Author's Note: Longest chapter ever ahead O_O

Chapter 15

Possessive

'What was that?' hissed some of those closer to the back of the group.

Clara pressed her back flat against the building behind her, hoping to blend in with the shadow, silently pleading with Enrique not to say anything. He had been one of the few inmates she had known that hadn't actively sought to either hurt or ignore her in the Penguin's gang, but there was no guarantee he would continue to act in such a way now that she had deserted.

He looked back at her, frowning, but then he sighed and turned away. 'It was nothing, okay? Just stumbled.'

'You stumble later and you die,' snorted someone else, a new figure walking back to place an unwelcome arm around Enrique's shoulders, grinning nastily. Clara recognised him immediately, after all this time of trying to avoid him at the Penguin's. It was the lunatic that had tried to kill her for kicks shortly after she had first joined.

'I don't plan to stumble,' Enrique replied, shoving Loud-mouth Frankie roughly away from him without a second thought. 'Let's move.'

But Frankie was now squinting in her direction with his head tilted to one side. Clara stayed as still as possible, hoping that he might just think she was a shadow and move on. But it was all too obvious that he already knew someone was hiding in the dark.

'Well if it ain't my old buddy, Tony,' he crowed loudly. Clara tried to flee, but he caught the back of her jacket and spun her into a headlock. 'Look guys, look who's just shown up! It's a ratbag traitor!'

The patrol stopped at the shout, everyone looked back. But there was already a state of tension in the air, a sense of urgency, this was not like the night when Frankie had last caught her and forcing her to play blind man's buff had been good source of entertainment. Some of the group began to converge back to get a better look, but it was clear that most of them weren't interested and just wanted to move on.

'Get rid of him,' replied the leader of the group without a second thought as soon as he saw who it was. 'Kill him, I don't care.'

'Just like that? That doesn't sound very fair,' mused Frankie way too happily to be genuine. 'That doesn't sound very fair at all, does it Tony?'

'We don't have time for this crap. We got a schedule to keep!' snarled someone else. 'Frankie, get rid of him!'

'Yeah, Two-Face's turf isn't far from here. Why don't you just let him go, we're going to draw attention to ourselves if we make too much noise,' Enrique said, stepping in, he sounded neutral but Clara was touched at the move; he was trying to save her.

'But that ain't a problem, is it?' Frankie replied, one arm still locked around Clara's neck. 'Two-Face's days are numbered, he isn't what he used to be. He's recruiting left and right now. Wouldn't be surprised if he took this deserting rat in.'

'I never deserted! I got lost on my way back to the museum!' she tried to talk her way out of danger, but it was hard when her neck was close to being crushed in the crook of an elbow, and it didn't help that with her nerves she hardly sounded convincing. 'It was dark!'

'Oh, poor little Tony got lost did he? Well bless you, why that could have happened to anyone of us,' Frankie spoke to the crowd, his eyes gleaming insanely. 'And talking about anyone...Enrique, didn't a pal of yours claim to have last seen Tony at the museum? Didn't you accuse poor old Avery of killing him, because the kid never did return with the survivors?'

'One-eyed Callum had just died, I don't think Tony was in his right mind,' Enrique replied, trying to defend her.

'One-eye and Tony were not related, everyone knows that! No, our little friend here is more sneaky than that. Likes to play games, so here I was just wondering...' Clara felt cold hard metal press against the side of her head, she didn't need to see it to know that it was a gun. 'Has young Tony ever heard of Russian Roulette?'

'I freaked out, okay?! I ran back to the museum sure, but I tried to return to help when I got my head back!' Clara tried to excuse herself frantically. 'I got lost on my way back to the warehouse!'

'Ah, you just contradicted yourself street-rat! You just told us you got lost on the way back to the museum, but now it's back to the warehouse? Mind you, where most of the team died. I know a liar when I see one.'

'Shut it, Frankie, you're making too much noise!' someone else complained, there was a few murmurs of agreement, some looked around nervously just to confirm that they were not being sneaked up on.

'Shh, I think I heard something!' someone said nervously.

Everyone strained to listen. Frankie rolled his eyes and promptly fired off a series of shots into the still air.

'What the hell, Frankie?!' the leader of the group growled, storming over to glare at him. 'Two-Face ain't deaf, and nor is anyone else in this city! Have you gone crazy?!'

