I realize it might be annoying with me telling everyone they should check out my research bits on certain details. If it is any consolation, I'll leave it obvious at that. :) Anyhoo, here is the next chapter, and reviews are always appreciated as ever.

The Empress herself in Vytina's profile was very vigilante, loathes all of Gotham for their self-absorption, and her fear toxin was albeit different from Scarecrow's. I quote, her "toxin is only effective if the infected individual looks upon their reflection, where they will find their self-image tragically altered"; it comes in either gas form or liquid form, however she wants it. Professor Crane is proud of her. ;) But instead of claws in the gloves like the profile, she has what Scarecrow did in the Arkham Asylum game that also gave him a Freddy Krueger kind of look.

Chapter Four

Scars

As an administrator, everything was her responsibility if no one figured that out already. And that included handling the prescriptions of her patients. Jonathan had gone through doctor after doctor because he was a damned good player with them, and because of that, he was all hers.

For that, she was more than pleased for merely personal reasons rather than professional ones. Jonathan needed someone he looked up to, as she strongly believed all her patients did. There would always be a mole somewhere in the ranks of therapists and orderlies, some of them doing their best to hide their dirty work and others easy to find with the right sources. Few knew this, but Iris DeLaine had more influence than anyone thought. She carried her power over the asylum as she did at night when the time came for the Empress' activities.

Her costume was still the same one as she first donned to finish off her mother, but she'd added stronger touches to it, including weaponry. Her mask was an elegant half mask of black velvet with sophisticated golden trimmings - to add a flare of royalty to her name - and added to both forearms above the gloves were golden armbands of intertwining Greek snakes, coiling into spirals, the ends terminating into coiling naturalistically modeled snakes, the scales well detailed, and the bodies forming a knot at the center around an oval garnet.

Around her waist was a utility belt of sturdy copper equipped with various daggers - on special occasions she would use a scythe, just as she used it on Maria. Strapped to her right arm over the glove was a machinery equipped with syringe "claws" filled with her liquidized toxin - when in contact with the skin, the tips of her fingers would press against the bottoms of each syringe to inject the serum into the victim. The effects were different compared to her former mentor's, though, having affecting the individual as soon as they saw their reflection in a little mirror she brought with her that she often clipped to her belt...their worst fears were reflected in their faces, very much a warped version of the Looking Glass. She had other gadgets, though, with the help of Jervis.

Their screams were so magical to her ears that she felt like a hero protecting the innocent. She was on occasion, but other times were few as personal revenge.

Right now, she had a score to settle with someone who dared to question her about Jonathan. One of her nurses, one of the stupid ones who was a common wench and acted like she was better than anyone else, any of the doctors including Joan Leland - and Dr. DeLaine herself - and was one of those who thought Iris was too young to be the head of them all, which wasn't a surprise, but that wasn't the last straw. She needed to teach Laura Harding a lesson once and for all for this, find out what her fears were and turn them onto her in her reflection.

Twenty-six years old and a graduate of Standford, Laura Harding was black-haired like Iris, with catty green eyes and a narrow nose above thin lips; she didn't look like she'd be anything different from Iris DeLaine, but upon learning what kind of person she was, she was a major bitch. Reminded Iris of one of those girls from college. Iris had her home address as it was her job as administrator to know such things in case of emergency...and this time was not even close to life-threatening, but she would be dealt with in the event of time.

She had made the decision to tell Jonathan tomorrow or in two days' time, she hadn't decided yet, but she had made the choice not to give him a dream suppressant as much as it pained her to put him through more of the nightly torment. Dreams were meant to keep the brain from being overloaded with information, and not only would Jonathan die in time from zero tolerance, then he would only hallucinate what he saw in his brain that his poison exposed him to, which would only lead to eventual suicide in extreme cases. She couldn't let that happen to him.

She always took her Empress garb with her, changing clothes and putting on the corset, pants, and boots as well as her long black coat over it, changing in the alleyway and finally sneaking up the back balcony to Nurse Laura's apartment in the Narrows. She was a ninja, following the shadows like they were her allies and hiding behind the couch near the window she came in, and the owner herself was busy with a hand done dinner Iris could not make out from where she was; she had to make sure she was not seen and strike so they could begin. But they would not do it here, where her screams would positively attract neighbors and a call to the police.

