Chapter 18

Begin again

She drifted in and out of consciousness, one moment they were by the docks and she was coughing up water, the next they were seemingly back in the streets and then she became aware they were no longer moving.

Clara found that she was lying over something hard and uneven, when she moved the hiss of sand told her it was construction materials, bags of cement and the like. One of Croc's hand engulfed hers and she smiled up at him dazedly, not quite knowing what was going on.

'You're going to be okay, I've called for an ambulance,' he told her, his voice sounding a long way off. 'They'll make you better, Tony.'

'My name isn't Tony,' she told him weakly.

'I know that, you told me before,' he was crouched beside her. 'We were never formally introduced.'

It was ironic really, that their relationship was so strange that they introduced themselves when they said good bye, completely against common sense and social norms. Clara decided to make the most of it.

'How'd you do? My name is Clara Dawson,' she introduced herself, laughing a little at the strangeness of the situation. She raised her other hand and settled it on top of Croc's. 'It was a pleasure to meet you.'

'Hm, Waylon Jones,' he grunted, then huffed in embarrassment before adding: 'At your service, my lady.' He even jokingly gave a small bow like a real gentleman.

Clara managed a weak laugh, and pulled on his hand so that it rested against the side of her face. He hooded his eyes and the corners of his face tugged slightly – and sadly Clara realised this was the closest he could come to smiling, so she smiled all the more to make up for it.

'Where are we?'

'Some old warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham.'

Gotham? This was the first time she had been outside of Arkham City in months, Clara almost couldn't believe it.

'After you get better, I'm wondering if they'll send you back right away. If they put you back in through the side-gate in the Bowery I can be waiting nearby, and smash up anyone that tries to block your way,' Croc continued, when she didn't say anything for a few minutes.

A brutal promise of protection, but it didn't bother her, if anything it made her heart surge with happiness.

'I don't think I would be alive if it weren't for you,' she confessed to him. 'I would have given up a long time ago, I'd still be somewhere in Arkham City now, cold and dead.'

'Don't say that, you're safe now,' he told her. 'You got me.'

'I know that.' she reassured him. 'But if I live...'

'You'll live.'

'…will I ever see you again?' her vision was blurry, and she realised she was blinking back tears.

'Maybe,' he squeezed her shoulder gently. 'When they send you back, I'll be waiting for you.'

He stayed by her side until she could see the flashing of blue and red lights through the cracked glass upon the walls.

'They're here,' he said, looking out of the windows.

He looked back at her, then moved forward and leant down, pressing his forehead against hers, the gesture was surprisingly intimate in its gentleness. She could feel his warmth all around her, like a blanket. For a moment she was granted lucidity. Never before had she had a friend quite like Croc, and she knew right then that there was not anyone in the world that could replace him.

'Good bye, Clara,' he said, and then he was gone.

She was unable to stop herself from crying when she found herself alone again, even when the paramedics came tearing into the room she couldn't stop, recoiling away weakly from them as they assessed the situation.

...

There was a curtain drawn around her bed, an IV drip was stuck in her right arm.

For a few moments she groggily appreciated the relative softness of the starchy white sheets around her. Clara recognised the chemical smell of a hospital ward before she even opened her eyes.

Finding herself somewhere new and unknown, and worst of all finding that she was alone, Clara sat up. There was a metallic clink and something immediately tugged at her wrist. She looked down and saw to her surprise that her left hand had been handcuffed to the bedside table. Not liking the fact that she had been restrained like a criminal, Clara immediately began trying to pull her hand free. At this time she was so underweight she didn't believe it would be that hard for her to escape, but fatigue and the fact that she had bones in her hand prevented her from making this a reality.

A nurse briefly looked in through the curtains at her upon hearing Clara's struggles to free herself, but they hurriedly left again before Clara could ask them what was going on.

A few minutes passed, and a doctor pushed his way in through the curtains, a clipboard in hand. Clara regarded him with wide fearful eyes; after so long in Arkham City she didn't trust strangers.

'I am Dr Whittaker,' he told her, raising one hand placatingly upon noticing her tenseness. He drew up a chair beside her bed and, when she didn't struggle or curse at him, he took this as permission to continue speaking. 'I'm here to help. I just have a few questions for you. Is that alright?'

