Author's comments: Thank you so much to everyone who has faved and followed this story! And a massive thank you to omnomchocolate, Hench-Girl95, KnoKnayme, LookAtTheBeautifulDay and ferret assassin nin for reviewing! I'm very sorry that this chapter is a bit slow, it's laying some ground work for later on.

LookAtTheBeautifulDay – Thank you so much, your comment means a lot to me. I hope as the story progresses that it will show a more original plot line :)

ferret assassin nin – I hope I don't let you down!

I just thought I'd list a few really awesome Crane fanfictions on here that you should check out if you haven't already!

Agateophobia by TC Stark

Fearing Love by Hench-Girl95

Limerence by TC Stark

Scythe by Ennya

The Assistant by Magdalena Iris Roth

Disclaimer: I do not own batman

Chapter Three: Trying my best not to forget

Claire sat in bed, papers and pens littering the covers. She had to stop and rewind her dictaphone every few minutes because she had fallen asleep.

She sat up straighter and blinked, trying to force her eyelids as wide as possible. The numbers on her digital side table clock glowed red – 1:34am. At least she didn't have to be up in the morning. The novella A Clockwork Orangewas propped on the side table, a bookmark in its middle.

Claire yawned and rewound her dictaphone again. She needed to write up her notes from her session with Doctor Crane before she forgot the details and while she could still make sense of her rushed hand written notes.

She pressed play.

"-when I applied to the course." She hated the sound of her voice on tape.

"What made you do it in the end?" Doctor Crane's voice was the same cool perfection as it was in real life.

Claire rolled her neck; it gave a satisfying clock and typed a few lines on her laptop. She had been at the police station from nine to half three, Arkham from four to half five and had worked a five hour shift at the petrol station shop from seven. It wasn't a hard job, and it didn't pay well, but she had been standing for five hours straight and her feet still ached.

Her flat was small, a grand total of three rooms, a tiny bathroom that only just managed to fit in a toilet, sink and shower. A bedroom that could only hold her bed, wardrobe and a small set of draws she used as a bedside table and a kitchen/living room. The rent was still disgustingly high for what it was, but it was the cheapest place she could find that wasn't in the Narrows and she had promised her father that she wouldn't live in the Narrows.

Her internship with the Gotham police paid quite well for an internship, her work at the asylum was unpaid but counted towards her phD. She hardly kept up with the bills and university fees, even though she had a part time job. She had considered going full time but she didn't think she would be able to keep up with her studies.

"Do you like the woman your Father married?" Crane asked. Claire had forgotten the dictaphone was still running.

"Yes. She's very nice. I mean, my Dad's been with her since I was fifteen, it was no surprise they got married." Claire answered.

There was a pause; Claire could remember Crane nodding slowly, half listening to an unheard voice.

"Was it a surprise when he moved out of Gotham?"

"No, well, it was a surprise when he first got the job offer. But it paid more and Dad always wanted to move out of Gotham ever since we moved here." Claire laughed at herself, she sounded so young, like a child giving a presentation.

"She he moved to Chicago?"

"When I was seventeen."

"And you moved in with your sister?"

"Yes. But I don't live with her anymore, I moved out into my own flat when she got married."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty two."

"You don't live with anyone now?" She was certain the real question Doctor Crane was asking was whydidn't she live with anyone else.

"No." Most of her friends lived in the Narrows or university accommodation that she wasn't eligible for.

"Why did you move out?"

"They had just got married... I wanted to give them some 'room to breathe'."

Doctor Crane gave a small cough. "Going back to what you said earlier, 'your father wanting to move out of Gotham ever since he moved there'."

"Yes?"

"Where did you live before?"

"London, we moved to Gotham after my Mother died."

"Ah, that explains your accent."

"I'm sorry?" Claire remembered the blush that had burned her face and cursed herself, reliving the memory.

"It has a touch of an 'Atlantic' quality to it. A subtle note."

Claire's head snapped up, she hadn't realised that she had fallen asleep. She glanced at the clock, it had only been a few minutes.

"-So unfortunately, I didn't get it."

"I'm sorry to hear that, did they give you a reason why?"

