Chapter 17

Ponder

There was a pressure pushing on her torso from above, crushing her stomach painfully.

She coughed, choked and suddenly found a lot of water leaving her lungs. The pressure upon her was removed as soon as she began she spluttered, as she tried to regain her breath.

Fear still coursing through her veins, she instinctively she kicked out, trying to stand so that she didn't feel so vulnerable. As soon as she moved a crippling pain in her right leg flared, so much that it made it impossible for her to focus on anything else. A large hand pressed down upon her chest and stilled her.

Clara tried to say something back, but all that came out was a shaky whimper.Clara panicked, scratching and scrabbling frantically at the hand that held her down, but they were so strong and she felt so horribly weak. Her heartbeat was racing, all that she could see right now in her mind's eye were crushing clawed hands and pointed teeth. She felt the need to escape, to run, to get away! Hide some place dark where no one would find her. That was how she had survived so far!

It wasn't exactly like she could run away now - she doubted she could even walk now.

'It's me,' Croc's voice said from somewhere above her, confirming who it was. But this didn't make her feel any calmer in this situation.

He had nearly killed her!

How was she supposed to feel now?!

It must have been an accident, she repeated in to herself in her head, Croc would not have intentionally tried to kill her, right? But no matter how many times she repeated this to herself she couldn't deny the fact that he nearly had, and she remembered the fear of his attack only too vividly.

'Icy cold, she couldn't breath and she couldn't see Croc; he was just a hulking faceless shadow in the water. Like a great weight, he effortlessly pulled her deeper and she was powerless to escape. She struggled nonetheless, her lungs screaming at her to take a breath. "Get off me! Get off! Get off! Get off!" she wanted to shriek, but there was no way for her to say anything under water. When agony tore through right leg, she couldn't at first believe that he had bitten her. She had forgotten who he was, and he had not realised who she was, and she thought of how ironic it was that she would die at the very hands of the one she thought might be able to save her...'

She could feel herself shivering, felt nauseous. She was so frightened, but too exhausted to be afraid. How many times had she come close to dying in the past few months now? Way too many times. This was nothing new, she tried to reassure herself. Only she knew there was one key difference between now and before; this time she had not escaped the event unscathed.

A large hand briefly touched her chin, and then moved to support her legs as she was picked up off the ground.

She yelled when her right leg was knocked. It felt as if a thousand white-hot needles had been pushed into her thigh all at once. Her pulse raced in her ears and her fingers scratched at Croc's scales, there was nothing outside her little world of pain in that moment. Croc said something to her, but she couldn't focus enough to understand what he was saying.

...

The ground was hard, but she was aware she was lying on something relatively soft but thin. A blanket? Since when had they had a blanket down here? Clara was finding it hard to focus, but she knew they had to be back at the hideout. Everything right now was about the inescapable pain in her leg, no where to run or to stop it. The best she could do was not move at all, and even that was agony.

Croc was crouched on his knees beside her, he seemed at a loss at what to do.

'Croc?' she asked, and was surprised at how hoarse she sounded.

'Right here,' he replied, voice much softer than she had ever heard before. 'I'm right here, don't you worry.'

She hadn't forgotten the cause of her pain, tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

'You bit me...'

'I didn't mean to,' his gaze fixed on her chin rather than look her in the eyes. 'You're still alive,' he almost sounded as if he couldn't believe it.

Her strength was sapped, she had used it all in her struggle, her arms fell back against her sides. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold back her tears.

'How bad is it?' she asked weakly.

Croc snarled in frustration, but whether it was at himself or her weakness she wasn't sure.

'You're not dead,' he told her, still not meeting her gaze. 'The bleeding's slowing.'

She closed her eyes, expecting the worst: 'Do I still have both legs?'

'I didn't bite it off if that's what you're thinking,' Croc rumbled in concern, he looked down towards her injured leg. 'But it's pretty screwed up.'

Clara wanted to get up to have a look for herself, but knew that right at that moment she did not have the strength to sit up on her own.

'Let me see,' she begged. 'I need to see.'

'I don't want you to see,' he actually glared at her, as if trying to intimidate her into leaving the matter alone.

'I need to see,' she continued weakly. 'You can't just pretend nothing has happened.'

