Trigger Warning: Self-harm, dubious consent, violence

Nightmares

Brigid was standing by a creek, she could feel the soft sandy silt of the bank under her feet. The smell of fresh water in late spring, the cool breeze that was carried with it enveloped the world around her. It was only because it was a dream, she was able to know her friend Eddie was down the stream though she couldn't actually see him. She walked into the creek, wading downstream with the current. It was a nice day, and something about this day seemed familiar, though Brigid couldn't focus enough to figure out what memory this could be from.

Eddie was sitting in the water on his knees, sitting where the water ran shallow. He looked up at her with a disappointed expression. A gust of wind blew clouds across the sky, and the once luminescent forest became dark. His hair whipped about his face, but his expression didn't change.

"You won't be able to find any arrowheads no matter how hard you try," Brigid said, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. Eddie's face remained unchanged. Undeterred, she continued walking closer to him. "All that runoff from the coal mines would've buried anything that might've been here."

There was a thunderous noise from the forest behind them. Eddie looked up at her from his seat in the water, his brown eyes were rich under his blond lashes. It struck her, like it had every time she looked at him, how long his eyelashes were for a boy.

"You won't be able to help me Bri." He said sadly, his gaze teeming with a depth of grief so deep, that his sorrow washed over her like cold water. "I don't want you to try, because you can't. You can't fix this."

The thundering noise grew closer, sharp cracks of wood ringing out now. Panic started to bloom in her chest. Just as she was about to reach out and grab Eddie's arm, to pull him up out of the water and away from the frightening noise, a large black shadow crashed down the bank scattering stones and branches, causing her to fall back. It had been running towards them so fast, that when it fell it sounded like a gunshot, sharp and deafening. She couldn't see Eddie anymore, the thing was so enormous it blocked out everything. It had risen up to face her, and it now towered over her, the shadow it cast turning day into night.

Brigid raised her arms, trying to hold her ground against the bear and make herself seem bigger than she was. She needed to get behind it, no matter how scared she was, she needed to get back to Eddie because, even if it made no sense, if she didn't... If she didn't- something terrible was going to happen. Something so awful, that once it happened, you couldn't change it. Nothing could be the same again if she couldn't get them away from the bear.

But every step she took, the bear took as well. Bearing its terrible maw, it swiped at her with claws as big as knives. It came so close to her face, she could smell the horrid burning stink and it almost made her feet slip against the slick creek stones. She knew she couldn't take a step back, the only way through this now was forward. Brigid clenched her jaw, and screaming she ran forward, charging the bear. It happened so quickly, by the time she had crashed into the bear, and felt its nightmarish corpse-worm fur against her face, she felt the shocking burn of pain up her left arm from its teeth sinking in with a deafening crack.

Nightmares

The next thing she was aware of, was the horrible sting in her arm and the realization she had fallen off of the couch. Her heart was pounding, and she was covered in sweat. Already most of the dream was fading, but the fear of it stuck around. Brigid sat in the silence, trying to hold on to the most important parts, but even eventually Eddie's face faded. She didn't want to reflect much on why she'd had that particular nightmare; though the details became foggy, it had been a common one when she'd been younger. She rubbed her hands together, trying to get the pain from the scar to fade. She supposed she must have hit it on the table when she fell.

Sighing, she fixed herself a cup of coffee to calm her nerves. She shouldn't have gone to sleep with so much unresolved emotional turmoil; the stress was a perfect recipe for nightmares. But, in a way, she began to feel like it strengthened her resolve. Brigid had come here to do her job, and there was something undeniably wrong with Dr. Crane. He wasn't just unlikeable, or difficult to deal with, there was something malicious in him that he was covering up. Part of her wanted very much to trust him, because in his unlikable way, he had been very kind. But it was that very feeling that made her more sure of her suspicion.

