Chapter Twelve: We Have Our Good Days,
Part One: They often feel empowering.

Jonathan had seen Holly out of his office and down the hall to the stairs, bidding her farewell and a reminder of the date they'd set to see him. Once she left his sight he returned to his office.

Coffee.

A little flash of memory had come back to him, they briefly reunited while he was teaching at Gotham University. She had asked him out for a coffee as an apology. He believed it would have been completely forgotten given how unimportant he thought it was at the time. However, now he recalled that her mood had drastically changed when he declined that offer as if she could not be in more of a hurry to leave. While her emotions had been as fickle as a shaking leaf beckoned by random gusts, she ended up with the same attitude at the end of their conversation today too.

Jonathan sat at the desk and paused. His fingers touched his lips for a moment. His smile? She shied not from him but his smile. How strange.

The very next day, bright and early Jonathan awoke to the dreadful reminder that he had to go deal with a spoiled mob boss.

He followed a routine in the mornings, one he got up to perform once he remembered that his glasses had been set in the kitchen that night rather than on the nightstand. To the bathroom he went; a shower and brushing of his teeth at the same time saved on water. Cold water, never hot. He'd pat down his face with a dry cloth and smooth his hair out of his eyes after in the mirror. A hairband was used to keep his hair in place while he washed his face. Oil cleanser, soap, toner, moisturizing solution, and a thin layer of sunscreen. Opening the mirror to grab from the shelf liquid concealer, thinly applied just to conceal his permanent dark circles.

He had come to enjoy the routine and the look. Many people emphasized beauty standards among women but it was hardly spoken about that men were judged just as well on their looks. While he cared not for these superficial opinions, he greatly enjoyed not being questioned about his late-night bags.

Jonathan looked at the concealer recalling the day he first learned of the product. It had been used to hide other marks than his restless nights.

He went to prepare the aluminum briefcase for the day, taking folders and other documents he'd need from his leather one. A pot of coffee did sound tempting. However, as his fingers gently picked up the burlap mask he'd crafted a different temptation roared over his psyche. His hands delicately checked the switch inside the mask, listening for the soft click and hiss as it engaged a gas filter. His head lowered close so that he had an ear to the device listening to the pump slowly working on its own. The miniature respirator would sound different while in use which gave his voice a more ominous resonance whenever he spoke with it on. Satisfied that it was fully operational, he set it into the case with care so that nothing would get caught when he closed it up.

It took him no time at all to arrive downtown, trotting down the steps to the holdings where Carmine was being kept.

"Doctor Crane, thanks for coming." He recognized the voice of the woman that greeted him, they'd gotten to know each other over the last few months of Falcone trying to get every thug he could from jail time. She was never thrilled about handing over prisoners to him.

"No trouble at all," He recited what had been said over the phone confirming it, "he cut his wrists?"

"Probably lookin' for the insanity plea," She obviously did not believe Carmine was crazy, "but if anything should happen." She gave him a knowing side glance. Her hands were bound by the legal system.

"Of course. Better safe than sorry."

Their walk was short, she paused at a door and pressed the code to unlock it, allowing him in without another word. They both knew that each other knew the rules of this little legal dance. Doctor-patient confidentiality and he had up to thirty minutes to sit with the patient. Thirty minutes could feel like an eternity when one did not want to be there.

He entered slowly into the off-white tiled room, Falcone looked up to the door from the table he sat the moment it opened.

"Yeah, Doctor Crane, I can't take it anymore," Carmine's voice was dry and highly sarcastic sounding, "it's all too much. The walls are closin' in, blah blah blah," It was that last part that annoyed Jonathan. He walked up to the table that Falcone sat at and placed the aluminum case down with care. Hearing out what Carmine had to say before he finally shut his mouth, "Well a couple days of this food an' it'll be true."

He tried not to seem uncomfortable, anger at Carmine's total disregard for those that truly suffered from terrible mental illness just boiled under his skin. He took a calming breath, and exhaled in the form of a sigh, "What do you want?" As if he did not already know.

"I wanna know how you gonna convince me," his voice lowered some like he feared someone might have been listening in, "to keep my mouth shut."

"About what? You don't know anything."

"I know you don't want the cops to take a closer look at the drugs they seized," Ah, yes. Jonathan had not forgotten about that little bit of information it was dramatically displayed on that morning's front page that the last shipment had been scuffed by a bat suit vigilante, "and I know about the experiments with the inmates of your nuthouse." How many others under Falcone's employ knew; had Kingsley known? "See I don't go into business with a guy without finding out his dirty secrets," Carmine chuckled like telling Crane all this was some kind of bad joke, "Heh, those goons you used. I own the muscle in this town. Now, I've been bringing your stuff in for months. So whatever he's planning it's big, an I want in."

Mister Falcone was indeed more thorough than Jonathan had initially thought, withholding information until the right time to try and use it against him he planned to blackmail the good doctor with everything at his disposal. It confirmed to him that Holly had visited him yesterday without Carmine's knowledge. It also spoke volumes about his desperation. Carmine was backed into a corner, but, Jonathan was not without a hand to play.

First things first, "Well I already know what he'll say," he paused for dramatic effect, "that we should kill you." Which would be such a waste of a unique test subject. Jonathan knew Carmine was at the very least intimidated by Ra's during their last encounter, he was curious how the man would reply after being threatened in such a manner.

Had that changed though?

