A/N: Kind of short still, I know. You guys keep on demanding longer chapters and I just keep on denying. This ending seemed so perfect. Focus's a lot on Avery's past and exactly why she ended up in Arkham. Thank you so much for all the reviews. I really do take all the critisms to heart and the praises keep me going (even if they do my already enormous ego no good). Enjoy!

Avery loved this bar for several reasons. For one, the bartender on weeknights had no problems giving her one or two drinks. The other reasons were far more practical. The ambience was rowdy, it was in the Narrows, mind you, but it wasn't rude and obnoxious. A group of college kids shouted at a football game behind the bar, almost, if not completely, muting the soft rock music that played. It was dark enough to create a mysterious mood, but light enough that you could make out faces. Most of the actual bar was empty, the patrons here preferred to sit at the various tables or gather around a particularly interesting game of pool - both far away from the prying ears of the bartenders.

But, Avery's most important reason for frequenting this bar was its placement. It was in one of the shadiest parts of town – the kind of place your parents warned you not be alone in, not at night. The kind of place Avery's parents liked to pretend didn't even exist. It was on top of an adult themed store; the owner had decided to pull a little bit of extra cash in and converted his flat. Any seating along the north or south walls gave perfect views of the street and the stairs up to the bar. Avery would know anyone who was coming in or passing by and be able to evaluate them before they even caught a glimpse of her. Check them out herself.

Avery fingered the folder in her bag, it told her everything she needed to know about the imbecilic thug who had hired her. She had gathered the information from everywhere from Facebook to police files and arranged it nearly in her file. She knew things about him that would make a seasoned hooker cringe. The bottom line was, if Finn Adasen screwed her over, she'd match him blow by blow.

He was late. Avery had half a mind to get up and leave. If Dimitrov hadn't told her to at least give this guy a chance, she would. So far no one had suspicious had entered, just the regular patrons. If Adasen was screwing with her … God … Avery took the file out again and read over it.

Name: Finn Cambridge Adasen

Age: 42

Birthday: August 15, 1962

Hair: dark

Eyes: hazel

Race: Caucasian (note: tries to pretend he isn't)

Hobbies: basketball, movies, petty crimes

Work: mechanic, lackey for the mob

School: graduated high school, AA

MEDICAL HISTORY …

Avery didn't even look up when the Gotham Times slipped on top of her reading material. She had seen him out of the corner of her eyes. The man matched the picture in her file, aside from the five 'o clock shadow. Adasen ran a hand through his hair, and looked around. The man was obviously anxious; it didn't take a psychiatrist to figure that much out.

"Sit, please," Avery made no show of hiding the venom in her voice. The kind words were drenched in it.

This only made Adasen even more nervous.

"Who the hell are you?" he pulled the tough guy façade up as much as he could muster, which wasn't really that much.

"I could ask you the same question." Avery took another sip, refusing to take her eyes off the man. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Didn't he realize she was the one taking time out of her schedule to meet him here? She was the one who was risking her neck for him. Bastard should show some respect, Avery grumbled to herself. Listen to what he says; if you don't like it, we can pay someone to kill him later.

"You already know who I am," he gestured to the orange folder that had been slipped closed the moment he slipped into the booth. "That money is only a taste of what this job's going to be."For the first time Avery glanced down at the newspaper. There were several hundred dollar bills sticking out of the folds. "It's all clean." Without pause Avery slipped both the folder and the newspaper into her bag.

"Why don't you relax, a bit, have a drink," to make the point Avery held up her glass. Avery loved this role. The Joker had gotten a kick out of her act the first time they had met. Said he saw right through it. Luckily this guy had no problems cowering in fear of the young adult who could screw his life over with a press of a button.

"I'll pass. Dimitrov warned me about you."

Avery laughed a little. Why in the world would she poison him right now? Anyways, that wasn't her style. "Did he? And how exactly do you know Yuri?" Adasen did a double take, probably shocked that she was on first name terms with Dimitrov … We're not, but does he really need to know that? Avery smirked a bit.

Adasen shrugged, "Old college buddies."

"Don't lie." Adasen visibly cringed at the clipped tone.

"I've done a few favors for him, what's it to you?"

"If I remember right, you're then one who needs my help."

"Yeah, I need a favor … a pretty damn big one."

Avery rolled her eyes, "I don't do favors, I do jobs."

"Job, favor, whatever … either way someone's going to be dead in a couple months – "

Avery held up a hand, "I'm not an assassin, I'm not a mercenary. I'm not a thug. End of story." Her fists tightened but then released again something about this man grated on her every nerve.

Adasen nodded, "Dimitrov told me … my pal's gonna do that end. What I need you to do, make my pal the victim and this guy," he slid a manila folder under the table, "that guy, the killer."

"And where exactly is the victim going to end up?" Avery opened up the folder and glanced over Adasen's victim. He seemed like a well-to-do guy. Stay-at-home dad, artist, pretty young … the last suspect in anybody's murder investigation.