She nodded slowly. It wasn't like she had a choice.

'How are you feeling?'

'How should I be feeling?' she asked; her leg still ached but far less than it had, but she felt a bit strange at the same time, sort of fuzzy...

'I would hope nothing more than some mild discomfort, you're on some very strong pain killers,' he grinned, but the smile faltered when he saw the anxious look on her face. 'It's been about a two days since the paramedics brought you in. We weren't sure if you were going to make it when you first arrived. You had quite a high fever and you had lost a lot of blood. You're still not fully recovered, you're going to have to stay in this ward for another day or so for observation. You have had a blood transfusion and intravenous antibiotics since arriving but the IV drip needs to remain in place; you're quite malnourished.'

'Ah, well, I guess things could have been worse,' she joked, then giggled nervously, looking out through the gap in the curtains to try to get an idea of where she was. 'Where am I exactly?'

'You're in Mercy General Hospital. Do you not know how you got here?' she heard a pen click, she could see it poised over paper to take down notes. 'In particular, why is it that you were found in an old warehouse?'

Clara didn't reply. Nervously she ticked over the pros and cons of being honest.

'Now there is no need to panic, we already know you're from Arkham City-' Dr Whittaker had already picked up on the fact that she as trying to avoid the question.

'Are you sending me back?' she interrupted.

'Arkham City is being closed down.' Dr Whittaker told her, raising his eyebrows. 'The government has deemed it's no longer safe for the public or its inhabitants, and all inmates are to be relocated in due time. Don't worry, you won't be returning there. Now, what is your name? We were unable to find any identification on you.'

This part of the conversation was inevitable. Reluctantly she decided to tell the truth because she knew they would double check her identification here rather than simply take her word for it.

'It's Clara Dawson.' she told him.

'On what charges were you in the facility?'

'Post-traumatic stress disorder and clinical depression,' Clara was confused as to what was going to happen next. Was she going to be re-incarcerated into a psychiatric ward? She didn't like that idea at all. 'Can you unchain me now?'

'It's simply against protocol to release you until we have confirmed you identity, Miss Dawson. It's for our safety as well as yours,' the doctor told her. 'But I thank you for your co-operation. You should know that you will need to undergo a psychiatric evaluation before we can proceed with processing you. Depending on your identification and the results, you may need to be transferred to another facility in due time.'

'Another facility? Arkham City probably made me worse,' she replied irritably.

'It was an unsuccessful project,' the doctor agreed. 'I think everyone will agree on that now. But do not think that I am trying to corner you; many inmates from the facility are being questioned so as to gather further evidence for investigations and court cases regarding the illegality of the Arkham City. So I must ask, how did you escape the facility?'

'I swam out.'

'You swam?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'I don't know, a few days ago maybe? It was kind of hard to keep track of the time when I didn't have access to a clock or calendar.' And thinking about that, what was the date now? Was it still December, or were they already in January?

'Who was your accomplice? Who escaped with you?'

'I escaped on my own,' she lied.

'Someone contacted the hospital for you, and there were signs that the warehouse you were found in had been forcibly broken into; personally I find it hard to believe you were capable of breaking into anywhere in the condition you were found you in.'

'Everyone went by nicknames in Arkham City, you'd be very lucky to get a real name from anyone,' she replied indifferently. 'Do you think anyone there would have wanted to give their real name to me?'

'So you admit you were not on your own?'

Clara fell quiet again, uncertain how to respond.

'You are not in any trouble, Miss Dawson. I don't think anyone could have you convicted for a breaking into that warehouse, there was no way you were capable at the time. What I am more curious in how you got out. Arkham City was supposedly inescapable.'

'I already told you, I swam out,' she bit her lip and she tried to remember back to the night, it all seemed so hazy now. 'I think there was something going on elsewhere because the usual security wasn't around. There was no one around to see me leave.'

'That would coincide with the night you were found, Emergency Protocol 10 was active at the time.'

'Protocol 10?'

'Arkham City was deemed a hazard to the public, Protocol 10 was a measure taken to neutralize all inmates within the facility so as to prevent a mass breakout.'

'By neutralize do you mean...?'