There was no direct evidence, no obvious behavior that could explain it, but she knew very well she'd been manipulated. Brigid couldn't figure out exactly what for, or how long he'd been influencing her. She had no doubt he at least didn't know about her extracurricular activities at the house. From his reaction last night, he hadn't known she had spoken with Ms. Dawes or Jim Gordon either. She needed to continue investigating, maybe call and see if she could find any information about the Keeney family. There had to be a reason that address was in his office, there was no way it could be random. And then, Brigid needed to see the basement. It was the unknown variable, the thing that had been haunting her all these weeks. She reasoned, at least if she could just see evidence of construction workers going down there, or any evidence of repairs, she'd know. But if she didn't see them by this week, she was going to go down there, security cameras be damned.

Then a breath escaped her as a horrible realization interrupted her thoughts, almost making her choke on her coffee. Cassie Cain.

Dr. Crane had held Ms. Cain's future in the balance, and she hadn't even realized it. She had remembered that snide indulgent expression he had on his face when they had discussed her case. He had planned on approving things; but he hadn't made any real promises had he? Brigid had to admit, it was very clever. She hadn't even noticed that he had simultaneously both given her what she wanted and displayed his ability to take it away at any time. Dr. Crane hadn't even needed to make an open threat. He had slipped a noose around her neck, and she hadn't even felt the rope tighten.

Was that why he had gotten so close to her? Last night, she'd almost thought he was going to try to kiss her. Normally she wouldn't have minded a friendly good looking man kissing her under more casual circumstances, she wasn't insane, but Dr. Crane wasn't friendly. He could pretend to be engaging, but Brigid could always tell there was nothing but a cold disdain under the mask. Touching her arm, feeling the old wound there, was entirely intentional. Like he was graciously giving her a hint that she had already been outmaneuvered, and she hadn't even known.

Jesus, I feel fucking crazy, she groaned internally. It was if she was playing a game of chess against an invisible opponent, whose pieces were annoyingly invisible as well.

She picked up her phone, finding Ms. Dawes number. If she was crazy, then she wouldn't find anything; no harm, no foul. Pressing the dial button, she listened to the ring and waited.

"Hello? Ms. Grey?"

Brigid shifted the phone to her shoulder. "Hi, so I have sort of a favor to ask. I know it might be a bit difficult,"

She heard Ms. Dawes take a deep breath before she said, "Go ahead."

Brigid cleared her throat, then dove in. "I found an address that's owned by Arkham, a few days ago at work. The thing is, I'm a bit confused why the hospital owns it. It looks like they purchased it just a couple of years ago."

"Do you think it could be something illegal?" Ms. Dawes said with a sharp intake of breath.

Brigid didn't want to admit she had trespassed illegally on the property, especially to the assistant D.A. "I don't know. Honestly, from what I found, all I know is that it was owned by the Keeney family before Arkham got it. They're from Georgia, I can give you the addresses. I wanted to see if maybe there was anything criminal connected to them somehow."

Ms. Dawes sighed. "I can see if I can get anything from the local department down there. It may be a few days, if they decide to send me anything at all." She paused for a moment, thinking over something. "Out of curiosity, was there anything else you found?"

"There was a second address, but it was just somewhere at a storage place near the Docks."

"Do you have that address? I'd like to check it out if I could." Her voice had shifted, now Ms. Dawes was all business, Brigid could hear scratching in the background as she hurriedly wrote down the two addresses.

"You want to know something? We finally got Victor Szas to stand trial last week, he was one of Falcones top hitmen for years. He would have served eight consecutive life sentences with all the evidence we had against him," Ms. Dawes went on, her tone growing colder as she explained. Brigid winced internally. She had seen Victor Szas's induction paperwork, though hadn't known the official details of his trial. "If Dr. Crane hadn't gotten him moved to Arkham. Again."

Ms. Dawes sighed, then continued, "The second address at the Docks will be difficult. I'm going to try to get approval on a warrant to search it, but because it's private property, that'll take much longer. And that's if they approve it."

"You're sure it's not just some facility to store medications?" Brigid asked.