'Don't you think I know that?!' he growled fiercely, then immediately shook his head and let out a frustrated growl, looking away from her. 'I can't help you. I don't know how...' he tapered off.

'I need to see for myself, so help me up,' she demanded a little more forcibly.

This time Croc complied without a word, gently easing one hand beneath her shoulders and helping her raise the upper part of her body off the ground.

She tried to look at her injured leg but couldn't see much, this was because blood had already stained and colored her trouser leg and made it impossible for her to tell where the material ended and where the wound began. The blanket below her was already stained in several places with dark red, she couldn't see it but she knew her leg had to be cut open quite badly, she'd be lucky if she didn't bleed to death.

'Oh, jeez,' she whimpered, and Croc lowered her back down again.

'I thought you were one of the Joker's goons,' he said, helplessly gesturing to the ground above them. 'You were just standing there, not running, I should have known.'

'You need to get me boiled water, or antiseptics, or something,' she babbled, more focused on resolving the problem immediately rather than reassuring Croc. 'If you don't I'll probably go into toxic shock, or get septicemia.'

'Septa-what?' he questioned, unfamiliar with the word.

'Blood poisoning,' she choked. 'I need something to clean the injury, if it's deep it could turn nasty very quickly.'

'I haven't got any medicine,' he growled. 'And where would I get boiled water? You think I got a furnace in here?'

She whimpered, and turned away from him. 'I don't want to die...'

'You're not going to,' he promised savagely. 'I'm here, I'll keep you warm, I'll protect you. I'll get you anything you need.'

'Bandages, I need bandages,' she said after a moment; medication might be out of the question but it was easily possible to improvise with bandages. 'You got anything you could tear up?'

Croc disappeared to the other side of the tunnel for a moment, then returned with a blanket much like the one she was already on. He tore it up into long shreds effortlessly, but once he was done he didn't move to proceed, looking uncertainly between the material and her wounded leg.

'Please, you got to act fast,' she told him. 'No skill required, just bind my leg, apply pressure to stop the bleeding.'

'If I touch your leg I'll hurt you,' he informed her.

'If you don't I'll die, please Croc, help me,' she begged him. 'I can't do it by myself.'

He listened to, gently grasping her leg by the ankle and raising it off the ground so that he could wrap the bandage around it. The bindings went straight over her trouser leg at her instruction, Clara knew that the worse thing to do with a wound site was to pull off the material - it would only damage what had scabbed over already. She ground her teeth and pushed her head back against the wall as he worked, it hurt but she wasn't going to make any further noise.

'Done,' he told her a few minutes later, but what felt like hours to her.

'Thanks,' she told him. She could hear him shuffling beside her, the rough worn material of his trousers rasping against brick as he tried to make himself comfortable.

'I didn't mean to hurt you,' he told her quietly.

'It was a mistake, I know,' she replied, trying her hardest not to remember the terror she had felt at being dragged screaming below water.

'You're just saying that coz you're scared of me,' he continued quietly. 'It's all my fault.'

She could hear the hurt in his voice, and reached out until her hand found his.

'I was terrified, I won't lie, but heck, you probably ended up saving my life. The Joker's crew caught me just after I got above ground, I'm really lucky that they didn't just kill me on the spot. Turned out the Joker was looking for a spy to put within the Penguin's gang, I pretended to agree but there is no way that the Penguin's gang would have taken me back now, they would have shot me on sight.'

'This place ain't safe,' Croc agreed, running his claws down her arm. Clara noticed he seemed to relish the contact. 'It won't happen again, you need to stay here.'

'I don't think that'll be a problem now,' she told him, wincing as she moved her leg, trying to shuffle over for more warmth.

'...' Croc didn't reply to that, Clara realised only too late that she had just messed up.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-'

'It's true, though, ain't nothing to lie about there,' he replied sadly. 'You can't walk and yeh can't even look after yourself now…'

She was so fragile, like a little bird. What the heck was he supposed to do now?

The event vaguely reminded him of a long since forgotten day many years before, back in the days when he had been scared of everything and his aunt had towered over him. His aunt's cat, a horrible scruffy thing with a squashed in face and too little fur, had brought in a dying bird; which it batted it around in the empty stained kitchen for a while before it lost interest and stalked away. Back in those days, Croc had rarely if ever been allowed outdoors, and upon finding the small thing from the outside world, he had been fascinated.

