crane."

"Are you out of your mind, sir? I hope I don't have to remind you of what he did to the city, let alone Miss Dawes. Do you really think she'd approve of this?"

"I have to hide him, and I don't know how else to do it without putting him in danger. Croc wants him by midnight."

"So let 'im have 'im."

"Can't. They need Crane—" Like I do. "—to finish a toxin for them. They'll break him."

"Just because you've been spying on him all winter doesn't mean he can be trusted. Have you prepared for the worst-case scenario?"

"I thought so—"

"We're going to need to work on that, Master Wayne. Preparing for everything—every situation you can imagine—not just the typical ones."

"You're right, but for now, this is what has to be done."

Alfred's voice showed definite signs of him being irate. "Of course, sir."

"You'll leave the rat-poison out of it, right?" Bruce joked. He wondered if he should have been more serious.

Alfred was not amused. "That's not the sort of justice that Rachel would approve of."

"Thanks Alfred."

"Good-bye, Master Wayne."

Hanging up, Bruce made a few more turns, and was on Elmwood. He found the perfect spot in front of Le Café, but to his surprise, the place was clear. Neither Lucy nor Tara could be seen.

"Hello?" Bruce called out once he made it to the register, resting his hands on the counter. He heard the muffled sounds of the girls, and a clanking of dishes. Did I catch them during a cleaning spree?

"Bruce?" Lucy shouted. "Hang on."

Distress? "Tara back there too?"

The girls appeared, Lucy's arm swept around a noticeably shaken Tara. "This is a really bad time," Lucy said. "But...God, we're so glad to see you."

"What happened?" Bruce asked. Were they robbed? Where are the police?

Lucy curled Tara in. "We were just hanging out, waiting for you or Jonny Newspaper or Mr. and Mrs. Webber to drop by, and Tara was telling me about Pam when—"

Time stopped. "Pam?" Bruce inquired. Alfred's words echoed.

"Her sister," Lucy said. "Anyway, these three guys rushed in, and were demanding to know about Jonny Newspaper."

Oh God no. "To know what?"

"Where he lived." Lucy bit her lip, discomfort obvious. "And they hassled Tara, until finally I—I told them." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know what to do...I thought they were really going to hurt her!"

Bruce inspected Tara, and noticed a red mark around her left wrist. Bastards! "Did you call the police?"

"Not yet..." Tara muttered.

Bruce put a hand through his hair. "I'm going to go check on him. Lucy, call the police and tell them what happened. Tell them where the guys were going, and who they were looking for."

"What kind of trouble is Jon in?" Lucy asked, concerned.

"I don't know," Bruce lied.

Lucy patted Tara, and moved for a pot of coffee. She poured a cup for him, capped it, then set it on the counter. "On the house. Take it."

Bruce nodded. "Lipstick?"

Lucy wiped away another tear. "Yeah, exactly."

xoxox

The pain in Jon's cheek pulsed. He understood what motivated criminals to sway people with pain, but he wasn't a fan of their methods when used on him.

"Couldn't you have just taken me already?"

"Nah." One of the men cracked his knuckles. "You need to know what Croc is gonna do to ya if ya don't cooperate when you get there."

"Yeah," a goofier one added. "Just take what we're doing and multiply it by a lot."

Another punch landed, this time in his stomach. Jon gasped for breath, trying his hardest not to give in and freak out. It will only increase my suffering if I hyperventilate. Amusing himself, he gave them each their own nicknames, hoping that a sprinkle of humour in his mind would act as a distraction from the pain.

The tallest of them, Big Head, paused. "Wait, you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" said Goof.

Idiot, the one beside Crane that dealt the most damage, hit him again. "I ain't hearin' nothin' but my fist poundin' this skinny-ass jerk."

"Naw," Big Head said, creeping to the door. "I mean for real. Thought I heard a door and some footsteps in the hall."

"Ain't no one else live here, right?" Idiot asked Jon, leaning in. "Right?"

Jon didn't answer. Idiot's punch wasn't hard, but the oaf's ring cut his skin.

Big Head held up a finger. "Hang on," he whispered.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Looks like you gots a visitor!" Goof giggled.