"No. Unfortunately I'm pretty familiar with that address. It's listed officially as a dry dock for boats, but it's used to store old shipping containers. Falcone and his nephew have interests there that we've investigated before. I'm going to see if there are any tax records, any records at all of Arkham owning or renting a container there." In the background, a drawer slammed shut. "Now we have an address though at least I have a starting point, so seriously, thank you."

"No problem," Brigid said. "If I see anything else that may help, I'll send it your way."

Ms. Dawes thanked her, and after saying a quick goodbye, they hung up.

The phone call made her feel better, in a way. She had to be very cautious about reporting her suspicions now, until she could be sure Ms. Cain's parole wouldn't be influenced by a spiteful Dr. Crane. Of all the minors in the facility, Ms. Cain had, in her opinion, really been rehabilitated. She had learned ASL, become literate and showed an ability to handle complex social situations without anxiety. The fact of it was, she didn't really need to be there any longer. She deserved to have a fair hearing, to have a chance at a life again. The poor girl had been living in the hospital since she was ten. From what Brigid had learned from her files, the only reason she was committed to Arkham was because she was completely unable to speak, and had been so abused and neglected she didn't understand what the police officers were saying. Ms. Cain had a right to choose how, and where, she wanted to live her life.

Nightmares

The rest of the weekend, Brigid focused on the task at hand. She had a lot to do, following up with the state hospital that the minors were being transferred to, making sure their case workers were in contact with Maggie from Gotham's social services department. Even though they were being transferred outside of Gotham, because this was their home, Brigid wanted to ensure that they had a solid support system if they needed it. Much of her time in the hospital that week was spent artfully avoiding Dr. Crane as much as possible, and working with Ms. Cain directly. John, one of the adult patients, had become increasingly strange. Any time she approached, or was walking down the ward, his eyes tracked her. He normally wasn't very talkative, but his aggressive outburst in the past concerned her, and she didn't relish the idea of being the next person to be smashed across the face with a clipboard.

Victor Szas was also quiet. He had been separated into a more secured cell, in the high security ward, but like John, he had an eerie air of patience surrounding him. He hadn't attempted to harm any orderlies or nurses, not yet anyway, but she had the distinct sense he was just going through the motions. Waiting for something. That aside, she still hadn't seen anything, any abuse or abnormal practices that she could report on. This was her final week before she would be working more directly with social services. After that, she wouldn't have access to most parts of the hospital.

By Thursday evening, Brigid had received an email from Ms. Dawes with the information she had gotten from the address in Gotham, and the police department in Georgia. Ms. Dawes had been able to find an old copy of the deed for a large piece of property in Georgia, and a death certificate from Gotham's Vital Records Department. Both records were in the same name: Mary Keeney, the woman Brigid had seen in the photo. She had burned to death in that church, her death was ruled accidental. She died a little over thirteen years ago. There was also something else that was included, an incident report filed by Abigail O'Shay.

Brigid scanned through the text quickly. It was a police report from five years ago, apparently filed by Ms. O'Shay, who had been a student at Arkham University. The girl had filed a complaint against one Dr. Jonathan Crane, who had reportedly displayed a firearm in the classroom, and fired a blank at her directly. Officer Gordon took the initial report, though further down the report another officer had written, in sloppy large letters: DROPPED NO CHARGES FILED.

A chilling feeling crept up the back of her spine. Why would he fire a gun in a classroom? The information about Ms. Keeney was near useless, and hadn't resolved any of her questions about why Arkham had anything to do with her properties. But the information about Crane firing a gun in class, loaded with blanks or otherwise, was alarming. His background check had come back clear, he was never reprimanded by the college and it didn't appear that any other students had reported him, which confused Brigid. Thinking about it, it did correspond to his change in employment, though it was highly unlikely he would have been allowed to practice psychiatry if that incident had occurred.

All Friday, she thought about that report. Every time she used the elevator, she stared at the basement level. Construction workers had been here in the evenings, though she had only seen them one evening that she happened to stay late.