Clara couldn't see his face, as his arm was still firmly lodged around her neck, but she could tell the man holding her was hyperventilating in a very unnatural way, almost as if he was scared. Perhaps going crazy wasn't far from the truth, whatever Frankie's new problem was, she didn't want to know.

'The boss has been questioning your job recently, now I'm beginning to see why,' said another.

'I was just proving a point is all-'

'There is someone watching us!'

There was a furious growling roar that seemed to shake the very air around her.

'Oh god! It's Killer Croc!'

For a moment this warning seemed to hang in the air silently. Then the wooden fence to one side splintered instantly, the sound of gunfire was abruptly all around her.

Clara felt the ground shuddering below her feet.

Havoc broke out immediately. Most of them were mercenaries, used to working on their own, teamwork was not their strong suite. Several broke off immediately to run away. Any order in the formation of the patrol was lost very quickly.

Clara cowered as a man easily twice her weight went flying overhead into a wall, another somehow ended up half way through a broken window on the second floor of a nearby building.

Somehow though, through all of this, Frankie seemed to realise something, even as his fellow inmates were being tossed left and right, and he didn't release his grip on her, gun pressed more firmly than ever to her head.

'Hey, freak!' he shouted at Croc, though he was barely audible over the rapid gunfire and the yelling of the others. 'You looking for this?' he pushed Clara in front of him like a shield.

Croc froze immediately.

Everyone noticed this strange reaction. Those that had not been fatally mauled, or fled, stopped firing, and looked amongst each other. Then slowly they began to back away.

'Frankie, you're crazy, what are you doing?!' hissed one of them as Croc glowered, bleeding and furious.

'Shut up, it's working!' Frankie snarled back at his colleague. 'Isn't it obvious? These two know each other, that's why Croc never ate him back at the museum!'

'Give her here, and maybe I won't eat you,' Croc threatened, voice a vicious venomous hiss.

'Her?' Frankie was playing a dangerous game, and the others knew it. 'Hah, well I guess that explains a few things.'

It was only now that he realised that his colleagues were backing away from the scene, all of those that had managed to avoid serious damage when Croc had charged them were already running away. And suddenly Frankie didn't look quite so sure of himself.

'Please, let go of me!' Clara pleaded. 'You're only making this worse for yourself!'

'Shut up!' Frankie replied, a definite nervous edge in his voice now. He began to stumble back when Croc took an earth-shaking step forward, he dragged Clara with him. 'Come any closer and I'll blow her brains out!'

Clara hyperventilated, she could see Croc's heaving form looming near them, he looked so angry. She wouldn't be surprised if he simply decided to forgo her life in favour of killing Frankie. It was stalemate, nothing would change until one of the two opponents backed down, and it was her life that was on the line.

She acted without thinking. With new found strength, she smashed her elbow into her captor's face and leapt away.

Stunned by her sudden move, Frankie didn't immediately fire, and this was all the time Croc needed to act.

He moved far faster than she could have thought possible, grabbing Frankie by the arm that held the gun, easily lifting him up off the ground. This move was accompanied by a series of terrible sharp cracks and yells as Croc's grip crushed the man's arm.

And she could have sworn that Croc was grinning.

She screamed. She couldn't help it, she was terrified. Clara could see that some of the men Croc had tossed out of his way were not moving, they lay where they'd been thrown, and she knew that if they weren't dead then they probably would be soon.

Inadvertently she drew Croc's attention back to her and away from the carnage. He lost interest in his victim, and simply flung the wailing man away like a sack of dirt.

He began to move towards her. He was bloodied and breathing heavily, and never before had she seen him look more like a monster.

Clara began to back away from him, so scared of the power and danger she saw in Croc that she wasn't thinking straight, her instincts screaming at her to run.

Croc had no patience for her right now though, grabbing her roughly up off the ground so that he held her against his chest with one arm. He turned back in the direction he had thrown Frankie, the man was still moving, whimpering as he frantically staggered to his feet, clutching his ruined arm. Frankie's right arm was hanging loosely at his side like a rag, he made no attempt to make any snide comment as he both stumbled and ran for his life.

Croc began to follow after him.

'No, please don't!' Clara found herself begging him, she did not want to bear witness to Croc pulling a human being apart. 'Please!'

Croc stopped in his tracks, but he didn't look at her.

Clara couldn't bring herself to say anything after that. Hiccupping and shivering, she pressed closer to her saviour and clung to him.