He could still remember the thrill of gathering the tiny feathery body in his hands and thinking that perhaps he could keep it.

Only of course, fate was never so kind to him.

The mauled bird died less than an hour later. And when his aunt found him crouched on the kitchen floor with the dead animal in his hands, she had screamed at him, told him he was filthy, and later that afternoon she discarded the dead bird with the trash.

Like back then, he had no idea how to care for the injured individual. How was he supposed to look after her now? The helplessness he felt was nearly unbearable.

And this time the only person to blame was him.

She might say otherwise, but he already knew the answer, everyone lied to get what they wanted, but was what she wanted in this case for him to be alright with his screw-up?

'Do you have a family?' she asked softly.

The question surprised him.

He was silent for a while, but then he conceded, deciding that the question wasn't an insult. He knew she had to know that he had no one, but then again the question could be honestly innocent. What was stopping him telling her something so unimportant, it wasn't like she was an enemy? He still found himself hesitating.

'I had something close to a family once, but they're all dead or gone now. Ain't ever going to see them again.'

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly. 'I can sort of relate to that.'

'How?' he asked a little irritably, assuming that she was trivializing his loss.

'Because I lost part of my family too, that's why I'm in here,' she said even more quietly, barely above a whisper.

'I thought you were in here coz Scarecrow gassed you?'

'I am,' she paused unwilling to continue, he waited patiently and eventually she spoke. 'My brother worked as Arkham Asylum, he was one of the people in charge of assessing new patients upon arrival,' she smiled sadly. 'Why would anyone voluntarily choose to work at a place like Arkham?'

'The money?' Croc suggested, he couldn't think of any other reason.

'Possibly,' Clara shrugged. 'They hired him and promoted him almost immediately despite the fact that he was still quite new to the job; I think they were desperate for employees. He was just 26, he'd only graduated a few years before, most of his co-workers were pushing into their 50s or 60s. I don't think he saw how desperate they were for him to work there. Anyway, long story short, he was there the night of the breakout last year. I heard that Scarecrow was in the medical facility at the time, somehow he broke out during the riot, and went on his merry way gassing everyone in his path. My brother was one of them, he normally wouldn't have even been working in the medical facility, he had an office over in Intensive Treatment, but...'

Her breath hitched and she shook her head, looking away from him, raising one hand to cover her face.

'Someone got to him while he was under the gas,' Croc assumed.

She nodded stiffly, still hiding her face.

'...it was me,' she told him, her voice suddenly devoid of any emotion. 'I was in the medical facility too, the very same room. I got my hands on a fire axe that someone had dropped when they were trying to breakout. I couldn't think or see straight while I was so terrified, everything was...well, you said you experienced the Scarecrow's fear gas first hand, didn't you?'

'Yeah,' he was not going to recall those memories.

'I guess looking at it from an outsider's perspective, none of it was really my fault, but no matter what I tell myself, there will always be this little inkling in the back of my mind that I could have done something different.'

There was a silence after this. Realising how vulnerable she must have felt, Croc decided to take the topic away from her.

'I used to work in a circus, you know?' he told her softly. 'And my colleagues were the closest I'd ever had to a proper family, and there was nothing more valuable to me than their lives.'

Beside him, she move slightly tilting her head to one side to listen.

'We had all sorts visit us, but most who attended the shows were there just for a cheap laugh rather than the talent of any of the performers. Some of them were a really nasty bunch, who got a real kick out of putting others down, and one day some nasty little bastards decided it would be really funny to corner this little blind girl who worked at the carnival. They shoved her around, jeered, they would have probably killed her if I hadn't stepped in, the police got involved and the filthy rats were taken away. But a few evenings later they came back.'

He remembered that night all too well. The suffocating scent of burning, and the deathly silence in the aftermath; no outside help had turned up for ages afterwards, and there had been no screams because no one had survived.