She was on her way to Crane's office, and tried to shove those thoughts to the side. He would probably expect her to be friendly, and she needed to act exactly as if she hadn't seen anything at all. He would probably have already noticed she'd been avoiding him, though she could chalk that up to coincidence if he brought it up. Which, he probably wouldn't.

Brigid took a deep breath once she stepped out onto the top floor. She narrowed her focus, and mentally steeled herself. Knocking on the door, she heard Dr. Crane say, "Come in,"

She took her seat, same as always. Dr. Crane had his glasses off, and subconsciously she arranged her notes and pushed her glasses up her nose. Smiling politely, she asked, "How are things going?"

Dr. Crane returned her smile with his own cold one, "Very good actually. I've reviewed the notes on Ms. Cain's recent sessions. She seems to be adjusting very well so far."

It took almost no effort to let her smile become more genuine. "So, you think that she'll be released?"

"Yes. Her interment here was based solely on her ability to function in the outside world. I couldn't see any reason they wouldn't rule in her favor. Cases like hers are rare, but legally the goal is to be sure they can learn to live in society."

Brigid wanted to be reassured by his answer, but his lofty tone, and the casual way he said it, like it was of no importance, gave her pause. Crane was looking at her, leaning back slightly in his chair.

"I suppose all we can do now is wait, and hope it goes well for her then. Other than that, I didn't really have anything else to discuss with you. I spoke with the state hospital, they sent me the transfer documents and they appear to be in order. Social Services has already contacted them as well." Brigid said. Crane continued looking at her, and just as she was about to ask if he had heard her, he leaned forward and spoke.

"Do you know how long you'll be staying in Gotham Ms. Grey?"

Brigid smiled and answered good naturedly, "Probably another month or so. Why, I'd thought you'd be sick of me be now,"

He smiled back at her, seeming more friendly now. "Well, I'll admit I was a bit concerned." When he saw Brigid's confused expression, he opened a drawer and began searching for something in his desk. "I noticed that building you're staying in is quite old,"

"Yeah, well. That's the government for you," She said, keeping her voice friendly though she was still confused at the sudden turn in conversation.

Dr. Crane, apparently having found what he was looking for, laid a newspaper on the desk and flipped it to a page, folding it neatly so a single article stuck out. His eyes were boring into hers, and she found she couldn't look away. Still smiling, he tapped on the newspaper to bring her attention to it.

"This was another building that burned down last night, old wiring sparked something and it burned right to the ground. Most of the buildings in the Narrows, which is where you're staying, are hardly up to code." Brigid kept her face vaguely concerned as she leaned forward over the article to read it. It was the house by the ocean, the one formerly owned by the late Mary Keeney. The fire had also spread to the church. By the time firefighters had arrived, the structure was almost entirely destroyed. Luckily, it hadn't spread to any structures nearby.

"Thankfully no one was hurt. I imagine it'd be an awful way to die." Brigid leaned back, he observed her with a shrewd expression. She was intentionally refusing to play along, instead choosing to pretend to ignore his threat. After finally picking up on his mind games, she could see now this was exactly like the incident a few weeks ago, when he had snatched the paper from her hands. He was gauging her boundaries, trying to figure out what buttons he could push to get a reaction.

The point of this wasn't to threaten her, that would be too simple. If he was intending to just threaten her, he would have been less ham handed about it. Brigid had come to realize that everything Dr. Crane did was intentional. This was meant to see how she would react when presented with a threat, and possibly to try to figure out if she had been to the house. She hoped that if she pretended to be ignorant and ignore the bait entirely, she could regain some control over the conversation.