Croc continued to watch the Penguin's retreating crew until they were gone from sight, Clara felt his grip around her was getting uncomfortably strong, she wriggled to free her left arm that was being crushed beneath her. This seemed to bring him back to the present because he immediately turned around and began to head back for the underground tunnels.

They were back below ground, safe from the worst of the cold once more. But they were not heading back the way she had come, but down a different tunnel. Croc was silent for the journey, more intent on getting to their destination as quickly as possible.

They came to the end of a tunnel where there was a dead-end, a partial cave-in made a wall of rubble to one side, Croc made his way around onto the other side of this.

He fell back against the wall, still holding her to his chest.

One of her hands upon his chest caught on an open cut and he hissed abruptly. 'You're hurt!' she said, she could feel his chest rising and falling with every breath, and feel his heartbeat below her hands.

'I know,' he growled back. He still didn't let go of her, holding her tightly as if fearing she would run away.

It was not the first, nor the last time, he knew that he would probably feel such pain. He had been shot at before, and probably would be again in the future. The sharp sting of where bullets had clipped him or dug beneath his skin. But there was one very big difference from every time before, he had her with him. And it was ridiculous how content her presence made him feel.

She wriggled in his grip again, reminding him that he was getting close to crushing her again. He loosened his hold, but only slightly.

He had come so close to losing her again, just the night before he had nearly killed her by accident and now this, she was making him insane!

It was strange when he thought about it, how he had gone from not caring what happened to her to not wanting to let her out of his sight for fear that something would happen to her. His search for a new hideout had been hurried, done as quickly as possible. As soon as he had found a new tunnel that he thought seemed half-way decent, he had gone back immediately to where he had agreed to meet her. When she didn't arrive back early, he had gone looking for her, tracking her.

It had felt as if he'd fallen a great height when he found her back in the grip of the Penguin's gang. At first he had been angry at her, he thought she had returned to them, and he hadn't emerged from where he was hidden. But it quickly became apparent that they planned to kill her, and then he had been furious. With no regard for his own safety he had charged them.

And then some skinny bastard had had the audacity to use Tony as a hostage. And like some sort of weakling he had frozen.

Pathetic, that's what he'd call it.

Then to make things worse, instead of getting his revenge by ripping the offending man to pieces, he had to let him go. She had been freaking out, terrified out of her mind, trying to escape from him and then when he caught her she had begged him to stop. And she had been so afraid, so noticeably small and vulnerable that he couldn't ignore her, especially not when she pressed up to him as if begging for reassurance. As if he was normal.

It had all worked out in the end more or less though, he had gotten her back. But at what cost? Several now knew he had a weakness, the message would spread, if anyone caught Tony again they would be sure to use her life against him.

He couldn't let that happen.

She wriggled again. This time rather insistently.

'Not to be rude, but you're bleeding all over me,' she and then added in a strained voice. 'And squishing me into a pulp.'

Her expression was indecipherable, all wide eyes and frowns. She was still scared and twitchy, and he literally had no idea how to calm her down.

'Please let go of me,' she asked more directly, when he didn't respond. 'Come on, at least ease up the crushing grip, I'm not a pillow.'

He didn't really want to let go, but he did it anyway, allowing her to slide off. But she didn't leave, running worried eyes over him. Croc did his best to straighten up and look as ill-effected as he could. But to be honest he was exhausted, he hadn't eaten anything in two days before and had been unable to find time to go looking since she had arrived.

There was a clink of metal as Tony produced three tins from under her jacket and placed them upon the stone floor. She was still shaking a little, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by him.

He could smell blood, but all blood smelled the same. He couldn't tell if it was just his or hers as well.

'Come 'ere,' he told her.

She looked at him uncertainly, then cautiously made her way over again. Ignoring his own aches and pains, he took a firm grip on her shoulder and slowly turned her around.

'What are you doing?' she asked confused, her hands grabbing at his wrist to balance herself.

'Checking you've not been shot,' he replied, still looking her over as she stumbled one way then the next to stay upright.

'I haven't been shot,' she reassured him, defiantly trying to duck away from him when he didn't release her. Her expression when he then grabbed hold of her with both hands and pulling her up against him again was of outrage, but he felt no anger at such an expression, only passive amusement.

She didn't struggle this time, going limp as a rag-doll against him.

'What am I to you?' she asked quietly. 'Why protect me, I'm no use to you.'

