What happened as I let it slip?

Author's comments: Thank you to everyone who has faved, followed and reviewed!

It means so much to me.

KnoKnayme, Blueberrytoast and Unquestionably Unhinged thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter, I hope you enjoy this one too :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman.

The first thing she noticed was the pain in her chest. It throbbed like she had been burnt from the inside. Her head joined in soon after, thumping like she had a bad hangover.

Claire breathed in deeply, trying to imagine her bedroom in perfect detail before opening her eyes, an alien ceiling greeted her.

The room was dark with three plain plastered walls, there was no fourth wall, instead wrought iron bars, like a prison cell. The bars separated the room from a hallway were a solitary bulb glowed, giving the only source of light. She could just make out a lock on a section of the bars, she assumed it was a door. Don't panic. She breathed. Think about this logically.

Claire sat up on the basic cot she was lying on. A dark grey itchy blanket covered her legs, she kicked it away in disgust.

She glanced around the small room; there was a toilet and basin with a small dirty mirror above it. She tried to dismiss the aversion to not having a bathroom door, at least she had a toilet.

She got up gingerly and walked the two steps to the basin before trying to pull the mirror off the wall. It stuck fast.

"So much for that idea…" She muttered. There was a clunk of metal against the sink. Claire glanced down, only just realizing that a chain bound her left hand. She yanked at it but regretted the action instantly. White-hot fire shot up her wrist, the pain sickening her stomach.

She grabbed on to the basin to steady herself for a moment before inspecting her wrist. She moved closer to the light to get a better look. There was a ring of dark purple bruises, like a bracelet. She swallowed as she traced them with her thumb, shuddering as she remembered Crane's fingers. His iron grip.

She glanced to the hallway to make sure there were no signs of life before trying to pull the chain off. She knew it was a long shot and gave up after a few seconds, the pain in her wrist throbbed in her mind.

She rubbed her chest trying to ease the burning sensation. She half expected smoke to come out of her mouth.

Claire paced back and forth for a few moments before trying to see how close she could get to the bars. She strained her fingers out stretched but she could only manage to get within a few inches of them. She could imagine Crane smirking at her, having measured the restraint so she could never reach the bars. She sighed and traced the chain back to its fastening in the wall.

Claire inspected were the wall and chain met before grabbing handfuls of the restraint and pulling as hard as she could. She pulled until she could feel the metal cutting into her hand but it was no use. It didn't even budge.

She collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily, her mouth dry, when she noticed the large, thick plastic bottle at the foot of the cot. She shuffled over to it, the ache in her wrist forgotten. There was a white paper not stuck to it.

'Drink this-' the spidery handwriting said. Claire stared at it for a moment before turning the note over. 'It's not poisoned.' A much neater handwriting said. Claire clenched her jaw, rage filling her blood vessels as she stared at the note. He was in her head.

She gave a banshee yell, smacking the wall with her right hand before kicking the bottle as violently as she could.

It thudded across the room, hitting the wall before casually rolling back to her.

She stared at it for a long time, hours perhaps, but more likely minutes. She was sure that if Crane wanted to kill her he would have done it already and if all he wanted was to see her suffer then to poison the drink and write that it wasn't just was not his style.

She crawled over to the bottle, feeling the weight of it in her hands. Not heavy enough to knock someone out. Before she undid the cap and took a mouthful, she swirled the liquid around in her mouth, savoring the coolness of it. If he had put something in the water it was tasteless. She swallowed.

Claire crawled back to the cot, placing the bottle on the floor beside her.

She lay on the make shift bed for a few minutes before turning onto her stomach to bury her face into the pillow. She cried as quietly as she could, trying her best not to move. It would be just her luck if Crane had put a camera in the room and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Present day

Daniels led Claire carefully down the corridor, his hand on her shoulder, guiding her as if she was blind. Paul squinted at her, maybe she was with those glasses on.

Her head turned towards him slightly and Paul's cheeks flushed a dark crimson, embarrassed that she had caught him staring. She gave him a small, yet warm smile before looking away,

"How are you feeling?" Daniels asked.

"Fine." Claire said. Daniels looked at her carefully; he could feel how tense she was, how tired. "How are you?"

"Oh, same old, same old." There was a pause. "What book are you on now?"

"Lolita." Daniels nodded. "It's… sweet."

"I wouldn't call it that."

Claire laughed, the sound like falling water. "No, I don't suppose you would."

There was a pause as they walked through a security door.

Two guards were waiting outside of a patient room. Daniels steered his small party over to them.

The two new comers nodded at Claire before entering their passcodes, Paul watched confused.

"There are only two patient rooms in Arkham that need extra codes," Daniels explained. "One belongs to the Joker," he glanced at Claire. "The other to Jonathan Crane." Daniels let go of Claire's shoulder and entered his code. The door buzzed but didn't open. "Do you have the restraints?" Daniels asked the two guards; they nodded and held up a box much like the one Daniels had taken Claire's glasses out of. "Good. Rogers," Paul looked up. "Stay hear with Miss Lamont, we won't be a moment."

The three men entered the cell and Paul looked at Claire nervously.

"You can ask me." She said.

"What?" He stammered before coughing, trying to clear his throat.

"I know you've been wanting to ask me a question." She smiled, but Paul saw a sorrow behind the mask. It was a deep dread, a bitter defeat.

"Do you know what the question is? Can you sense it?"

Claire laughed. "No, I'm afraid it's nothing paranormal, I can just tell by your face." Paul smiled sheepishly at her.

"I just, well I always wondered, did you really do it? Did you really survive it because he was afraid you would?"

Claire swallowed and for a moment Paul thought that she didn't understand. "Is that what they say?"

"Yes."

The door opened, Daniels and the two guards stepped out.

"He's ready Miss Lamont."

Claire nodded and walked towards the door.

She stopped suddenly and turned to Paul.

"They weren't afraid I'd survive," she paused. "I was." She turned and walked into the cell.