"It would be, wouldn't it?" He said thoughtfully. Brigid gave him a slightly unimpressed look, that clearly expressed her feeling that this conversation was becoming a waste of time. He was about to say something else, when his phone rang. Dr. Crane answered curtly, before standing up and asking the person on the line to wait. He gave her an imperfectly apologetic smile that didn't reach his eyes. "If you could wait a moment. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Brigid turned in his seat, trying to answer him as walked towards the door, "Um, yeah. I guess," She was trying to find a way to just cut the meeting short, but he was already outside the door. She looked back down at her watch for a moment to check the time, when she could have sworn she heard a small click. Keeping her movements very controlled, she managed not to turn around and look at the door. After moments, she heard Crane's voice disappear down the hallway.

Letting out a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding; she stood up quickly, looking around the room. Brigid knew this might be her last chance to find anything of value, and she wasn't going to waste time checking to see if the door was locked. He had probably just done it as a diversion, to distract her from being able to search. Quickly, she started scanning the bookshelves, looking for anything that might be useful. Dr. Crane had things sorted alphabetically by author, which became confusing, so she tried not to focus on the titles and searched instead for any pages sticking out of books, small folders or scraps of paper, anything that looked out of the ordinary.

In the small alcove holding the scarecrow painting, she found one thin black spined book, crammed against the side of the shelf. It was half hidden by more prestigious tomes, and she almost didn't see it. Quickly, she pulled it out, straining to pay attention to Crane's voice outside in case he started coming back. Turning it over in her hand, she saw it was an old, slightly yellowed composition notebook. It was one of those ones you bought for a few cents in a dollar store, it's edges slightly cracked and worn from use. Before she could think twice about what she was doing, she rushed over to stuff the book in her folders under her own notepad. After checking to make sure it was well hidden and not wanting to push her luck, she sat back down at the desk.

Taking care to slow her breathing she waited patiently, struggling to force her muscles to relax. After a few minutes, she heard a sound so quiet, she almost missed it. Dr. Crane had unlocked the door so carefully it made only the faintest whisper before he opened the door. Composed now, she turned to look at him as he came around the desk. He was standing straighter now with a very faint smile. His gaze was distant as he stared out the window.

Then, as if some invisible spell was broken, his eyes became sharp again as he turned his attention on her. "I'm sorry about that. Brigid, I just got a call from the police department. I have to go down to the holding station. Could I ride in the taxi with you? It'll save me some time."

Brigid felt more uncomfortable now that he had apparently decided they were on a first name basis, but she smiled politely and said, "Sure, makes sense to me,"

Dr. Crane smiled gratefully, and walked around his desk to grab his briefcase and glasses. She watched him carefully, silently hoping that he didn't notice the tiny gap on the other side of the room where she had stolen the book.

Carefully, she slipped the files and folders into her own briefcase while Dr. Crane was putting on his glasses and coat. He dialed the cab for them, and they walked out of the office together. Brigid made a point to stare at the elevator at the end of the hallway as he locked the door. The sound of it clicking was much louder now, though it was the same exact sound from earlier, confirming her suspicion that he had in fact locked her in the office.

She felt the light touch of his hand on her elbow, prompting her to walk towards the elevator. Brigid wondered what he had heard on the call that had changed his mood so drastically. He still wore that thin, smug smile, but at the same time he seemed oddly distracted. After they arrived on the first floor, Brigid retrieved her jacket, and they headed outside to wait for the cab. Normally, she would have waited inside where it was at least slightly warmer, but as she noticed Crane walking towards the door, she grudgingly accepted that wouldn't be an option today.

Resolutely keeping her expression neutral, she felt Crane's eyes on her again as she stared at the guardpost where the cab normally arrived. She didn't like the feeling of the hospital looming behind her.

"You don't have to keep calling me Dr. Crane."

She blinked, again pulled out of her thoughts. "I'm sorry?"

The look he gave her made her feel as if she was missing something obvious. "You looked surprised earlier, when I said your name." He explained, his brows raising critically, "You could loosen up a bit."

Brigid gave a slightly nervous laugh, rubbing her hands together to warm them. "Sorry. It's a habit I guess."

Dr. Crane watched her movement without expression. "Bad circulation?"