He couldn't reply, if he acted defensively he might frighten her, if he told her the truth he would be admitting weakness.

'I think maybe it's because you were alone before, and being alone kind of sucks coz you haven't got anyone to bounce your thoughts off. No one wants to be alone...' her eyes widened suddenly and she shook her head frantically. 'Sorry, I take that back, I'm just projecting my own thoughts, don't pay any attention to them.'

Croc might have been irritated by such a suggestion in any other situation, a suggestion that he was somehow weaker when he was alone, and he was alone most of the time. But this was her, and he didn't want to scare her. He didn't know how to handle the situation, and since growling and smashing things was not an option like it usually was, he backed out altogether. So he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall again, hoping to catch his breath again and for the pain to ease.

Moments later though, Tony was moving around again. He startled when he felt the fingertips of one of her delicate little hands pressing down against the side of his neck. She drew back immediately when he glared. He didn't understand what she was trying to do.

'What are you up to?'

'I was trying to check your pulse, no need to get so defensive,' she replied back a little sharply. 'You've been shot, and I thought you were passing out on me. What am I supposed to do if you do?'

'Nothing, there wouldn't be anything you could do,' he replied, it had been a long time since he had last been that badly hurt, it was almost inconceivable in his mind that he would ever be in such a position again. Though secretly he liked the fact that she was worried about him, though he would have never admitted that.

'That's not very reassuring,' she bit her lip and looked him over again, brow creased. The bleeding was slowing, Croc was pretty sure he was going to be fine, but little Tony was obviously not use to such carnage.

There was a niggling pain in his right shoulder, knowing what this meant, he wasted no time in digging his claws into the affected flesh, finding and pulling out the bullet messily. It clinked against the ground when it fell.

She watched him, wide eyed. 'Ouch,' she remarked and looked away, grimacing.

He chuckled. 'You concerned?'

'Of course I'm concerned!' she replied, resting the side of her head over his heart. 'You could have gotten yourself killed...'

'They were going to kill you,' he told her; she was not going to turn this around. 'You got caught. You said you knew what you were doing.'

'Hey, it was just a slip in concentration,' she looked away. 'I ran into them on the way back, wasn't paying attention.'

'If I hadn't found you...' he trailed off, he didn't want to think about it. 'You're not going up there again.'

'I don't plan on going that way again, it lies too close to the Penguin's and Two-Face's,' she told him, dodging his request.

'Tony?' he growled, letting her know he knew what she was doing.

'It's not like I have a choice is it?' she replied sharply. 'If I could I would never set foot in Arkham City again, but I prefer possible death over certain starvation.'

He didn't know what to say to that. He had known it was inevitable anyway, but mentioned so soon after what had just happened, it left him feeling uneasy.

'Anyway, I got some stuff for now,' she continued brightly, pointing at the three tins on the ground that she had gathered. 'Hmm, partially frozen tinned macaroni, ooh and what's that? More cold macaroni. I swear they don't give out anything else, it tastes like catfood!'

'Probably is,' he joked, it was hard not to laugh at her horrified expression, he ruffled her hair playfully and was pleasantly amused when she tried to duck away again when she realised he was messing with her. 'Now you don't need to go up again.'

'I've only got three tins,' she replied timidly, her face downcast. 'That's only going to last me two days maximum, though I guess I could stretch it to three.'

'I'll find you something, somehow. You won't need to go up again.'

She only shrugged this time, looking away.

'You sure you'll be alright? We should really find some way to clean those cuts,' she broke the uncomfortable silence.

'I can heal from anything,' he told her defensively.

'What, do you regularly get shot at?' she joked, then perhaps realising her error she faltered. 'Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that. I'm just thinking of how uncomfortable it must be.'

'It isn't a problem,' he told her. 'I've survived worse.'

'You only got shot last week,' she sounded both frustrated and worried. 'If you lose too much blood you'll become anemic, and I honestly don't know if I'd be able to look after you in such a state.'

'Anemic?' the word was familiar, but he had no idea what it meant.

'Erm...you know, when you lose too much blood?' she looked at the wall opposite. 'A low erythrocyte count, it means that not enough oxygen can get transported around your body, and it can be very painful.'

'Were you like, a doctor or something?' he asked her after a pause. He was joking really.

But to his surprise Tony shuddered at this comment, and looked away again.

'No, I'm not a doctor,' she replied, her voice strained. 'Anyway, the important thing now is that you're okay.'

