Chapter 18: Vulnerable

As if the day couldn't get any worse, Kathryn returned home to face staring tenants, investigating officers, and an angry property manager. It seemed that Elise's car wasn't the only thing that received a paint job. Someone sprayed yellow arrows on the front door and hallways, circles around the elevator button to her floor number, leading up to Kathryn and Elise's door with the words: WELCOME TO FALCONE'S CATHOUSE. It didn't stop there. The perpetrator broke in and tore the place apart. Kathryn was distraught to see the soda cans splattered all over the floor and the television screen cracked to the point it became unwatchable.

"I left a message for Miss Berg already," the manager informed her. "She should be here any minute."

Kathryn doubted. Her friend was stuck in the auto shop, dealing with mechanics who insisted on additional unnecessary services for a jacked-up fee.

Detective Gordon returned without his sleazy partner in time to receive an earful from the manager.

"You said the creep won't come back!" he jabbed a finger in the detective's direction. "You said that he won't try shit here!"

"I know," Gordon attempted to console him, but the man didn't want to hear it. Nobody else could blame him.

"No! No, you don't know! 'Cause if you did, you people would've stopped him from doing this!" the manager angrily gestured to the mess around him. "I mean, look at this! If you cops did your job right, then none of this wouldn't have happened!" His eyes snapped at Kathryn's teary face sitting on the couch, who still couldn't grasp what was happening. "You! Are you and Miss Berg running a harem for the falcon bird?!"

"What?" Kathryn breathed, shaking her head in denial. Didn't this man know what she does for a living? Was he aware of Elise's side gig? What did Falcone have to do with all this?

"Well, somebody is! Did you read the sign?! I have received a dozen phone calls from the tenants in this building all day today! It never stops! Parents with small children, perverts - all of them demand to know if I've authorized your explicit business here!"

"I'm not running any business here, sir!" Kathryn insisted. "I promise. Elise wouldn't - I would never-"

"Mr. Laghari, I understand your frustration," Gordon began calmly, hoping it would soften the manager's demeanor. "I - we -" he ensured to include Kathryn, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "we can't imagine the difficulty and stress you're in-"

"You don't know the half of it, detective!" The property manager's phone buzzed in his hand again, igniting a rageful scream. "It never stops! It never fucking stops!"

"I'm so sorry, Mister..." Kathryn felt guilty that she couldn't remember the manager's name, pulling out her phone to quickly take control of her situation and prevent herself from offending the man even more. "We have renters insurance. I'll file a claim to them right now - that should help pay for the repairs."

The manager furrowed his brows, softening his anger slightly into confusion, "Rent? No, woman, your boss didn't rent this place. Did you forget?" Now it was Kathryn and Gordon's turn to be confused.

"Boss?" the detective asked.

"Yes," the manager enlightened them slowly like a teacher addressing a preschooler, "the boss of this one-" he pointed at the psychologist, "and the blonde owns this space - bought and paid for. Although, this does not mean he is exempt from property damages."

"Boss?" Kathryn repeated after Gordon. "Who the hell do you think I work for?"

"Either you got a short memory, or you're just a retard." Kathryn jerked back and blinked, taken aback by that curt remark. "Again, read the sign," Laghari pointed at the painted door. "Read it. Fal-con-e's Cat-house. Falcone! English may not be my first language, but it's in my toolbox! I can now read and speak it fluently like every other American!"

"No one is saying you can't, Mr. Laghari," Gordon insisted. The manager scoffed, not believing him in the slightest.

"But that can't be right," Kathryn steered the conversation back on course. "I gave Elise my half every month to pay for this place. She told me-"

"I have papers, woman," Laghari raised his hands, "they don't lie. And there will be more papers for the big man very soon. You should be lucky I'm not authorized to toss you and your friend out on the streets for your shady dealings with those sex-crazed carnivores... yet."

Both Gordon and Kathryn spoke at the same time. Gordon tried to calm the manager down while Kathryn defended herself by arguing his assumptions. Her mind couldn't quite grasp the information the manager provided her. Carmine Falcone, the big bad bird in Gotham, owned this condo? Elise forgot to mention that essential detail.