"Jon?" the voice said. "Hey Jon, you in there?"

Get out, Bruce, thought Jon. He didn't want Croc's gang to use Bruce or his wealth in any way. Please leave now. Too late. Big Head opened the door a crack.

"Jonny-boy ain't home right now. He's out getting' snacks for the—ahh!" Big Head stumbled back, one hand clutching his wet, burnt face. The opening inhaled the other hand, then the door slammed against his wrist. An expensive shoe kicked him to the ground. The door closed.

"Aww shit," Idiot remarked. "Looks like your friend here thinks he can tango with us!" He shoved Jon to the ground, and walked to where Big Head was writhing.

Goof lumbered forward, and as he slowly turned the handle, the door knocked him in the face. Toes stubbed, Goof fell back. Idiot rolled him over with his foot, cursing at the lump for being so stupid, and opened the door. He didn't see much of the man who clocked him. The door closed again. Sirens drew near.

"Who is it?" Goof asked.

"I dunno!" Idiot answered.

"Is it the Bat?"

Big Head rubbed his eyes, unable to pull himself off the floor. "No, it ain't the Bat! Just some guy!"

"Then let's take 'im!" Idiot urged.

But the next time the door opened, they faced the police.

xoxoxo

Bruce lingered in Jon's kitchen, feigning pain in his punching hand as a medic applied ice to his knuckles. He watched Jon over the medic's shoulder, wishing that he could talk to him, but knowing he couldn't just yet. Police cameras flashed, and officers moved in and out. Then Gordon arrived.

An officer briefed him as he entered the apartment. Gordon issued a few orders and met with Crane. "You know the guys that did this?"

"No. I believe we went over this," Crane said. A medic stepped in and began her examination.

Gordon continued between the medic's questions. "Did they mention who they work for?"

"Croc." Crane blinked as a light shone in his eyes. "I have to move again."

"Blame my department all you want, Crane. Right now we're trying to help you, so you could at least cooperate."

"I am. That's all I know."

The medic bandaged the cut on his cheek. "Doesn't seem like a concussion," she said, "but you should get to the hospital to be sure. Sometimes head injuries don't get you 'til the next day."

"You'll need an escort," Gordon advised. "The second these guys' boss gets word of this, they'll send someone out to every hospital."

"I think I'll pass," Crane said. "On both. I wouldn't doubt that your men didn't already tip him off."

"Then I'll personally escort you," Gordon assured him.

"Going out of your way to be nice to me? How righteous of you."

Bruce approached, rubbing his wrist. It would be fruitless for Gordon and Crane to argue all day. "You okay?" he asked Jon.

"I'm fine," he answered.

"Mr. Wayne," Gordon addressed him, "you're a Good Samaritan, I'll give you that."

"Thanks," Bruce said.

Gordon continued. "But you might want to think about who you're friends with."

This is it, isn't it? "What's going on?"

"Gordon—" Jon started.

"Sorry, Crane." Gordon shook his head. "You want to tell him instead?"

Hearts beating fast, each knowing the big secret that would inevitably tear them apart, they stared at each other, waiting for Jon's resolve to break. Bruce didn't want to have to ask.

But Jon didn't speak.

"What are you involved with, Jon?" Bruce asked.

Jon took a deep breath and winced. A pain shot through his ribs. He wondered why the medic didn't check that. "I have a past—an abandoned past—that has gained the attention of those who wish to exploit it."

Bruce played dumb, but the Bat made a note at the mention of "abandoned." Is he lying out of fear that I'll be offended? Or is he telling the truth? The difference was difficult to discern when it came to Jon. "What did you do?"

Crane stayed silent, though he knew that Gordon would reveal it anyway. The longer he could delay the inevitable, the better.

And Gordon acted just as Crane predicted. "I figured you wouldn't recognize him. One his victims tried to press charges, but a court date couldn't be set because he escaped. When he was finally taken into custody, the court date was set back—back a little too far, if you ask me. The victim ended up murdered at the hands of an unrelating lunatic before her day in court. Those who picked up the case in her favor were paid off by the mob, allegedly." Gordon adjusted his glasses. "If this sounds familiar to you, then I wouldn't be surprised. This victim—one of many—was the late Rachel Dawes."