There was some rustling, and she brought out a pack of cards, which he had forgotten about until now. Really? Was not the best time? He found he didn't mind the idea in the slightest.

Before she could even open her mouth though she stopped and frowned, and Croc could immediately see why. Her dip in the water the day before had left the pack of playing cards as a solid mass of mushy paper.

'Damn it,' she cursed as she tried to pry them apart, only to find that the paper fell apart in her hands.

'I'll find you more,' Croc said without thinking when she childishly threw what remained of the cards at the opposite side of the tunnel in frustration. Realising what a sap he sounded, he glanced at her uncertainly but there was no nasty grin or rude comment, just a small soft smile.

'You just rest up, now,' she told him, her soft little form leaning against him. 'I don't want to lose you again.'

'I've survived worse,' he repeated himself, but it wasn't irritation that filled his mind, but confusion at his own thoughts.

It was almost disturbing how such a small insignificant comment from her made him feel on top of the world. During his week's absence at the Penguin's she had missed him, and for that he felt all the more protective of her. His grip on her tightened.

'Ouch, you're squishing me again!'

When Croc finally got over his strange new need to crush her, and had calmed down enough to rest from his injuries, Clara finally had the time to cast an eye about at the new place.

Their new home was small sloping tunnel that was sealed at one end by rubble, a small rockfall partially blocked the way in - forming a wall of sorts so that the new place was a practically a chamber. It wasn't really much bigger than the last place but Clara wasn't complaining. It was almost like a mini-flat of sorts, and the sense of ownership was surprisingly compelling - she felt defensive of the place already, actively planning how the space should be divided up. She didn't really have any possessions at the moment, but she reckoned with somewhere to store stuff now she could begin collecting right away. Clothing was something she would like to look into, not that anything she might steal or find here would exactly be on the high end of fashion, but it would be a nice change after having worn the same thing for the past month or so.

The only thing that got to her now was that she felt so grimy. What she wouldn't do for a nice warm bubble-bath...

She knew why they had moved, she knew it had been for her benefit, and she was flattered though she also felt a little awkward. How much did he care for her? Why did he care for her? She knew she cared for him, but that was because she still had some of her old heart buried beneath her Arkham skin, Killer Croc however...did she really know the answer?

This close to him, leaning against him, she could hear the steady beating of his heart. As she relaxed against him, she found herself falling into a pleasant daze, rhythmic and alive, it had to be the most comforting sound she had ever heard. So reassuring, so safe, and he was so warm. Warm like a furnace, after the icy cold wind she had traveled through just an hour before. And in this state of mind, it was impossible for her to argue with herself that Croc could possibly be dangerous. She trusted him, in fact right now she didn't think she had ever felt greater devotion to anyone before, maybe it was the desperation of her situation, maybe it was insanity, but in fact she could have easily said that she loved him.

That thought startled her out of her relaxed state.

She immediately pictured herself in a frock and Croc in a bow-and-tie in front of a little house in the countryside, and found it hard to stop herself from laughing at the absurdity of the image. But as her brief bout of hysteria calmed down, she came to look at Croc in a new light, and she knew that she really was more close to playing house than she had realised.

No matter how she looked at it, the fact still stood that she was currently living on her own with a man, and if this had been a real flat in Gotham or anywhere else for that matter, people might have assumed things. Croc might not have looked exactly human, but he was, and this was more or less Gotham city. She suddenly felt quite awkward, she looked up his resting form. His eyes were closed, leaning back against the wall, not asleep but recovering his strength. Was she being perverse by automatically taking an outsider's view on things? An assumption that simply because they were living together it meant that they had some form of carnal relationship. Weren't things a little more complex than that?

Relationship...friendship was a state of a relationship right? It didn't mean anything beyond that.

Their interactions had not exactly always been innocent, especially the first few times when they still didn't know each other and Croc had repeatedly tried to kill her, but they had never lent in that way. Croc had never tried to do anything untoward to her, there had never been the slightest hint of that sort of intention in their interactions. Was this new perversion something that had arisen solely in her mind? Maybe Croc simply had no interest in her in that way, and perhaps she should be grateful. She glanced over herself briefly - her torn clothes, the stains and the rips, her bony arms and scratched up fingers - and felt a wave of sadness as she realised what a mess she probably looked. But she didn't want to impress anyone, right?