"Well," Claire coughed on the recording. "Sort of, I mean, I can understand why, the Emel grant is for research that is an outstanding contribution to science, I don't think my research was up to scratch." Claire smiled.

"Who got the grant?"

"Simon Crinton. He's a medical student researching brain cancer." Claire had met the man a few times and he seemed nice, losing to him wasn't so bad.

"Psychiatry is never taken seriously enough next to medical practises." She hadn't noticed at the time, but the Doctor's voice sounded more like Scarecrow's, the alternate personality seeping through. She quickly typed onto her laptop and pressed play.

"It doesn't matter, there are always other grants."

"Hmm, perhaps something will come crashing along for you soon." Claire frowned at the odd choice of words.

Claire woke to the sound of her phone ringing. She pulled herself out of bed, glancing at the clock – 9:45am – and groaned. She hurried into the living room and answered.

"Hello?" Claire said hoarsely.

"Is that Miss Lamont?" A chirpy sounding woman asked.

"It is." Claire fiddled with the hem of her baggy red t-shirt, it used to have a band name printed on the front but it was long gone. However it was comfortable and her favourite top to sleep in. She was also wearing pyjama bottoms with pictures of cartoon cats on them.

"This is Stacey Lisbon, I'm calling on behalf of Mr Ben Followers, comity head for the Emel grant," Claire's eyes widened and she stood up straight. "We're pleased to inform you that you have been awarded it this year." Claire swore. "I'm sorry?"

"No, sorry, I just, really?" She ran her hand through her hair and paced backwards and forwards.

"Yes Miss Lamont, the board were very impressed with your presentation and-"

"I'm really sorry to interrupt, but I thought Simon Crinton had been given the grant?"

"Well, that's correct." The woman seemed less chirpy. "But I'm afraid because of his recent predicament-"

"Recent predicament?" Claire frowned.

"He died last night in a car crash." Claire froze, her brain playing and rewinding the same scene.

"Hmm, perhaps something will come crashing along for you soon."

Present Day

"Don't call her that." Daniels scowled at Paul.

"It's fine." Claire said, looking away. "It's what he knows me as."

"That doesn't make it okay." Daniels put the small black box on a side table and opened it.

"Paul didn't mean anything by it." She said, sombre.

Paul flinched at hearing his name. "How did you?.."

Daniels and Warren looked at Miss Lamont, careful not to look at her eyes. The room was a dark size, but dark, the only light from a small crack in the black out curtains that covered the window.

"When was the serum changed?" Warren asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Two weeks ago." Daniels answered. "Are you feeling the effects?"

"It's wearing off faster than usual." Claire motioned to her head with her hand. "I can hear the whispering."

"Warren, call it in to Doctor Mottram," Warren nodded and stepped outside to use his radio. "Can I check the collar?" Claire nodded and pulled her long hair over her right shoulder, exposing a C shaped metal collar around the back of her neck. He checked the readout on the back and sighed.

"Low?" Claire asked, already knowing the answer.

"One point six, it's down seven from yesterday. Is it the wait?"

"No. I felt it last night." There was a pause.

"Okay... we'll get it changed after your transfer." Daniels turned back to the box. Paul watched Claire; he could feel whispering in his head, like someone was shifting through his memories. She had a dark black circle on each temple, what looked like a bolt stuck on her skin.

Daniels took out a pair of sunglasses similar to the pair he was wearing and what looked like a small hand held drill. He put the glasses over Claire's eyes, making sure the bolts lined up with the frames. Paul fidgeted nervously as Daniels held the drill to Claire's face.

"Don't worry," she said moving her head slightly in Paul's direction. "It's all standard procedure." She gave a small smile before wincing as Daniels used the drill to secure the glasses to her face. It took less than a moment.

"Miss Lamont's a tough one; she broke her own thumb once." Daniels smiled weakly; Paul hadn't noticed the thin scar on Daniels temple until know, but it seemed to almost shine in the half light. "Hands." Claire held her wrists up as Daniels cuffed them together. "Ready?"

Claire stood and Daniels put a hand on her arm, gently guiding her out of the cell. Paul waited for them to go past, looking at the small bookshelf on the far wall before following Daniels. There was a battered copy of A Clockwork Orange that took pride of place.