All three failed to realize someone else had joined the party without an invitation. He was lucky to have his girlfriend's access code to pass the gate. Although, a part of him wished someone was there to verify his identity and purpose for coming here. One security officer patrolling the area in a golf cart waved at him as if there was no crime scene investigation. The guards proved themselves incompetent twice and must hand over their resignations immediately.

It took a moment for Crane to analyze the changes in the space until he found his damsel in distress.

"This is all your fault, woman!"

The doctor quickly intervened when the manager charged at his weeping guinea pig like an angry bull.

"Stand back, Mr. Laghari," Gordon extended a cautious arm to block the manager's path. "Your frustration is understandable, but yelling and pointing fingers won't solve anything."

"What about her?!" The manager pointed an accusing finger at Kathryn, whose back was pressed against the cushions. She picked up a decorative pillow as her shield and was ready to kick if the manager dared come closer. "She's shacking up with scum for a dime! Why aren't you arresting her?"

"Excuse me, sir," Jonathan introduced himself to the manager with a strained polite smile. All three parties questioned his presence, including Kathryn.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be? His partner?" the manager demanded, scoffing at the officer in disgust.

"It doesn't matter who I am, sir," Jonathan dismissed the question, "but we know who you are - you are the man trying to rectify an unfortunate situation outside your control. Difficult time for an owner like yourself."

"Not owner, manager," Laghari corrected.

"Oh," Jonathan acted surprised by the revelation. "Is the owner around? What does he have to say about this?"

"This is a condo franchise, man," the manager insisted. "The owners are attending another complex at the moment." Crane raised a questionable brow at him. The man sighed and glanced up in momentary consideration before adding, "In California."

"I see. So while they're out tanning their bod and drinking cocktails at some beach, I bet they told you to fuck off and deal with this yourself. Isn't that right?" The manager's frown slackened, though not only the one taken aback by choice of words. Gordon and Kathryn were just as shocked as him.

"Maybe," the manager put his hands on his hips, flaring his nostrils to puff up his pride. "What's your point?"

"My point is that handling a condo is a big responsibility no one can fathom. Not having enough hired help these days could affect anyone's well-being. No doubt it's exhausting and downright frustrating. Little do they know while the owners have money in their account and a rich family name, they lack the experience to run a business, unlike you, Mr. Laghari. I get it. I, too, have a director who is just as dismissive as yours. Although, it's okay for him to call me into his office to review his paperwork."

"Wow," Kathryn mouthed out. She was surprised to hear Crane talk poorly about their boss so openly after Arkham had granted his wish not too long ago. Of course, Arkham had taken his sweet time to consider the therapy program, including Kathryn's request for a high-profile case.

"So you understand?" the manager wondered, his tone softened by the impressive observation from this stranger. "Our bosses suck."

"Agreed," Jonathan placed a hand on the man's back, gesturing to the teary-eyed woman on the couch, "but look at this woman, Mr. Laghari. I mean, really, look at her."

"Her mascara is running," The manager observed curtly. The woman sniffled, self-consciously bringing her knees to her chest. With the pillow in between to hide her face, she privately dabbed the wet corners of her eyes with her sleeve, careful not to ruin her makeup. It didn't help that she lacked a mirror downstairs. Closing her eyes, she pressed her palm flat against the itchy tip of her runny nose to rub it in circular motions, slightly grossing the men out by the noise of wet slapping skin. They hoped she was using her sleeve while doing that and not forgetting the basic CDC guidelines for hand hygiene.

"Exactly. You can see that she is upset as well..." Reaching his arm back without taking his eyes off the manager, Crane handed Kathryn a handkerchief, which she accepted silently, "and I am sure you are aware of the... creeper situation."

"Yeah," Laghari drawled, nodding, "I do." He glared menacingly at Gordon, "He swore the creep wouldn't come back." Before Gordon could interject, Jonathan continued addressing the manager to keep his focus on him.

"Unfortunately, sir, he did come back, right under your nose and ours. The man responsible for this disaster is gone with the wind, and we all hate that as much as you do."