She ran her eyes over him. There had never been a pause in time before now when she had had time to think about this sort of thing, too focused on her own turmoil or simply surviving. Despite his less than normal appearance she could appreciate some of his aesthetics traits, the gradient of greens across his back to stomach like the dappling of sunlight through leaves, the symmetry, Clara supposed he had quite a nice build too; broad shoulders and a tapered but strong waist...

Then she slapped herself as she suddenly realised what her mind was up to.

Clara quickly looked away, blushing fiercely, when Croc opened his eyes and looked down at her to see what the sharp noise had been.

Feeling thoroughly confused, Clara went back to watching him, but out of the corner of her eye this time - while she pretended to be more interested in the uneven brick layering of the wall opposite.

Had she gone crazy? This was not the time or place to be thinking such things. If her old self from a year before was here now, she would be shrieking and running in the other direction in horror, but that was not her now. New Clara was a little more tolerant than that.

Even so, the infamous Killer Croc couldn't possibly be boyfriend material.

She couldn't deny it though, upon getting over his rather unique appearance there was something distinctively attractive about the raw primeval power he possessed, his strength, his warmth, his presence. Oh jeez, what had started this string of thought off again? Couldn't she just hit restart?

Clara spent the new few minutes trying to concentrate on anything else until she had wrangled stray thoughts together again.

She wouldn't have called herself well read on Gotham's supervillains, even though she had grown up with their presence as part of the city for many years now; it was a subject that she had preferred not to listen to, finding it easier to deal with the worry by pretending that there wasn't a problem. The Joker was the most theatrical of the lot, he had appeared frequently on TV, she couldn't clearly remember any reports on Croc though other than a short warning some five or six years before when there had been a newsflash about some monstrous cannibal hiding in the sewers. She had still been in school back then, Dereck had already left home and gone to university, she remembered this because it left her as the sole child for her fussy parents to worry over with the increased rates of crime that Gotham had been experiencing that year. It was the year the Batman had first appeared.

She knew Croc was a cannibal or at least practiced the habit occasionally – she had tried to reassure herself that perhaps he had turned to it in desperation out of there being nothing to eat in Arkham City, though she knew he had been labeled a cannibal even before this – and she knew he was a murderer, there was no changing that. She didn't know why he was either of these things, only that he was, though she wasn't foolish enough not to be able to connect some of the dots. His appearance was unmistakably, impossible to hide or disguise, there was no way he would have been able to live a normal life.

And deep down she knew, that even if both of them did escape from Arkham City with their lives, while there was a small possibility that she could return to a normal life, the same could not be said for Croc. People must have labeled him his whole life, and she knew for that for one she was not going to be a part of it. But their two lives would never have overlapped in the normal world.

Beside her, Croc moved as he readjusted his position against the wall. Deciding that for her own sanity, and because she was probably keeping Croc from resting, she decided to do something about the barrenness of their new home.

She tried to get up, standing so that she could step out from his loose grip. He was awake immediately, pulling her closer with both arms and effectively trapping her.

This could have been funny, if only it were not for the fact that he pressed down exactly where he had grabbed her the day before when he had thought she was a snack. She yelped at the unexpected pain.

'It was an accident,' he told her apologetically, uncomfortably squashing her against him even more. It wasn't really his fault, she realised, he was simply so big and strong that it was hard for him to be gentle, she doubted he had had much practice either - not with how she saw him smashing or crushing nearly everything he interacted with.

'I know, I know, it's okay,' she replied quickly. 'Now, could you let me stand?'

He didn't release her at first, staring fixedly away from her, then reluctantly his grip slackened. Croc watched her, not staring, but merely curious as to what she was up to. Even so she found it a little unnerving that she had the sole focus of such a dangerous entity, but she also found it strangely flattering.

'I was thinking maybe I could go collect some of the stuff from the old place you were living in before,' she suggested, chewing on her lip. 'I'd be quick. There was a little table and some pillows I could grab, just while you rest. I'd be right back.'

'No,' he replied grumpily. 'You wouldn't be able to get out of the old place again.'

He had a good point, Clara sank back defeated.

'Well I've got nothing better to do, I'm not sleepy and I can't go out now that it's light.'

His eyes flashed dangerously when she mentioned going outside again.

'I'll get them,' he told her. 'No need for you to go.'

And without any further words he got to his feet and began to leave.