'You know the ferris wheel, the merry-go-round, the rides? Now, they were all powered by gasoline generators. Very flammable stuff. When they set fire to the tents, it spread to the generators. There was nothing anyone could do to stop it then, one moment I was trying to help put the fire out, then the next I'm in searing pain, lying in the harbor and all around me I can smell burning. I already know everyone else is dead, but I didn't want to believe it...it couldn't have happened was all I kept thinking.'

'Were the culprits arrested?' she asked tentatively.

'No, there wasn't enough evidence. The whole thing was listed as an accident, but it left me homeless, jobless...and the others all lifeless. And the filthy little rats had gotten away with it!'

'People like that never get far in life, I'm sure they suffered further down the road after they did what they did,' she tried to reassure him.

'Oh they suffered, I made sure of that.' Croc growled furiously. 'It was the first thing I did. I had nothing left!'

Clara cried out as his grip tightened too much. He quickly slackened his grip again upon realising what he was doing. 'But that doesn't matter now, it's already happened, happened years ago. I got you now, and I ain't gonna lose you too.'

The next day passed in a blur, in which she drifted in and out of sleep uneasily, reminding herself each time she woke that she had to rest if she was to have any chance of recovering, but each time she awoke she felt more uncomfortable. She felt too warm, and she began to worry that she was developing a fever. Time seemed to speed up and slow down at random.

She felt exhausted, even as she began to awaken again she wanted to remain asleep, so she tossed and turned, trying to make herself more comfortable, only to cry out in pain as the injury on her right leg would flare up again.

Croc was very attentive though, he was talking more than usual she noticed, perhaps it was to make up for the fact that she was talking far less.

When she began to shiver from the cold, he lay down beside her and gently as possible pulled her against him to share his warmth - and he was very warm. She could relax against him, listening to and feeling his breathing, not alone, not alone...

But Croc had to head out again.

'Take me with you,' she raised one weak hand towards him, and he took it in his own.

'I can't, you'll get hurt,' he told her. 'I'll block up the tunnel when I go, no one will be able to reach you until I get back.'

'I know I'm not going to live, so please just listen to what I have to say,' she said abruptly. 'I don't blame you, okay? It's not your fault, it's the stupid people who shoved everyone in here. If you ever grow sick of this place, the harbor is the way out. It's watched by the guards but it's not mined. If you keep deep under water, they won't ever know you're there.'

He fell silent at that. But he wasn't angry at her, he remained crouched beside her for a while longer, seemingly unable to tear himself away before he finally gave in and left. She heard the grinding of rocks as he moved to blockade the route. Alone and scared once more, it took all her remaining strength not to cry.

Her leg throbbed dully, threatening to strike her with bolts of pain if she so much as twitched.

She looked up towards the cracked damp ceiling and frowned. Freaking wonderful, she thought sarcastically to herself, this was what she had always feared would happen; dying alone, injured, in Arkham City. She clung to her anger as long as she could, because she knew that if she let go she would fall further into despair.

...

Croc returned hours later, but it could have been years for all she knew, with a red splattered crate under one arm and new scars upon his skin, most surprisingly of all was the presence of a radio balanced atop of the crate. Clara remembered this quite lucidly, wondering where on Earth he had found such a thing.

'Got enough food to last you weeks,' he told her proudly. 'Don't know why I didn't think of this before.'

She smiled in appreciation but felt too weak to do much else. Her gaze wandered to the radio, Croc noticed.

'...got this for you,' he said uncomfortably. 'It was just lying around, I'll get rid of it if you don't want it.'

'No,' she told him, grinning despite herself. 'Thank you. Does it have a signal?'

'It should do,' Croc put the crate to one side and sat down beside her.

There was a buzz of static as he experimentally turned the dial, before the radio sparked to life: "-Bruce Wayne continues his open campaign against Arkham City despite repeated requests by the mayor and council office to step down. Reports are coming in that he has now booked a stadium for the seminar tomorrow in which he will present his opening speech on his opposition against the facility. Mayor Sharp has so far refused to comment on this new development. As you may know, Wayne Enterprises has been sponsoring-"

'Someone on the outside actually wants to close this place down,' Clara smiled, happy at the information, after all this time she had began to think that everyone outside had just been waiting with baited breath for everyone in the facility to die off. 'Bruce Wayne is a big name too. Isn't he like a millionaire or something? People are bound to listen to him.'

Croc shrugged. 'Rich bastard must be up to something.'