'Yes.'

Clara felt her heart plummet in a panic. Croc had said he was going back into the facility, what if...?

'What happened?' she demanded immediately.

'Shortly after the order was issued, the director of the project was relinquished of duty, and the event was cancelled.'

'So no one died?'

'A lot of people did die,' the doctor replied uncomfortably. 'But the vast majority were left unharmed.'

Where was Croc now? Was he alright? Did he know that she was too?

'Could I make a request?' she asked tentatively after a few moments.

'That depends on what you're asking, Miss Dawson.'

'Could you get me a newspaper? Any will do, I need to know what happened, find out whether they released the names of any of the casualties.'

'I don't think that sort of information will be in print. The whole place is in lockdown. The only name you might find is that of the Joker. He's dead.'

The fact that one of the biggest crime lords in Gotham had just died seemed trivial to her right at that moment.

'Arkham City has been shut down, and those that still remain there will be extracted shortly,' he looked at her pityingly. 'I am sorry you had to be put through such a system.'

'I suppose they all just get moved elsewhere,' she replied, leaning forward to peer at the doctor's wristwatch, she could just make out that it was something past eight at night. 'What happens next?'

'You recover, we check the paperwork and city records to verify your identification, and then, if you're cleared to go, you can leave,' he told her.

'But where do I go? I haven't got my own house, and the room I was renting out at the university, it must belong to someone else by now...'

'What about your family?'

'My family?' the notion was strange to her after all this time; she had almost forgotten she had one any more.

'Call them and tell them you're okay, they must be worried sick.'

Several days had passed.

Croc was back in the tunnel he had specifically sought out for her, which had briefly been theirs could still very faintly smell her scent here. And if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine she was still there, sleeping quietly nearby.

He had not wanted to leave her, it had been so hard for him to trust that the paramedics would look after her. But if he had stayed they probably would have called the police when they realised he was there, and they would not have seen to Clara until it was too late.

This was simply the way it had to be.

Never before had he noticed how empty the tunnels were below Arkham City. How they echoed hollowly when he walked through them, how the only other sound was the distant running of water and occasional crackling of the old concrete overhead.

This was not something that should have bothered him. For the past seven years he had thought he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, it was the only time when he didn't feel agitated; but now it suddenly felt unbearable.

It reminded him of being back in the old sewer network below the asylum, where for months on end he hadn't see anyone, though he knew the ground above was swarming; he could hear and smell their presence. They had locked him away, and tried to forget about him. Occasionally they would throw raw meat down for him, then just sometimes guards would come to lead him to upper floors at gunpoint, where doctors would say they could help him. They would say this all the while with looks of disgust on their faces, and their hands poised ready to electrocute him. They promised a cure, while dwelling on thoughts of his destruction; he smelt their putrid fear and knew they lied.

He had been left to rot there, and he'd probably still be there if the Joker hadn't destroyed most of the asylum in his brief takeover. Without a hope for a future beyond the day, Croc would try to escape, again and again, if only because he had nothing else to do.

That was something he had began to think would never change.

Escaping to Arkham City only to still find himself imprisoned again hadn't changed his mind much. The only change had been that his thoughts had then turned to survival rather than escape.

He had entered a repetitive cycle much like the one he had grown so used to over the years: kill, eat and live a little longer.

And then along came Clara.

At first she had just been nothing more than an itch, something vaguely annoying but completely harmless. She had been terrified of him at first, but never had she attempted to insult him, never tried to hurt him, and like him she had been so alone – but it had taken him a while to realise this. For so long he had been used to the world simply being him and "them"; he hadn't trusted her any more than the others, hadn't regarded her as anything different.

But she had been different. He wasn't quite sure when she had ceased to be part of the collective "them", perhaps it was when she had sought his company out for more than to simply ask something of him, she had never betrayed him, even when it might have suited her. And it had taken his breath away.

Maybe one day their paths would cross again.

That was if she was even still alive.

For so long he had had no ambition, nothing that had counted for anything, it had all just been living in the moment for himself and no one else. Perhaps it was what some mushy fools called love, he didn't know, but one thing he knew for certain was that no matter what happened in the future, he would remember her.