'Hey, where are you going?!' she called after him, not liking the fact that she had been so abruptly abandoned. Croc should have been the one resting, not her! Perhaps it was something psychological on his part that he could never allow himself to show weakness, maybe due to some macho pride thing, though she thought it more likely that it was a result of trauma from his past.

'Gonna get the stuff,' he replied, turning to look back at her briefly. 'Stay here.'

'But you've been shot!'

'Don't care,' was his stubborn reply, and he was gone.

And though it wasn't nearly as cold as it was outside, the temperature must have been in the negatives she reckoned with all the frost she had seen, the place was noticeably colder without Croc. A little irritably, she wrapped her arms around herself, and there she waited, mulling over her confusing thoughts, while trying to remain alert.

Having not had a regular sleeping pattern since she had first been placed in Arkham City was exhausting both mentally and physically, and it meant that she was sleepy most of the time; but perhaps that could change now. If she and Croc were sharing quarters, she could pretty much set up her time schedule as she liked now, the unpredictability of always having to be on the move was gone. She reckoned that it was now about 6 or 7 AM - the sun had just been showing signs of rising on the horizon when she had came down, anywhere else this should have been a time for her to be waking up and going about a normal day. But this was not the way things were in Arkham City.

She dozed off.

...

Lying half-awake some hours later, waiting for Croc to return, her thoughts drifted back to escaping from Arkham city. Distracted by merely staying alive recently, Clara had almost forgotten that this was her ultimate goal. A goal that was still practically impossible. After Croc's reaction the last time she had voiced her wish to escape the facility she didn't even consider proposing the same idea again. Where else could he go? It wasn't like it was exactly easy to hide him outside.

Croc had no interest in leaving...

Despite the new place being empty and free of any signs of the carnage of the hell above, Clara realised that she didn't feel safe being here on her own without Croc present. She had long since learnt that when she was on her own the best way to survive was to always be on the move. The open room might have been relatively snug for Croc, but it was a big open space to her, there was some rubble littered about but nothing big enough for her to hide behind if anyone came along.

As it turned out though, that by 'going to get the stuff from the old place' Croc had meant at another time, or perhaps he had forgotten. He returned empty handed some time later, exhausted and dripping water everywhere, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him from an obviously recent swim then fell back against the wall, breathing deeply, tired from whatever exercise he had just conducted.

She yawned and scooted over to him, seeking warmth and ignoring the bemused looks he was giving her, she also ignored the fact that he now smelt disturbingly like fresh blood - though she could see no fresh injuries on him.

'I feel too exposed,' she commented after a few minutes. He looked at her questioningly. 'I'm talking about this location, I don't feel safe.'

'You want to move elsewhere?' he sounded surprised, almost hurt.

'No, just...there needs to be something that will prevent other people coming in here,' she explained. 'Once you were gone I realised that I was kind of trapped at the dead-end of a tunnel. It wouldn't have been very easy to run away.'

Croc considered this. 'I've got an idea. Not sure if you'll like it.'

Clara shrugged, and joked. 'As long as it doesn't involve me dying, I'm fine with it.'

He tried to playfully shoved at her shoulder, but of course with his strength this instead knocked her over. After quickly helping her up again, he continued as if nothing he had happened.

'I'd want to leave warnings around.'

Oh. Clara couldn't deny that this idea made her uncomfortable, but at the same time it seemed logical. 'You mean like actual skulls and stuff?' she asked timidly.

'Yeah, that kind of thing.'

'I guess that makes sense. But what if they think it was just the results of a gang fight long ago?'

'I'll make sure they know,' Croc said maliciously, but then lowered his tone again. 'Unless you can think of a better way.'

'I could travel with you?' Clara suggested, she already knew it was a poor idea though.

'That's not a good idea,' Croc concluded. 'Best to stay out of my way when I'm out, there are things I need to do.'

Like kill and eat other people. Clara's mind unhelpfully suggested, but she knew it wasn't far from the truth, Croc had to eat and she would be kidding herself if she believed he was just eating tinned macaroni as well.

She nodded and got to her feet.

'What time is it?' she asked.

'It was getting dark again when I came back,' he divulged reluctantly.

'Well, I'm going to go out now, so if I see anything useful I'll bring it back down, alright?' she said, pressing one hand to his forearm. 'I'll be right back.'

'But you got food.'

'Only enough for tomorrow, and if I don't find anything tomorrow evening that means I go hungry the day after that,' she was really worried for one moment that he might try to stop her from going, that he might get angry.