"Six feet under? The guy pissed off Yuri, and, hey, why not kill two birds with one stone."Avery was almost shocked. This had to Dimitrov's plan, or another mobsters plan. Adasen didn't even look like he had the common sense to run from the scene of a crime, nonetheless come up with a complicated murder cover-up like this.

I'm going to need some help, and more money than a couple grand – not counting my pay," the folder snapped shut and joined its bright orange counterpart.

"You don't even know what I'm paying you!" Every fiber in Avery's beings wanted to make this man disappear – and not in the good way.

"Oh yes I do, you're not just asking me to steal some money or screw with a bunch of files, Adasen," all traces of venomous courtesy gone, Avery's voice was a harsh whisper, "I'm breaking into government files, hacking social security … do you know what the fuck that entails. You're going to pay for every computer, every bribe and shitless scumbag that may end up dead … but first … first, you're going to put one hundred grand in an offshore account … once its finished, you'll put another hundred …"

"One – two hundred grand?" for a second Finn's mouth opened and closed, the numbers not quite clicking into place, "Who the fuck do you think you are, lady?"

"Someone you don't want to fuck around with," with that, Avery slipped out of her chair and left the bar. If Adasen could pay her two hundred grand, he could pick up the tab.

"Watts! Sleep on your own time!" One of the guards shouted from across the recreation room. Avery had half a mind to question exactly whose time this was, if not hers, but decided against it. Sleep clogged minds and sarcasm rarely work well together.

The recreation room was a far cry from oak pool tables and dark ambiance of the Narrows bar. It was sterile and extremely uncomfortable. Avery had fallen asleep draped sideways across a plastic armchair; her foot propped open the door separating the nurses station and the recreation room. Sweat had built up on the back of her neck, where the uncomfortable and thin, blue plastic had prevented her neck any form of breath. Across from her Harley had sat with her legs entwined in Poison Ivy's. She had draped herself across the four rogues who had squeezed themselves onto the couch that matched Avery's armchair. If the Riddler or Hatter had complained, they were now perfectly compliant. The Joker very obviously did not mind, he was pulling the back of Harley's head closer to his crotch in a vaguely sexual gesture.

All five of them were focused on the glass encased TV. It was by far the nicest thing in the room. Large and flat screen, anchored on the wall far higher than any of the patients could reach. Not that the TV went to any good use. Animal planet and Disney movies were all they were allowed to watch. At the far corner Sasha, Green, Adasen and Hudson were playing Ace of Spades … Hudson and Sasha were winning.

And as always, there were ice blue eyes staring at her. Dr. Crane didn't even try to hide it. One of the cheap paper back books from the plastic, disorganized, square shelves (dominated mostly by board games) was discarded face down across his lap. If Avery didn't know better she would say he was checking her out. His eyes started at her sock covered feet, now struggling to keep hold of the door from her shaking. As his eyes darted over her legs, Avery instantly regretted rolling up the ankles to her knees. She was pale and unflatteringly skinny, but his gaze still set her on edge. Crane's eyes darted to every piece of bare flesh. The peek of her stomach in between the almost all the way down zipper and her white undershirt that had ridden up, the little bit of her shoulder that had been revealed in her minute nap, even the hollow of her neck … especially the hollow of her neck. Under his scrutiny her pulse had doubled, and she would bet her life's savings that it was visible. "Nightmare, Miss Watts?" the fascination in his voice, it …. Avery didn't like it. At all.

"You wish." Sleep clogged minds and sarcasm definitely do not mix.

"So, I was right?" every word flowed off his tongue easily, like he was born turning people like Avery into quivering masses of fear. Probably was.

"No, Crane," Avery turned around and sat on the chair properly in one swift and semi-graceful movement, "believe it or not, you are not always right." He smiled. The bastard smiled. "And you don't scare me." Adding insult to agitation, the jackass laughed. It wasn't the lighthearted laugh Harley gave, or the "I know something you don't" laugh Riddler gave. It was coarse, humorless and cold.

"Ignore him, Watts," Edward Nigma shifted a little bit underneath the busty blonde. "He's just pouting because you took his seat." Avery barked a laugh at the thought of Dr. Crane pouting … then she imagined his eyes with a little bit of a sparkle. Maybe she should add dog ears and a tail. Sure enough, Avery was in a full blown giggle fit. She clutched her stomach and doubled over, trying to hold off the stitch in her side. She could feel the ice blue eyes glaring at her, but what the hell did she care … for the first time in weeks she was having a good laugh.

A/N: Avery would like me to inform you guys that she had a blast playing the big bad criminal. Tell me what you think of that side of her persona. I've only ever spent time in a mental hospital, not an asylum. The description of the rec room is what I remember from my time spent there. Those chairs … god … Review! Fave! I'll update soon!