'I'd like to think that someone outside actually cares about the stupidity that is Arkham City,' she replied innocently; he immediately gave her a look that indicated he thought she was naive, but she ignored it.

Clara shifted a little, pushing herself up the curved tunnel wall so as to prop herself up. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

'I'm really thirsty,' she told Croc.

He wasted no time in heading out again. Leaving her alone once more.

A few minutes passed, and Clara was able to wrangle her thoughts together enough to decide she could check on herself without Croc present worrying over her. She would deny the reality that she was horribly injured, and be strong.

Wanting to get a better look at his job bandaging her leg - and maybe wanting to prove to herself that she wasn't permanently crippled by her injury - she sat up abruptly, pushing herself up off the wall.

Immediately her vision became unnaturally bright, colors seemed to be turning white before her eyes. Nausea gripped at her. Realising she had made a mistake was the last thing on her mind before she passed out.

Croc had brought with him a bucket of snow, it was still melting and was chillingly cold, but he was sure it would be safer to drink than anything else he could get at this time.

He found her slumped motionless when he got back. At first he thought she was sleeping, but found to his alarm that she wouldn't wake up when he spoke to her. There was the smell of blood as well, and immediately he realised the wound had been reopened; she must have tried to move.

'Come on, you gotta wake up again,' he cursed over and over again in his head, as he struggled to think of something that he could do to help her.

Eventually she began to stir again, opening her eyes and looking up at him. For a moment she looked up at him uncertainly as she tried to focus, then her eyes teared up and she looked away from him, her breath stuttering as she breathed in deeply.

'I passed out, didn't I?' she asked once, then without warning began to cry.

This alarmed Croc more than anything else. He literally had no idea how to deal with this sort of situation, but it was painful for him to witness; he knew why she was crying, she was terrified of dying.

'Please, don't cry,' he pleaded.

'I'm sorry, but I don't feel so well,' she told him. She had gone unnaturally pale, she was shivering again though she felt anything but cold to him.

Croc was helpless to watch her, he had no idea what to do.

'What do you need?' he asked her.

'It's okay, I'm just tired,' she shook her head at him. 'Let me rest, maybe that's all I need.' But her voice was shaking, she didn't even believe it herself.

What was wrong with her? Had she lost too much blood? Was she ill? Was it both? Croc had no way of helping either situation, she needed medicine, but where the heck was he going to get anything like that?

He ground his teeth and thought desperately. Maybe he could make a trade with someone within the facility. That wouldn't be any of the regulars, such privileges as medication would lie only with the likes of the crime bosses. The Joker, the Penguin and Two-Face.

The Joker and the Penguin were out of the question, there was no way he was going anywhere near either those two again; he had fallen out of favor with the Joker long ago after the crazy clown had made one too many jokes about leather shoes and wallets. That left Two-Face, someone who he was not altogether familiar with, but if rumors were to be believed the man was desperately seeking hired help - and that also would help with the second problem, the fact that he had nothing to trade with but himself.

It was then he remembered the rumored medical facility in the church to the east of Two-Face's turf. The place was supposed to offer minimal medical care to all those who needed it, and quite honestly sounded too good to be true. He knew that most stayed well clear of the place out of suspicion, and those that attacked in hope of raiding the place had returned defeated and often wounded. But he would have to try.

The alternative, if he were to work for Two-Face, would mean that he would have to leave Tony down here, no way he would leave her crippled up top. It would be his last resort to go there.

'I'll find you medicine, I'll find you something,' he promised, and then he had to leave her again.

...

He knew where he was heading, the so called medical center was supposed to have limited supplies for sick inmates, he had never been there, but he would risk it though he was well aware they would likely begin to shoot at him before he could even say anything.

And in a way he wasn't far from right. Normally it would have made his blood boil when he smelt that the guard Cash was nearby, but right now he couldn't care less.

The medical center was located in a barricaded church.

At first they locked themselves away and wouldn't even look out. When he thumped upon the door and threatened to break it down, they changed their minds.

Several bullet proof shutters above the door opened and guards looked out, guns raised to eye-level. A nervous medic peering out from between them.

'Get lost, Croc! You won't find no easy snacks here!' Cash shouted down at him.