But he didn't.

'Don't do anything stupid,' he told her after a moment's silence, sitting up with his arms crossed over his knees. 'I mean it. If thing's look bad, get out of there. I'll take the risks, I can afford to.'

'I survived on my own before, you know,' she raised her eyebrows a little, but leant her weight against his arm, trying to reassure him.

'I've got tough skin,' he replied, running one of her narrow wrists through his fingers. 'You're...fragile.'

He was worried.

'I've done this before, I'll be back in a couple of hours.'

...

She didn't know where she had emerged, but she knew immediately that it wasn't anywhere she knew. It had to be the industrial district, the Joker's territory, but which way was which?

And while she was stumbling around stupidly, looking for the main wall to orientate herself, the locals found her. Worse yet, they found her and she was still wearing the Penguin's mark on both shoulders of her jacket.

But maybe it actually for the better than she still appeared to be of the Penguin's gang, because it meant they did not kill her on the spot, they thought she was spy.

'We'll take him to the Joker, we'll get rewarded big time!' they yelled amongst each other, laughing as they shoved her along at gunpoint.

The Joker was in the steel mill, a twisted building of mortar and metal, like some sort of nightmare, leering lurid faces seemed to grin and smile everywhere she looked. Whether masks or simply just decoration, Clara felt as if the hollow eyes were following her.

They took her straight to the Joker himself.

And she was surprised at what she saw.

It seemed the rumors about him dying were true, for he looked a sick and crumpled man, nothing like the sharp and smiling maniac that had so frequently and infamously appeared on Gotham's news.

He was in a wheelchair in the middle of the room, an IV drip in one arm, and by the Joker's side one of his men had already ran ahead to inform him what was going on.

On the wall behind him there was an open door through which she could see into the next room, where light flashed on the wall irregularly, indicating the presence of a TV. Somewhere nearby she could hear what sounded like a woman crying.

As they came closer, the Joker's pale face split in a sickly grin.

'It's a bird, it's a plane! Ooh!' the clown exclaimed as they came to a stop in front of him. 'Nope, it's just a bird. Harley! I thought you were supposed to be good at housekeeping? Call the exterminator! We have an infestation of penguins here!'

A/N: This chapter also breaks the record for word length for me; briefly considered cutting it in two but decided against it because it doesn't really read separately.

Response to reviews:

Sunnycroc: Yes, I love concerned Croc too! XD We'll see about Scarecrow though later on, the ironically sad thing is though, that Scarecrow doesn't even know he messed her life up as she is just one of many blank faces of the people he's destroyed over the years. Oh, and sorry if this wasn't clear, but Enrique is actually Officer Sanchez, one of the ten undercover police officers that Gordon sent in to infiltrate the Penguin's gang some time before the beginning of the Arkham City games - as was Elvis (Officer Elvis Jones) and Tom - though I think I only mentioned him once (Sergeant Tom Miller) - which is why their group was nicer than the others. Okay, so hang on. Arkham Knight won't be released for PC? The wiki page (maybe not the best source of knowledge) still says that it will be released on windows microsoft next year. I don't have a PS4 or Xbox 1 :(

On another note I'm a little worried that Scarecrow might want revenge on Croc in the Arkham Knight game (coz Croc broke his leg, blinded him in one eye, and possibly ripped his face off O_o [if you watch the preview you'll notice that when the Scarecrow is speaking his teeth are always visible, possibly equals = no lips, and maybe no nose?], if my obsessive studying of the previews and images of the figurines are anything to go by), I really wish they were releasing the game this year! *whines*.

fandelivres: Aww, thank you!

LurkingLady: Yes, love the fluff! Though like you said, Croc is still Croc, no matter how much of a sweetie he is to Clara. This is something that will eventually need to be resolved, Clara tolerates his less than socially acceptable habits for now more or less because she has to but her tolerance may begin to wane later on.

Kit Williams: I'm glad you're enjoying the story :D

Quick summary of this chapter:

Clara is caught briefly by the Penguin's gang again, but Croc manages to rescue her. Things seem to be going well, Croc has found a new residence free of bones and less damp than the last place. Croc eventually heads out to find something for himself to eat, leaving Clara behind to rest on her own. Later on, after he has returned, Clara is getting hungry and sets out to find something to eat above ground. Croc is worried about her leaving but lets her go.

Clara is caught by the Joker's gang and taken to see the crazy clown himself.