~o~

14 years ago...

"Dr. Victor Warner...it appears we have his class together," Jonathan said as he read his schedule beside Edward's, which the other man noted as they sat side by side. He nodded.

"Psychology. Your favorite."

"Why are you even thinking about psychology?" Jonathan asked with a raised eyebrow. "You're going into the study of the body after death, and I quote, 'the mysteries of the motives'."

Edward grinned. "Matches nearly with psychology, if you ask me, Jon." Indeed it did because whoever a killer would be, any clue they left would point to key points in their motives and the excitement of the kill. Edward fantasized numerous times about doing that to his father as a boy. "Psychology is always present in every case. But Joan would say not always, and I sometimes think she's wrong."

Jon looked up at him, both eyebrows raised now. "Joan?" he repeated.

It was only their second day together, and tomorrow they would start their classes, beginning with Dr. Warner's psych course; they also had chemistry and pathology. Jonathan had an interest in the use of chemicals, but what else could you need if you wanted to learn psychopharmacology? Besides the point, Edward felt his heart shrink a little at the mention and memory of his one true love now distant from him. "My girlfriend. We are high school sweethearts," he answered.

"Ah," Jon said, nodding, but he didn't look the least bit interested. "I take it she's not going here to Gotham State University." He was a hell of a genius, and Edward liked him for it, but judging from his tone of voice, he was clinical which infuriated him. He must have never had a woman in his life unlike himself.

"Correct you are. She's gone off to Harvard, but we are staying in touch. She's going into psychology, like you. She even promised to come back to Gotham once she was finished."

Jon scoffed and turned away from him. "And then what? You get married, assuming that you are never going to find another? That sounds unlikely."

He sat back by one, glaring at him. Just because he -! "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked angrily.

"It means that hardly anyone keeps their lovers from high school, hardly holds onto them, even the ones in college. Love is nothing but fiction; I know that because I never once had a taste of it in my life, not from my own mother or even my grandmother." He stopped himself right there and looked ahead, refusing to look at Edward, hating himself for letting it slip. But Edward knew he struck gold.

That explained everything he suspected: Jonathan had been through a lot himself, only because it involved his mother and grandmother, but it made him wonder what happened. "Well, now I understand why," he said, treading carefully, "but since you're the expert, you're going to say that I'm prying into your personal space."

Jon looked at him then, eyes flashing but his face expressionless. "Thanks for putting it that way." He stood up then and walked over to the makeshift desk beside his bed that had been there since before arrival; he put his schedule on the cover of the textbook on top, not looking at him. "But since you're already in, you want to know?" he seethed, whirling around and glaring. He was so defensive, but Edward had seen this in his father during his drunken states that nothing scared him anymore. He nodded. "Fine, then I'll show you this."

Before Edward realized what was happening, Jonathan was pulling the back of his shirt over his head...and revealing a span of a network of pale gray scars that looked like they came from a whip. Some were raised, some not, but either way, it was unhealthy and going deeper below his jeans.

Edward felt like he was going to pass out.

Perhaps he had gone too far after all.

"You thought you'd seen enough in two days?" Jon mocked as if reading his mind. He let the shirt fall back over his bodily mystery to all but him now. "Have you ever endured this before?"

Now that he knew it came from a whip or maybe fingernails, according to the smaller ones? Edward swallowed. "My father, yeah," he said, unafraid. The more you let a secret live, the harder it was to kill, but the wrong person would always say the wrong thing - but not between the two of them. "He was horrible, a drunk. Ever since Mom left when I was nine, to be honest. I like to think that he didn't take it well, simple as that."

Jonathan gave a wry smile. "Simple as that, eh? You really believe it might not be deeper than that? If you never knew why, has it crossed your mind your father might have loved her so much she couldn't take it anymore because she had been forced to give up her life's career for the sake of the house and her child, got tired and ran off to renew herself?"

Edward felt like his whole world was spinning. All those times his father yelled at him to not speak of his mother who had sometimes claimed to be too tired, not going to any of his school contests towards the final year of marriage, how she seemed to ignore him as much as she could...how had Jonathan known so well? His IQ, for all he knew, must be that much higher than Edward thought. He could really use a personal psych teacher instead of the one they got now. "How did you...know all of this?" he asked quietly, tempted to crawl into the bedcovers like a child and hide, and maybe die. Jon's laugh was without humor.