'I'm here to see a doc,' he growled back.

'Yeah, I'm sure you are,' the guard shouted back sarcastically.

'Mr Cash, please, we are here to help all inmates who need it,' the medic spoke up, though she looked as if she wasn't completely in agreement herself; sneering down at him fearfully.

'Sorry, doc, but have you seen this freak? This monster don't need no medication, except maybe some powerful tranquilizers.'

'It's not for me!' he roared back. 'I need medicine…' but that was all he knew, never before had he needed to ask for medication, never before had he cared to listen or learn about such stuff, so he was stuck. 'Bandages and crap like that!'

'Ah, he just wants to sell the stuff, don't give him anything,' Cash said irritably before the medic could say anything.

'It's not for me!' he tried again, he really didn't want to have to discuss this but it didn't look like he had a choice. 'It's for this girl.'

'Oh, that's a good one, now I know he's messing with us!'

'Her leg's screwed up and she's dying, I need medicine!' he growled again. 'Give it or I'll come up there and rip you to pieces!'

'Yeah, you try that and I'm putting both your eyes out,' warned Cash.

The medic had vanished from the window, Croc felt like he was getting no where.

'I need medicine, I need it now!'

Just then one of the shutters was rolled up and the medic appeared again, she threw down a small package.

'There's some bandages,' shouted down the nervous medic. 'Take them and leave.'

'I need medicine!'

This was not good enough! Croc had learnt that the best way to get people to do what he wanted was to frighten them, such was the unfortunate truth of criminal underworld but even more unfortunately was the fact that it was the completely wrong way to go about negotiating with the likes of Cash and the medics.

The metal shutters were immediately closed securely and he heard the clicking of rifles being readied.

Having no choice but to leave, he took what had been given and left.

...

It was the next night now and she wasn't looking any better. She woke up in a fright from a nightmare, convinced that she was alone.

He stayed with her until breathing was level once more. Croc knew that he would have to try with the medical center again. Perhaps the bastards would help if they saw the state she was in for themselves. He decided to go again without her, briefly leaving Tony alone to travel on his own up to ground level to make sure the way was clear. There was no way he was going to risk carrying her to the medical center if there was a chance that the guards might open fire on him.

Of all the people he could of run into that terrible night, the last he expected to see skulking around the sewers was the Bat himself. He had snarled at him, threatened him, but the Bat was ill. It wasn't worth his effort, and his initial aggression, his worry that the Bat might come across Tony and hurt her quickly faded away; just like him, his enemy had other goals that night.

He soon found his way back above ground again.

But as it turned out, there was no danger of the guards shooting him.

The medical center itself was empty when he returned. Both sets of doors were swung wide open, there was the acrid smell of explosives and burning in the air, mixed in with the unmistakable sharp tang of blood. He immediately assumed they were all dead. Heck, this was Arkham City, there was only so many conclusions he could make in a situation like this.

With no one around, he began to look for supplies by himself. The only problem was that he had no idea what he was searching for. He trashed the place, knocking down shelves and pulling out drawers as he searched.

He found more bandages, and some boxes containing bottles of pills - any other medical equipment he tossed to one side, not knowing its purpose or if it would be of any use. He picked up one of these tiny bottles and peered at the tiny writing scrawled across the side, he didn't recognise the name but knew it sounded medical, maybe Tony would know what it was.

Grabbing everything he thought could be useful, he hurried back out again. On the way he caught sight of the courthouse that was supposedly Two-Face's headquarters, it was burning and front of the building had partially collapsed. Croc immediately knew he would be getting no help from there.

There were a lot more helicopters on patrol that night than usual, the sky seemed to be swarming with them like flies over carrion.

...

'These are painkillers,' Tony identified the pills for him half an hour later, she was shivering in his arms as he held up the bottle for her to inspect.

'They'll help though, right?' he asked her.

'Well, they'll make me feel more comfortable...' she frowned, then as if to confirm his fears, she abruptly swooned and crumpled against him.

'You all right?' he asked her, touching her shoulder softly. She didn't seem to realise he had spoken. 'Tony, I need you to speak to me.'

'I'm sorry, but I feel kind of dizzy,' she whispered hoarsely. 'Really, really dizzy.'