Carmine made another noise like a low single laugh, "Nah even he can't get me in here. Not in my town." Some level of confidence was backing those words.

Kingsley's point about Carmine still being a boss even while in jail crossed his mind; in Blackgate he was protected. Jonathan took in an excited breath, taking from his face his glasses he folded them up. Perhaps he should just give the man what he wants, "Would you like to see my mask?" He had a hard time keeping that smile from his face, "I use it in my experiments," both of his hands reached over to flick open the case. He carefully turned the valve to the respirator, enjoying every second that Carmine turned weary and started to shy away, "Though probably not very frightening to a guy like you…" He did not quite feel himself or perhaps he felt more himself, "but these crazies, they can't stand it." The burlap felt almost freeing.

Carmine looked on with mild horror, "So when did the nut take over the nuthouse?"

And that would be his final insult, thought Jonathan, pressing the pressure release of the aerosol toxin he kept hidden within the case's framework. Breathe deep, a little voice quipped in his thoughts. It was quick to take hold, he must have been under a large amount of stress already, "They scream and they cry… much as you're doing now." He'd be lying if he said he was not grinning from ear to ear under that burlap right now.

Often Giving Fortitude

The day had come and it had been a blessing that she asked Jonathan to wait until after four. The real infighting among many of them broke out the moment the newspapers hit the streets. The rumors about this vigilante Batman had gone to everyone's heads. It had only been a few days and lawyers were backing out of deals, a few dirty cops were suddenly trying to go straight, even Flass was being weird. Not to mention the politicians they had in their pockets were telling 'them' to stand by. She would have been in deep awe, maybe this Batman's number one fan, if it was not for the fact that it was causing the thugs she had to deal with to be erratically jumpy messes.

Holly, in particular, had been dealing with Steve's bullshit all afternoon. He had moved on from talking shit behind her back to openly mocking her. It started when she'd come in to start making sure everyone was set up for the next few weeks' fund wise he had tried talking big that Holly was not really in charge of the money, and it devolved into calling her just an eye-candy bookie to show off to the pig politicians because it was cute when women handled money. Normally she would have given him a dirty look otherwise ignoring him.

However, now Steve was silent, his clammy hands in the air and his back pressed to a doorframe. His eyes were wide and he thought he was going to piss himself. Kingsley had shot a gun off next to his skull after he taunted that she 'wouldn't and couldn't do nothing' to him. The ringing in his ears was all he could grasp and he was scared of asking her to repeat herself. He just nodded to whatever she was saying hoping to not catch the next bullet to his face.

For Holly, she was that close to sealing the deal on her out. With that goal right there on the horizon growing closer it gave her resolve. Made her feel alive! More alive than she had in many years; feeling able to do nearly anything to take her soul back from the dear devil.

All that needed to happen was for the mob to continue to believe that she was loyal to the core and was the one that convinced the good doctor to take Falcone into the asylum. Maybe she could throw Jonathan under the proverbial bus when the mob started to question why their boss was not being released. Infighting would create too many variables that threatened her current goal; shutting Steve up and watching him buckle like a child was just a bonus.

Someone had once told her that none of these men respected her. No one needed to know that Holly's stomach was churning at that moment. That she would never be able to physically shoot him, but she could scare him and in turn make the rest believe she was not a pushover. Ready to do what it took for the boss. Her eyes flickered down then back to his face, "Don't piss yourself Steve," there was an audience of thugs for this display, "it's because you do not take your job seriously that you're shit at it. Any book you wrote would get flagged by a toddler let alone any halfwit at the GCPD and you think you," she gave him a pitiful once over, "could do my job?" The bravado was an intoxicating emotion but physically draining as her stomach continued to twist.

He nodded and she pointed the gun at his pelvic area then he shook his head fiercely no. Tears and some amount of snot were starting to form.

"Holly," another of the group put a hand on her shoulder, "I get Steve's a womanizing idiot and I'm guessin he's very sorry for what he just said huh?" They could believe she was pushed over the edge by Steve being sexist.

Steve looked between them and nodded at the man who had his hand on her shoulder.

Holly lowered the gun down, "Let go." She spoke lowly. The man let go quickly, raising his hand as if to say 'See, no need for this.' The woman tucked the gun into a holster on her hip then fixed her jacket to cover it, "For the crap I just gave Steven, he will be in charge of payroll funds for me until I am done handling Mister Falcone's other business. Everyone else understands I am not a glorified bookie like Steven here is for this family correct?" At the couple of nods and rolls of eyes, she thought this was good enough. No one should bother her for a while on an advance, or lawyer bribe money, or cop payoffs, or a not-so-sick cousin, or whatever other trivial matters came with managing mob money. "Good. So if any of yous want to get paid right make sure you bother the hell out of Shoelace Steve here. I've got to go speak with the good doctor about Boss Falcone's get out of jail free card."

Holly left quickly through the building to the restroom where several women stood in front of the mirrors and did their makeup, they fell silent and eyed her as she walked in but soon gossiped between themselves quietly again. Holly on the other hand turned into the first empty stall, locked it then hung her head over the toilet. Her stomach lurched pink fluid and bits of undigested fruit. Slowly she sank to the floor when her stomach stopped heaving, sitting against the stall door. Holly had almost given up smoking, what a shame, she thought not truly meaning it. She'd clicked open a lighter from her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her coat, smoking in the ladies' room like a delinquent teenager to calm her nerves.