"Because I knew that when my own mother left me when I was the same age as you were when yours left."

Well, he sort of got the fact he was physically abused, but if his mother left him, then... "What happened?"

"I was born before she was even a legal adult, and it was with a man who seduced her 'young heart'," Jonathan spat as he sat down in the chair in front of his desk, "before tossing her aside and never deigning to see or even speak to her again. From what I gathered, she tried to contact him and get him to take me as she didn't want anything to do with me, but no such luck. Given it was deep Georgia where religion and foul earth mixed well, no one else wanted me either, so she was forced to keep me until I was barely ten years old and took off just like that. She left me with her mother who was a religious nut and always beat me to hell, calling me disgusting and sinful, taking away my innocence...and now you see where my fascination with fear stems from." A smile, wicked and emotionless, graced his face. Edward's heart burned and beat faster. "She instilled fear in me that she told me it was what I deserved. I suppose you could say it was all I ever knew that over time it became part of who I am now."

So it did. His father wasn't the best in the world, so he had to say Jonathan's was worse than what he went through, and no father in his life, but he matched Edward in the runaway mom department. As for the grandmother...he wished there was something he could do to help him if that old woman was still alive where he was from. "Where's your grandmother now?"

"Dead," Jon answered simply. "Died of a heart attack not long before I graduated high school."

"What we both went through wasn't so different after all," he said softly; even though they were still strangers and shared a room for only a couple of days, Edward felt like he'd known him since forever. Not like romantic partners, but as friends. Real friends. This could only be the beginning.

~o~

Today

"So, tell me, how does it feel to be the center of attention, Miss Harding?"

"Please," the woman whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks despite being blinded. Her hands were tied to the arms of the chair in the same basement where Maria DeLaine had been tortured and executed years ago. Her tormentor did not intend to kill her herself, but to let her do it to herself until she had no more breath in her body. No one, not even her sister and future brother-in-law, would ever hear the screams of this one, not even the maids who came in once a week, and no one ever came down here but the mistress of the house herself.

"Please what?" Iris cooed, leaning over her, eyes twinkling behind her half mask, black-painted lips curling into a cruel leer.

"Please, let me go!"

She laughed, harsh and echoing off the walls. "Please? Is that all? You're not asking me why I brought you here, you worthless excuse of a medicine giver? Do tell me why a seemingly bright young woman like yourself came to gloomy Gotham of all places, coming to Arkham Asylum to live your life, even challenging the authority of the head doctor you see as a child accepting a great legacy on her shoulders left to her by her former employer whom she was so close with, and is now his doctor after the discovery of his 'crimes'. Laura Harding, a straight-A graduate with her degree in medicine, still single at twenty-six and living in the lowdown Narrows of Gotham City, the town of the crazies - not that there aren't any already," Iris said with an honest breath of a laugh, shaking her head, raising her right hand which had her glove and closed it into a half fist, raising a syringe-finger in a point upwards. "You don't live any better than you want to, Laura dear, but you want so much that you try to fight for it, even handle anyone who tries to stop you along the way, do you? I saw from afar what kind of woman you were: always back talking to your bosses and colleagues, claiming to handle anything on your own to avoid being submissive like you were as a child? Eager to please everyone then until you couldn't take anymore, tired of disappointing others? Low self-esteem? Afraid to fail at life if you didn't try hard enough? Believe me, that was how I felt when I was that age, so I suppose I can relate. Am I correct you wanted to be the tough girl in your life now?" She huffed and put both hands on her hips.

"Well, then, we should find out now, shall we?"

The needles of the syringes glimmered faintly in the light that the poor girl did not see it coming until she felt all five of them pierce her bare left arm - her sweater cardigan had been removed some time ago - and her screams were a rush of pleasure in the Empress' system.

"I guess it is time to take this off now," she suggested as she reached for the blindfold, at the same time slipping behind her and producing the small silver mirror between gloved fingers and holding it in front of Laura's tear-streaked face, allowing her to see her greatest fears in the image of facial distortion and imperfections - ultimately becoming the fear atelophobia itself.

