Readers, I love thee. Onto more Scarecrow/Josephine interaction!

There was a matter of seconds one had to wait before approaching a bus in Gotham. Many crammed onto it in hopes of finding that last gum spat on, dingy, sloppy, last seat. Pregnant women suffered. Gotham was not the town for chivalry. Tough luck for bringing in new life. No one cared. Life was born and taken away just as easily. It was ridiculous.

Josephine found herself caring less about the growing population. Even if she did care, she was taking out part of it. It was Darwinism if she cared. Survival of the fittest. Henchmen do badly, they die. Henchmen do well, they live another day. Good for them.

Her sunglasses slid down slightly as she exited the stop near the Narrows. She pushed them back, hiding her bright green eyes. She wore her casual clothes –very pedestrian –very normal. Her hair blew back from the wind. The locks flew over her shoulders and rested down her back.

There wasn't something to be worried about. It felt nice. To be somewhere without thinking you're going to be killed. Somehow being in the crowds did that. Of course, there was the occasional pickpocket. She had probably taught them a thing or two but not enough for them to beat her.

The Narrows were ahead.

Around her arm was a tote bag with some food supplies for the professor since she knew for a fact he did not keep a spare amount of anything to eat. Every once in a while when she visited him, she would cook a hot meal for his enjoyment. He rarely commented on it, but it was nice all the same to know that those few pounds he gained on his gangly form were courtesy of her.

There was a small marketplace near the bad residency area. It was a bohemian place she stopped for now and again. Her clothing choice was not too out of the ordinary for this crowd. She wore a scarf from a thrift store, and jeans to match. Her wrists jangled with ringlets. Chocolate locks fell forward as she picked up some merchandise. The cloth was smooth and soft, something Professor Crane might like to try, something easy to steal if the shopkeeper weren't standing over her.

Someone bumped her.

She whipped around to see who it was but no one was in sight. She turned back to the clothing but shrugged it off. Not worth the trouble.

She entered the Narrows.

Checking her back, she entered though the chain fence where the supposedly abandoned apartment was ahead. She climbed up the emergency escape and into the apartment.

Damian took a walk.

He only did this when another moment in the stormy house was too much to take. He could not stand being there sometimes. Even if it was his choice, his father could not always be right.

He was dressed in his casual attire: wind jacket, long sleeve shirt, pants, and shades: The model of the American teenager.

He decided to jog around the grimier parts of the city, away from the bourgeoisie. He had seen and heard enough of the elite. They annoyed him past all elements. The hoity-toity crowds were high in authority because of their riches and their worthiness of social qualities. These attributes that defined these people were only structured to fit the higher class. In Arabia, he was high class. He was born of the great Al Ghul line. The Blood of the Demon was his by birthright. He was a trained warrior, an assassin, someone of importance. It meant something.

Here he was as Bruce Wayne's son.

It meant something else. He was the playboy's son. He was supposedly pampered without a care. They treated him as such: they treated him as one of them.

He walked where few of the elite walked. The Narrows were an interest to him. Ugly and decrepit, yes, but interesting. Strange people would crowd around the marketplace, looking for low price goods for small homes they could barely afford. Most dressed in poor clothing.

One person stood out.

She wore a bit nicer clothing: jeans, shirt, coat…some patches were sewn in them but she looked taken care of. Her stature was unusually tall for the others in the crowd, although she may have only been about five eight. She looked through some clothing, although didn't seem too interested in it.

He felt a tug when he gazed on her.

There was something about her. Something was different. As if she wasn't supposed to be there.

He walked closer to get a closer look. He peered at her visage but it was turned and her glasses hide part of her face. He would have seen her if a shopkeeper hasn't knocked into him, startling those around him. His instincts told him to leave immediately, or else cause a fuss.

As he made his departure, he bumped into the girl.

But as she turned to see him, he was already climbing a railing.

As Josephine entered the apartment, the clock read eleven fifteen. She was early. Perfect.

She set down the supplies she had gathered from the marketplace and set to work cooking lunch. Tomato soup was on the menu today. She doubted the good doctor would have had a good hot meal since she last came. It was only noodles with him. Not even good noodles, Ramen noodles, found cheap. She sometimes wondered if he knew that he could just steal some good food instead of finding measly scraps. He was, after all, a brilliant man.

With the pot hot with tomato sauce and milk, she set out to find him. The kitchen was first in the apartment. Then the living area sat undisturbed. There were three bedrooms. One of which was his, and another used for a small office. Downstairs was the basement, aka the lab. She checked in the office first and found him asleep again the desk.

Upon seeing his stance, she realized he must have gotten home late in the morning and collapsed on the chair and table. His breathing was heavy, but he did not snore. Nor, did he drool or do anything seen as disgusting in his sleep. He was soundly unconscious. Josephine returned to the kitchen.

She came back with a steaming bowl of soup and set it on the desk. She knelt down and peered into his quiet face. Even in his sleep, he did not look peaceful. His brow was furrowed in deep thought. His mouth was fixed in a frown. Auburn hair laid a mess. Carefully, she pressed two fingers against his neck.

He awoke suddenly. His head twitched into consciousness, eyes blinking as his fingers found and rubbed them.

