"Oh...Jonathan..." Isabelle gasped as she felt his cold hands on her bare arms and he nudged her gently. She blinked quickly, instantly wondering where she was as panic set into her body. Jonathan sat on the edge of the cushion, both of his hands wrapped around her upper arms as she sat up slowly, gathering her bearings as she ran her hands through her hair. "I'm sorry...I must have dozed off..."

"You have nothing to apologise for," his cold voice spoke in a soft tone as she smiled weakly. She hadn't dozed off. He had made her sleep, but, it was irrelevant. She didn't remember anything of it. Jonathan smiled weakly at her, feeling pleased with himself after the outcome of the evening. How magnificent it had been, indeed.

His toxin was better than he had ever imagined. And, tomorrow morning, some hospital would be calling Isabelle, pleading with her to come down as her father had suffered a nervous breakdown. He left him with only one word to mutter.

Scarecrow.

It was taking over him and Jonathan knew it, but, he knew he had to regain some control. Isabelle depended on it.

"Are you still tired?" he asked her and she shrugged once, leaning against the arm of the sofa as Jonathan released his hands from her arms and ran them down to her waist, holding her tightly as she turned red under his touch. Power and Control. It was something which Jonathan adored. The mind would always be more powerful than the body, but, at that moment, the way she was reacting to his touch made that statement seem false.

"I'm not sure," she mumbled in response, remembering the argument with her father. "What time is it?"

"Half past three," Jonathan stated, his glasses falling onto the edge of his nose as he checked the time on the watch around his wrist.

"I should go home," she worried, trying to stand up. Jonathan moved slightly, allowing her to push her body off of the sofa as he stood up. "My dad will be worried."

"It is three in the morning," Jonathan said blandly. "You can't go wandering the streets of Gotham at this time of night. Do you know how dangerous the city is?"

"I have a car," Isabelle muttered back to him, grabbing her bag and Jonathan grabbed onto her wrist, stopping her from moving over to the door as she looked into his eyes, wondering what he was doing. His hold was tight as he brought her body back to his and she breathed deeply.

"You can't go," he said back to her, his voice low and slightly stern as Isabelle's eyes went wide and she looked at him. "It's too dangerous out there. Wait until morning. Text him, if you need to."

"I'd feel better-"

"-It isn't up for discussion, Isabelle," Jonathan said, his eyes flashing dangerously before he coughed and composed himself. That was too much. He didn't want to scare her off. He knew how easily worried she could become. "I would feel better and so would your father, even though he hates me. You've practically been here for the full night, anyway."

"Are you sure?" she asked, biting down on her lip and Jonathan nodded once at her.

He allowed her to stay on his sofa whilst he rested on his bed for a few hours. He was waiting for her cell to go off. He was waiting for the call to come through. He didn't know who was going to discover Francois Dubois in his home, but, he had his money on Isabelle's mother. He had left his door open, able to hear her gentle sighs as she drifted into dream world again and he remained still, his hands on his stomach as he battled against the voice inside of him.

He wouldn't use his toxin on her. He wouldn't do it, regardless of how much he wanted him to. Isabelle was different. She was different to anyone else who he had met. She was the first woman he could handle touching and not be shy around. She needed him to look after her.

The call came at seven a.m. He listened as Isabelle sat up and moaned as she fumbled in her bag for the device. She pulled it out after a while, pressing it to her ear as Jonathan imagined her movements. Her mother had stopped by before work to find him lying on the ground in the sitting room, muttering the same word over and over again. Isabelle didn't understand it.

Jonathan moved from his bed, stretching as he entered the living room and he yawned, pretending he had just woken up as Isabelle's hands ran through her hair frantically. He loved it when she did that. He loved the way her blonde curls bounced around her head.

"Is something wrong?" he wondered and she turned around to look at him, her phone in her hand as Jonathan arched a slender brow in her direction.

"My dad...he's...something's not right...he's at the hospital...in the mental wing...I need to go."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Jonathan wondered and Isabelle bit down on her bottom lip and she shrugged.