"You know what they say. Cold hands mean a warm heart," Brigid replied smoothly with a smile that Crane did not return. "But no. I just get cold easily."

Before Crane could reply, the taxi pulled up to the gate, and after a moment was let in, interrupting their conversation. Getting in the warm car, Brigid took a deep breath to steady herself. It was almost over, how she had kept this calm thus far was honestly a miracle. They sat in silence for a few minutes together, looking forward through the foggy glass that separated the front and back seat. Whatever the driver was listening to was loud enough to hear muffled noise, even through the glass. It didn't escape Brigid's notice that they were sitting so close, he could lean over and look in her briefcase very easily.

"Brigid," Dr. Crane began, before he stopped, seeming to choose his next words carefully. She turned towards him slightly, stuffing down the jolt of emotion that ran up her spine as she noticed how close he was to her. The taxi was already uncomfortably small, and with both of them having briefcases, there was even less room than she would've liked. His pale eyes were nearly luminous behind his glasses, and they were so close she couldn't focus on anything else.

Whatever he was going to say, she didn't know, because suddenly his hand had slid up into her braid, tangling in her hair. His nose was almost touching hers, and before she had realized she'd done it, her hand was resting on his shoulder. She fought the urge to look away. If she pulled away now, the game would be over. Checkmate. The smug attitude that Crane had since the phone call, was emanating from him in icy waves.

"Perhaps we could spend time together in a more personal setting," He breathed. Brigid didn't get a chance to try to disguise her confusion at the unexpected change in behavior because in the same breath he leaned forward, closing the small space between them. She didn't let herself think, because she was so close now to getting out of the car, this would hardly matter. The hand in her hair pressed her closer as his lips moved against hers.

She let him while she mentally tried to regroup, before she decided to let her eyes close and kissed him back, letting him take the lead. At the very least she could guess that's what he wanted, and if he was focused on this he wouldn't be staring at her, trying to catch her slipping up. Her briefcase was pressed safely between her leg and the door. His other hand was now clutching the arm with the scar. Under the layers, he couldn't have felt it, but he knew it was there. Her pounding heart skipped a beat painfully, and she felt him pressing them closer for a moment, his teeth grazing her bottom lip in the process. Finally, she pulled away, and he let her without comment, choosing instead to watch her with an amused expression.

Brigid smiled, and hoping to break the sudden awkward atmosphere said jokingly, "I'd accuse you of being unprofessional and trying to blackmail me, but I suppose that shipped sailed about an hour ago,"

His smile curved up at the edge, and shaking his head slightly he said, "You could say that I'd already thought of that." Brigid noticed he still hadn't released her arm. The car began to slow, pulling over to a stop in front of her building.

Dr. Crane's hand squeezed her arm before finally he released it. "See you soon,"

"Yep. Don't try to have too much fun," She replied, picking up her briefcase and opening the door to leave. She somehow had kept her tone friendly, even after all of that. Just as the car door was closing, she thought him say;

"I don't have to try,"

Making a point not to look behind her at the departing taxi, she went inside, up to her apartment. The doorman, a Mr. Flighcatchner was sleeping, yet again, which made it easy to quickly shuffle away. It felt like a shard of dry ice had been rammed down her throat. When she was able to reach the sanctuary of the apartment, the facade finally broke.

As soon as the door was locked and closed, she leaned her back against it, her breath now coming out in shocking bursts as if she'd run here from Arkham. The briefcase dropped to the floor loudly with her coat as she slid down the door, finding herself unable to even support her own weight anymore. The cold, that hateful chill that had settled in when Crane kissed her, spread out like a poison, making her feel numb.

By the time she was able to stand up, her joints were stiff from sitting on the floor and her movements felt alien and mechanical. She sat on the couch, opening her computer to send an email to her supervisor, advising she was requesting to use agency to privately investigate the situation in her final weeks. Then, pulling out the battered stolen notebook, she ran her fingers over it's worn edges, and carefully opened it to the first page.