Observing all of the symptoms brought back the memories of that one night she received the wounds on her body that Maria never gave her during college: the accelerated heart rate, the helpless screams, and uncontrollable shaking as her body and sanity were ravaged by both hand and verbal taunts...

~o~

8 years ago...

Everything in her entire body hurt, from her chest to her limbs, abdomen, and below her waist. Her mind was spinning but her vision remained ever crystal clear. She stumbled across the soft, moist grass of the campus until she reached the building entrance. Office hours were on but almost over at this hour, but she was happy despite her state, and she was desperate to reach the office of one man and one man only.

She could still hear their cruel laughter as she ran for her life after the hours that she was supposed to meet with her roommate, returning a book to the library from literature when she accidentally came across them: the gang of drunk Mina Rosenberg, her boyfriend and their posse returning from the boisterous actions in the frat house, spotting the girl who would be fifteen in a couple more weeks, the one Mina hated most of all because she thought she was smarter at her young age…and decided to have some fun with her that they could never get enough of, whistling at her and hollering at her that she shouldn't waste her time with "stupid books".

Fun that she did not enjoy at all.

Keeping a good hold on her ripped-open turtleneck and made her way through the empty halls until she came to his door despite the pain, she staggered over to the door and knocked hard three times before slouching against the wall and to the ground, drawing her legs to her chest to hide herself. She'd felt pain before, but this was beyond what she endured as a child; in her mind, at least.

The door opened, and she jerked up to see him stepping out to see who had bothered him from whatever he was doing, then he looked down and saw her. His face was emotionless, but his eyes said it all. He took in her bare legs bruised colorfully as you'd expect, her black turtleneck ripped apart and held together by her hand. He knelt and helped her up and into his office. It hurt to move, but she had come all this way.

"I'm going to have to take you home with me."

His bold declaration shocked her; was it appropriate? She wanted to say it wasn't, but right now she wasn't thinking straight and just wanted to get away from here, not involve the authorities. The "prim and proper" Mina and her gang had left her beaten and abused as petty revenge. Iris nodded without a word. Crane nodded, too, and shrugged off his jacket and draped around her, leading her down the hall until they reached the doorway that led to the parking lot where his car was. "Do you have...anyone else living with you?" she asked softly as soon as she was in the front passenger seat, pulling his jacket closer to her and looking up shyly. He gave a small smile to one corner of his mouth.

"Edward is probably occupying himself for the night. He won't say a word."

She wanted to ask what form of "occupying" he meant before deciding it involved a woman - or was it video games? The latter question came as soon as they came to the campus apartments. His housemate, Edward Nygma, was a coroner at GCPD, and it turned out he loved games in all forms. It made her want to laugh. He wasn't home, as Crane promised, which left them all alone.

Iris was grateful for the room temperature her teacher preferred to keep it for her chilling and tingling nerves to calm down if only a little bit. Professor Crane closed the door to his bedroom, still watching her the way he was. It wasn't predatory, merely concern and a tenderness that he showed no one other than for her. She felt herself shrink under it in spite of herself, standing there half-naked and bruised from those monsters. Hands began to tear away the torn black shirt - she jerked, instantly frightened at the contact, but a hand brought her chin up to meet crystalline blue orbs. "Don't be afraid, Iris," he said soothingly. The promise was real; she allowed him to peel away the fabric and leave her more exposed than before, showing more bruises and the dark parallel scars over her breasts from her mother when she was eight. Crane took those in, his eyes narrowing….knowing. She remembered the first time he noticed when she'd worn a V-neck blouse one time the past year, and he'd known with his eyes that she saw no use in hiding anymore. But there was also a glow of appraisal as he beheld the sight of the lovely curve of her proud little breasts obscured by the iris-colored lace bra, a good form for her slim body, and lower to where her bottom and hipbones were hidden by boyfriend shorts of the same lace. Again, this was none predatory, just a silent appeal when all she'd received in her life was brutal verbal and physical torment. This man beheld the sight of her as if she were a goddess incarnate even if he didn't use spoken words.

"Take them off," he commanded quietly.