"You don't need to," she replied as Jonathan grabbed his blazer and shrugged himself into it. Isabelle stood up and pulled her black dress down which had been revealing far too much thigh. Jonathan moved back into his room, grabbing another blazer and draping it over her shoulders before he offered her his arm and led her down to his car. He had persuaded her that she wasn't fit enough to drive.

The ride to the hospital was silent. Jonathan focused on the driving and Isabelle worried about her father.

"Honey!" Lydia Monroe gushed when she saw her daughter walk into the wing of the hospital which she needed to be in. Jonathan stood back slightly as Isabelle hugged her mother tightly and he watched. Her mother was different to her father. She was strong willed, yes, but not as stubborn. She cared for her daughter deeply. He didn't see her giving him any bother.

"How is he?"

"I don't know," Lydia shook her head, pushing her blonde hair behind her ear as she released her daughter. "The doctors say that he has suffered from a mental breakdown and that he has been hallucinating." She noted the jacket which her daughter was wearing and she glanced at Jonathan as Isabelle pulled the blazer tighter around her body.

"How long has he been like it?" Isabelle worried as Jonathan took his stand beside her and Lydia looked at him. He removed his glasses slowly, dropping them into his pocket as he looked at Isabelle, his arm wrapping around her waist. He had to persuade the mother that he was there for the daughter to win her trust. If he won her trust then she wouldn't end up in the same place as her ex-husband.

"I don't know," Lydia replied. "I found him like it this morning. The doctors say they are going to analyse him...but...they don't know...if he'll get better."

"What do you mean?" Isabelle replied, her voice fraught as Jonathan remained silent and Lydia tried not to cry for her daughter's sake. "He can't...he was fine...yesterday...I don't understand..."

"They don't either," Lydia replied, her hand resting on her daughter's arm. "It doesn't make sense. Maybe you shouldn't see him...sweetie...it won't help..."

"Your mother may be right," Jonathan dropped into conversation as he felt Isabelle move closer to him. He was providing her with comfort. "You don't need to go in."

"No," she said with slight determination. "I have to go...I have to do this..."

"He isn't responsive, honey. He's sleeping and muttering. That is all."

"No," Isabelle said and Jonathan wondered if she was as submissive as he had first thought. There was some will power in her. Never mind. He was stronger.

Jonathan stood at the end of the ward with Lydia as Isabelle was led into a secure room by a nurse to see her father. He placed his glasses back onto his eyes as Lydia sighed and took a seat on the mesh blue seat by the swinging doors.

"How long have you known Isabelle?" Lydia wondered as Jonathan took a seat opposite her and he thought for a second.

"Just over six months," he replied and Lydia nodded.

"I take it your relationship wasn't going on whilst she was a student?" Lydia questioned and Crane shook his head at her. She would not approve of that, regardless of how mature her daughter was.

"No," he replied. "We both knew there was something there...but acting on it...wouldn't have been appropriate. She was a student and I was a Professor."

"And even after six months, you still care for her?" Lydia said and then rolled her eyes before he had chance to respond. "Of course you do. You're here with her and she's wearing your jacket."

"I intend to look after her," Crane promised Lydia. "I can assure you of that. Catching a cold didn't seem appropriate, at the moment."

"I can tell...the way you had your arm around her...and spoke to her..." Lydia shrugged once and looked down the hall, her face impassive as she did so. "Isabelle hasn't had the easiest of times...and now this..."

"I'll be there," Jonathan promised her before they both stood up again as the figure rushed down the hallway. Isabelle had pushed her way through the door, allowing it to hit the wall as she slammed it open. She had tears falling from her eyes as her sniffles echoed through the empty corridor. Jonathan stood in front of Lydia as he looked at Isabelle. After a brief moment of awkwardness, she willingly flung her arms around his neck and buried her head into his shoulder.

"He...it was terrible..."

Lydia remained back, unable to even hold Isabelle as she broke down herself at the memory of what she had just seen. Jonathan placed a hand on the small of her back and then one in her hair.

"Sh," he urged her.

"Scarecrow...that's all he said..."

"I know," Jonathan replied, a grin forming on his face as he rested his head on top of her hair and she sobbed against him. "I know."