Bruce knew it and ignored it long enough. The pain he'd been holding back exploded in his chest. His eyes remained locked on Crane's. "Rachel and I grew up together," he uttered. Facing his friend's attacker this time, in this honest way, felt entirely different than when he fought Crane in Arkham. He wondered if Crane always knew that he and Rachel had been friends.

Jon desperately wanted to explain himself to Bruce—to let him know that things changed—but knew he couldn't give Gordon any sort of edge. If someone in his department was a leak, that leak had to think that Crane was still a cold-hearted bastard. Breaking his gaze with Bruce, he prodded, "Commissioner?"

Gordon nodded. "Mr. Wayne, we'll need a statement. We might ask you to come down to the station for some questioning. Even though you beat 'em up in defense, we need to have it on record."

"Right," Bruce nodded. "I'll head down there now."

xoxoxo

A plate of vegetables settled on the tray in front of Bruce.

"Sometimes I wonder why we have a dining room," Alfred said. "Ever since you've gotten that thing, you've taken all of your dinners in front of the TV."

"News is important, Alfred. They use it for information, and I need to be able to think like them."

Alfred glanced at the screen. "Looks like Uptown. Think this will draw the attention of Mr. Jones to the manor?"

"Let's see." Bruce turned up the volume on the live report. Summer Gleason, Gotham's top reporter, stood on-scene in front of Crane's apartment. Two squad cars and other reporters stayed behind her.

"Trouble on Watson street ended with three arrests. Gotham PD received a call earlier this evening, which brought them to this small apartment building in Uptown. Three men allegedly broke into the only occupied apartment, where they proceeded to attack the occupant.

"Uptown is undeniably shocked at the attack. Residents of the Elmwood Strip, where Watson is adjoined to, aren't used to violent crimes. Says one landlord, who wishes to remain anonymous, 'We don't see much action around here. We've seemed to escape the fate that the rest of the Gotham has in our little community, and hoped to keep it that way.'

"On a lighter note, residents were relieved to discover that the attack was stopped by a Good Samaritan. Marion Goodwill, owner of On-the-Go Goods and Convenience, located on the corner of Elmwood and Richmond, had this to say."

A pre-recorded clip popped on screen. A middle-aged woman with thick glasses appeared, shelves of canned goods in the background. A name-bar in the corner read: Marion Goodwill.

"It's good to know that there are citizens out there looking out for our neighborhood. This community won't stand for anything, and we're hoping that this person's example will be followed by others."

The camera switched back to Summer. "The names of both the victim and the Good Samaritan have been withheld by the Gotham PD for security reasons. The victim received minor injuries. Sources inside the department state that the victim had a criminal record, and that the attack is drug-related. Back to you, Don."

"Seems you've conveniently dodged a bullet, sir," said Alfred.

"Seems so," agreed Bruce, tuning to the other stations to be sure.

xoxoxo

With the Bat-signal broken and the city still under the assumption that Batman was a criminal, Commissioner Gordon had to find new places to meet with his masked acquaintance. Tonight they were outside of his home, trying to whisper so as to not wake Gordon's family, though Barbara couldn't sleep and eavesdropped on them. She'd always mixed feelings about the Batman; their intensity and duality had been amplified by Harvey Dent's attack.

"I'm sure you've noticed that Crane is cozying up to Bruce Wayne," Gordon said.

"They're being watched. Harmless so far. Wayne is unaware."

"Not anymore," Gordon said. "I mentioned Crane's connection to Dawes. It seemed to jar him."

It did. Thanks, Jim. "Pamela Isley. A botanist with her name on studies of organic chemicals. She's leading around Croc."

"Isley? Heard that name today. The girl assaulted at the café is named Isley. A sister, maybe?"

Tara—it is the same Pam. "She involved?"

"Doubtful. It's possible the sister mentioned Crane to Pamela, but as far as I can tell, none of the employees know Crane's identity." Gordon shook his head. "But that means we've got a lead."

Lucy said that Tara was starting to like Crane. It's possible Pamela discerned his identity from a physical description. "If Isley falls, so does Croc."

Gordon nodded. "Exactly."