A few hours later, Clara found herself on the phone listening to the ringing dial on the other end, she could only hope that they hadn't moved house since she had been put away. Part of her desperately wanted to put the phone back down, how could she talk to them after all this time?

'Hello?' questioned a soft voice on the other end, Clara recognised the voice immediately and squinted back tears.

'Hi mom.'

'Clara?' for a moment the other end was silent, then her mother began to cry. 'Clara, where are you? Please tell me, sweetie, I've been so worried. No one has said anything about you for months!'

'I'm at Mercy General Hospital,' Clara looked down the ward now that the curtains had been drawn back. 'I'm in the east wing, I'm not sure which floor.'

'Are you okay? What happened? Were you shot?! We saw the news the other night, neither your father or I have been able to sleep since, we just kept thinking of all those guards shooting everyone, and you stuck in the middle of it! You never should have been put there, those monsters who made the place should have been the ones locked up!'

'I haven't been shot. But they're detaining me while they confirm my identity,' Clara assured her as she toyed nervously with the phone's wire in her hands; she wouldn't mention the fact that she had nearly died just yet. 'Could you or dad come to see me? I might need a place to stay.'

'We'll both be right there, your father is at work at the moment but I'll get him right away! Don't worry darling, we coming to take you home!'

So normal that it was abnormal, she couldn't believe this was happening. She wondered what might have been if she had never been injured, if she had been able to remain in Arkham City with Croc. What future would have awaited her then? Surely not a good one, she tried to reassure herself. And then she was overcome with sadness because she knew that it was very unlikely she would ever see him again. Because normal was normal and that was what she had finally returned to, and Croc had no place there.

Somehow, she would have to find some way to see him again, even if it seemed impossible.

A/N: That's the end of this part of the story but I'll be writing a sequel, but it may be delayed for a while as I'm starting university in a few days, and along with the workload from that I'll also have the stress of settling in, but I plan to continue writing whenever I've get the chance. :D

Here's a little of what to expect in the future: There will be awkwardness such as Croc getting stuck in a doorway, Clara trying to get back into studies while simultaneously trying to figure out how to factor Croc into her normal life, and of course a good dose of 'Hey mom and dad, meet my eleven foot tall, super-criminal boyfriend I met while I was in prison.' which is sure to go down well XD

I have to say this past year, I've never seen the Arkham fanfiction archive so active regarding our dear "Crockle" (if you get the reference, kudos to you, #coughbabydollcough#), I think so far we currently have at least 11 fanfics started just this year for him. So much love! ^_^

Random fact time!

-The song I listened to most regularly while writing this story was 'Clubbed to Death' by Rob Dougan, and its many remixes (it's an instrumental soundtrack piece, you might recognise it from 'the Matrix' or 'Blade').

-The part in this chapter where Croc is thinking about his time at Arkham Asylum is actually a modified version of the text I originally had planned for the prologue of the story (which I cut out of the final version), so its kind of ironic that it ended being placed in the last chapter instead.

...

Response to reviews:

LurkingLady: In the last chapter I was really about keeping Croc in character, which is partially why I thought it was rushed, but there is something ridiculously cute about Croc trying to care for someone else though ^_^ I felt that with the dire situation, neither Clara nor Croc would have felt as reserved as they would usually so they were more likely to open up to each other, I'm glad you liked it :)

darkwolf1121: Don't worry, she made it :)

Renzin: Thanx. I've been trying my best to keep things as realistic as possible, so I'm pleased it's showing. Your review made me so happy, :D

TheForgottenSheikah: Aww thank you ^_^ I'm glad you think that Croc is in character but adorable at the same time, I've honestly been worried that these past few chapters I was writing him OOC.

Quick summary: Croc takes Clara to an old empty warehouse, where he then calls for an ambulance. They part, Croc returning to Arkham City and Clara being taken to Mercy General Hospital. Clara awakens a day or so later in a hospital bed, she briefly talks to a doctor there who informs her that Arkham City is being closed down and she won't have to return. Clara is very anxious about the future, the doctor tells her to call her family. Clara hesitantly does so. Her parents tell her she can move back in with them until things are sorted out once more. Clara mourns the fact that the part of her life with Croc may be over.