She lost the undergarments within seconds, wanting this over and done with. Crane tended to the bruises and cuts with care and being steady in not touching any part of her body without scaring her, and she appreciated it. She'd had enough for one night as it was. Throughout the whole time, she could hear the soft volume of the song by her favorite group - Crane loved Eden's Bridge, too! - and instantly connected herself and him to it.

The Lord is my light and my salvation.
The Lord is the stronghold of my life.
Whom shall I fear? Whom shall I fear?

By the time he was finished, she redressed, this time with one of his white shirts, and now sat on his couch before the fireplace he'd lit for them. She watched him with fascination, thinking how good he was at that. She noted that the fireplace itself was rather eye-catching with its simple but classy veneers and glass doors. She had known many different types of men all her life, but this one interested her. "You're good at building a fire."

"I had to fend for myself, even tend to myself all my life," he answered, sitting next to her, gazing at the amber glow before them both. "When I was a child, we had almost nothing new. I never had new clothes or anything other than what was provided for me. My mother left me before I became a teenager, left me with her mother, a religious fanatic. Life for me was unbearable."

When men advance against me
And all my foes surround me,
They will stumble and fall, stumble and fall.
Though all the world besiege me,
And war break out against me,
I am sure in the Lord, sure in the Lord.

The revelation shocked her to her core. "I had no idea you were abused…like me…" Iris whispered in horror. He silenced her with a hand on her bare knee.

"I don't need your sympathy, Iris," he said frostily. "I never needed anyone's. There was one time I truly had a companion who understood me...Edward. He protected me even though there were times I didn't need it - especially when it came to him."

Iris assumed his grandmother was dead, and his mother whom he had never seen again was still out there somewhere, so that left her with… "Your professor? This…Dr. Warner?"

Crane stiffened. "Never say his name again," he said in a lifeless voice. "And yes. My friend, and housemate, tried to protect me from him, but it ended in vain. You do not want to know the details - not even a brilliant young mind like yours can even comprehend what I endured at his hands."

He looked down at her to see the uneasiness on her face. He smiled warmly and brushed his palm against her chin and came to rest on her cheek. She melted into the warmth of his hand, the assurance that she was safe with him. Tears burned the rims of her eyes, and she flung herself forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. He stiffened under her embrace as if he had never had someone hug him before - it broke her heart to think that, as her own mother never gave her this sort of treatment - but nevertheless returned it.

And in the day of trouble

I'm safe within His dwelling.

He will hide me, He will hide me.

My head will be exalted,

So far above my enemies;

I will sing to the Lord, sing to the Lord.

"I'm sorry, Iris," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry that you, my best and brightest student, had to endure this pain far more intolerable than what I was given by the bullies of my youth. But I swear to you…" His voice became deeper, more powerful, bordering on vengeful. "I will make them pay. I'll do all of this for you even if it costs me everything I have. I will not rest until they pay for their crimes."

There is one thing that I ask of the Lord

For the days of my life;

That I may dwell in the house of the Lord

All the days of my life.

To gaze on His beauty, seek Him in His temple.

"Insanity is Love, Madness is Reason" is a hell of a read and so powerful when Iris came to her beloved professor injured and abused as she did in here, and he took just great care of her, but unlike in here, they went as far to make love in his office. This time the decision was made to move to his apartment instead, which he shared with Eddie long before incarceration. The song "While Your Lips Are Still Red" by Nightwish was in that story over the course; it's one of my favorite songs, too, hauntingly beautiful. During "Descent into Darkness" and its oneshots, Jonathan was known to call her his Mistress of Fear and goddess incarnate. Little details like that just matter the most. :')

The scars on Iris' breasts I had to keep because they were a definition of who she was, no matter if they are hideous, and Jonathan isn't affected because he still has his own scars that remind how he survived - and how Iris survived her mother. Their survivals are what brought them together.

I can't help but feel an itch of familiarity of Jonathan touching Iris' cheek and the "assurance" she was safe with him was from someplace else I read, and it's been a while. But I suppose anyone can use that phrase. Anyways, her throwing herself at him and him in return holding her in his arms made me cry. :') He does not remember anyone - a woman in particular - hugging him that way.

The latest Eden's Bridge song is "The Lord is My Light".