"What are you doing," he said.

"Checking for a pulse." She smiled.

The bowl moved toward him.

"I made you something to eat. I know you're probably hungry. You never eat anything."

He gave her a long look. It was not an unusual comment. Everyone said that to him: Rouges, doctors, even the victims he sometimes tested his chemicals on. His frailty was always the subject of conversation. What he did not what to hear was his dietary habits from his assistant.

"Thank you for your input," he said, picking up a spoon and began ladling the red liquid. He slapped it back onto the table when his tongue realized the temperature.

"It's hot."

"I realize that now," he barked.

"Hold on, I'll get something to clean that up." She went from the room and came back with a roll of paper towels. "Here," she handed him one.

He said nothing and mopped up the small mess.

"When will we start today?"

"As I recall from this morning, very early this morning, I said noon. This feels much earlier."

"It's eleven thirty."

"And you wake me early to be scalded with your food?"

"If you don't want my cooking, just say so. You don't have to insult me. Its soup; you should know the temperature. Besides, I was only trying to be nice."

He ignored this and lifted the spoon, blowing on it first before placed it in his mouth. He let it sit for a moment before swallowing. It was nice to have some good food here. He did not say this.

Josephine picked up on it and dropped the conversation as he ate in peace. She left and came back with her own bowl and joined him. They remained in silence until he had finished with her only a few mouthfuls left.

"How much exactly did Nightwing confiscate?"

He placed the bowl away.

"About two thirds of it."

"We needed those two thirds. The supplies don't come cheap anymore, nor are they easy to steal."

"The fear toxin will be made again. I have some stored here for that occasion. However, it is not enough to sustain that amount. For this reason, I mapped out possible points in the city where there may be supplies. I will need you to fetch these for me."

Fetch. Josephine did not like the word. She was not a dog.

"And how exactly should I get these supplies? I am supposing that their sources will need either underground seizure or smooth talk from my position. What will it be?"

He leaned in his chair, not looking at her, brows furrowed, mouth frowning. The idea flickered behind his eyes like a candle.

"Two chemicals are needed for this that I myself cannot obtain through bribery from a foreign market. I need you to get these." He paused, not because it was difficult for him to tell her, but he wanted to make a dramatic point of how urgently he needed these. She needed to pay attention. "One –is with Poison Ivy."

Josephine shuddered noticeably. Aunt Ivy. She was afraid of that. Poison Ivy had been a close relative all her life. Obtaining a plant from her would feel almost like rape. What with her not visiting often and what happened to her mother…her surrogate favorite may not be enough to assuage her to comply.

"You resist."

"No, I- "

What did she think? Would she do it? Could she do it? She did not want to disappoint. She had on other occasions and did not want this to be another of them.

"State what you need." Her eyes stared defiance.

Dr. Crane stared back with an amused expression. His little protégée was rebellious. He admitted he enjoyed seeing her riled at something he said. He had witnessed her anger elsewhere but she was growing more and more with each passing year. It was…different. It was…shall he say? Delightful.

"It is a plant called Solanaceae. You remember?"

She nodded diplomatically. She knew the physique. "Nightshade."

"It's poisonous properties are vital to the toxin's qualities. It is what makes the user hallucinate." He drew closer to her. "I need this plant, Josephine."

She did not draw back. His closeness was something she did not expect, nor encourage. But found it not unwanted. She shivered slightly. She understood what he asked. Why he asked. She was the only person who could do it. She was the only person he could trust to do it.

"And the other ingredient?"

"Falcone."

Josephine exhaled loudly. Her breath caught. She was about to say yes when an inkling intruded her thought process. The mafia. The boy. One she killed. The youth inside. That one boy.

Then it hit her.

He was a…a...oh no...

That mafia. They knew her. Oh, they knew her well. What she did. Once they found out. Oh, they knew now, they knew…

"Are you insane…" she breathed.

"The public," he grimaced.

"You don't understand…they will kill me…"

"I thought the clown's daughter was unstoppable. Powerful. Fearless…."

"There is a line. I crossed that line last night." She did not go further. She could not. It would be betraying her father.

"You must get your priorities in line, Josephine. You need to choose the one you have the most loyalty to. Your father endangers you. Whether or not you allow that is your decision but do not let him do it. Do you understand me?"

He did not speak with fervor. He did not speak with any tone of love or admiration. He merely said these words as if he were teaching a seminar in his old classroom at Gotham University.

Josephine shook her head, pulling her knees to her chin. I was child-like, she admitted, but sometimes it helped.

"I- They will kill me. They will if they decide to. After what I did…they will."

Professor Crane tapped his fingers on the oak. He did not speak for several minutes. She could merely sit and watch him, but turned away in disgrace.

"Very well. I will have one of the henchmen go in."

"…you-?"

"You are not obviously up to the task for reasons you won't explain. Fine. We all have our secrets. You won't have to go in there. However, the deal I will make is this: You will tell me what happened that makes you so afraid of them."

Josephine knew this was a deal with the devil. In telling him the secret, she would have to tell him her father's plan. Total betrayal. It was the price for her life.

"Professor what you ask is-"

"Fair."

She knew she could not dissuade him from it. She must make up her mind.