She was dying right in front of him and there was nothing he could do.

He ran the back of a hand across her shivering cheek to comfort her, but she wasn't completely with him any more and he could practically feel her slipping further and further away. There was no question to it, he had to get her help, he had to get her to a hospital. And the only hospitals nearby were outside of Arkham City.

It would be dangerous, but he had no choice. But either way, there was a strong possibility that he would never see her again; he wouldn't be able to follow her once she was out.

To keep her, he would have to let her go.

'You need a doctor,' he told her. 'A hospital, a real hospital. Not like anything they got in this place.'

'Croc?' she asked weakly when he gently picked her limp body up off the ground. 'What's going on?'

'We're leaving Arkham City,' he told her. 'Like you always wanted.'

Then, perhaps delirious, she used the last of her strength to sit upright in his hold and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

He was still in shock when she fell back slack in his grip, shivering with sickness. For a moment it felt almost as if his heart would stop. With renewed vigor he promised himself that he would get her out of there.

They were above ground, she could tell by the soothing chill on her skin and the wind battering at her ears. In the distance she could hear the ever present sound of helicopter blades chopping at the cold night air, like an angry buzzing of bees around a hive. The sound was more intense than usual, as if many were flying at once. But though she could hear them, she saw no sign of the usual search lights that accompanied their flights; there were none overhead wherever it was that Croc had now taken her.

'Something is happening,' his voice rumbled through his chest and down into her very bones. Clara wasn't sure what he was talking about, she wasn't very capable of being sure of anything at the moment, but she nodded nonetheless and tried to focus on anything other than the stabbing pain in her leg and the insistent discomfort of her headache and feverish body.

'Good,' she breathed.

'There is no one watching, they're focusing on the town. Must be some sort of riot going on,' Croc confirmed, as he slid into the water, holding her to his chest with one arm. 'We'll make it.'

The water was ice cold, but right then it was almost a relief when she had such a high fever.

They followed the edge of the harbor until they came closer to the wall, Croc keeping her above the water so that she could breath. A helicopter swept overhead briefly, much too close for comfort. A few moments later, he told her to hold her breath and they sank below the surface.

A/N: Sorry if this chapter seemed a bit rushed, to be honest it was, I'm not all that happy with its structure (maybe I'll go over it again someday) but I'm working on a limited timescale, I start university on the 22nd and I won't be able to publish after that date for a while. I'll get one more chapter up after this, and then I'll be taking a break, hopefully a short one.

Ok, so the release date for Arkham Knight has been confirmed: 2 June 2015. Argh! Why such a long wait?! ;_; I'm certain it's going to be a fantastic game, but the wait is killing me!

Response to reviews:

LurkingLady: About him not recognising her, I've heard that scent doesn't travel well between water and air (but that might be wrong *shrugs*) so he would have been relying more on light and shadow like a real crocodile when he was hunting. And ooh, o_o, I'll try my best to avoid the "trouble-magnet" stereotype, it's not a trope I really fond of (to be honest though, I've been giving the last few chapters of this story "drama-injections", the old draft was a lot more basic with Clara meeting Croc after leaving the Penguin's gang without the near-miss, the run in with the patrol never happened and later on they decided to leave Arkham City as a result of Project 10 rather than Clara being ill - I hope I didn't get carried away).

Kit Williams: That would have been a really mean way for me to finish the story, really sad too, sorry for getting you worried, this part of the story is nearly over but I plan on making a whole new arc after this one set after Arkham City. :)

PathlessSpore: Aww, thank you, I'm really happy you're enjoying the story (it's the first one I've stuck to for more than a few weeks, my attention span normally doesn't normally last that long, lol). You're prediction was correct, there aren't any antibiotics in Arkham City (at least not which Croc can get his hands on), so inevitably Clara was going to fall ill as a result. Thank you for you review :D

Quick summary of this chapter:

Clara awakens to find that she is still alive, but injured. Croc is very apologetic but the physical damage is already done. He tries to look after her, but Clara inevitably falls ill eventually. Realising that she is dying before his eyes, Croc knows that the only way she will be able to survive is if he takes her to a hospital. Simultaneously Project 10 rages above, the guards distracted, Croc escapes from Arkham city with Clara.