The manager rolled his eyes, folding his arms.

"Despite all that, Mr. Laghari, you possess a... talent for emotion comprehension ." Most were taken aback by Crane's statement, including the property manager. Crane was undoubtedly trying to stroke the man's ego; neither Kathryn nor Gordon dared interrupt him. "Take a moment, sir, to ask yourself one question. Did Doctor Knightly ask for this?" Crane gestured the space. "To have her privacy invaded, her home destroyed, and her valuables stolen?" The manager hesitated to answer. "Have rumors spread about her that could jeopardize her career and your business? Do you honestly believe she wants all that?"

The man pursed his lips, reluctantly shaking his head. He didn't say the word, but it was better than saying yes.

"Of course not," Crane agreed. "You know she is not to blame. I'm sure you didn't mean what you said, for this isn't you speaking - it's your fear - the true master of disguise."

Oh boy, here we go. Kathryn massaged her forehead. Of course, Jonathan had to incorporate his favorite subject.

Gordon placed his hands on his hips and approached the woman to ask in a whisper, without taking his eyes off the conversing men, "What's his obsession with fear?" Kathryn raised her brows at him. So Gordon did acquaint himself with Crane. It wouldn't surprise Kathryn if Crane dragged the poor man into hearing a lengthy lecture on the topic instead of having a two-party conversation. Jonathan shouldn't have quit his teaching career.

"You tell me," Kathryn grumbled in a shrug.

The manager opened his mouth to argue - dismiss it as ludicrous, but Crane raised a hand to stop him. "No shame in that, sir. These are difficult times. Hard to find a job you can tolerate, let alone fall in lo-um-" He closed his mouth, sucking in his abdominal muscles as he inhaled through his nose and held his breath. His brain scattered while the organ in his chest was ready to lunge out. Both corners of his mouth descended.

"Doctor Crane?" Gordon questioned.

"Um... Uh..." Jonathan finally breathed to clear his throat, averting a reaction among the group. Oblivious to him, his pale face flushed pink. "Excuse me."

"You okay, man?" the manager asked, showing off his emotional intelligence. "You don't look so good. You need a bag or something?" Crane waved his hands and made a dismissive noise, begging to finish without interruptions. This was more difficult than he initially believed. No doubt, Kathryn was concerned but learned not to ask him the most obnoxious question.

As tempted as he was to see her reaction, Jonathan mustn't look at her yet.

"I'm sorry, where was I?"

"You speculated me falling in love with my job, which I'm not," the manager insisted.

"Right..." Jonathan drawled. Even though his brain stopped working, somehow, he was on autopilot. "Look... Even if you despise the work, your livelihood is at stake." The words spilled from him before his Broca's area could process the information. "The idea of it slipping through your fingers, out of nowhere, without warning..." Jonathan didn't realize that his hands clenched together as if holding a rope, and what was tied to the end represented his most prized possession he failed to appreciate until now, "it can drive anybody mad." He stifled a laugh, allowing a sad smile to cross his face. "Itmakes you desperate - determined to hold on and never let go, not without a fight..."

Jonathan didn't expect it to come out as it did in front of an audience. He was still new to all this, and revealing himself as a novice on the subject was the last thing he wished to advertise. He could almost hear Scarecrow laughing at the newfound empathy. This wasn't a horror story anymore but a romantic comedy. His adrenaline kicked in, igniting the churn in his stomach and the rapid beat in his chest. He fought the cowardly instincts to abandon the mission altogether, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands at the embarrassing display. He was nearly ready to dig a hole for himself to rot in, almost tempted to look over his shoulder at Kathryn's reaction.

Fortunately, no one else vocally criticized his speech, not even her.

"I'm not crazy for wanting to keep my job," the manager insisted. The edge of his voice was unease - the opposite of his previous emotion. The mask dropped. His genuine concern was revealed, as Crane suspected.

"Of course not. Believe me, sir. From what you told us, if the owners fired you over this, it's their loss, not yours. You have the resume to manage another living industry - assist in making that place a home everyone would pay top dollar for. If you're lucky, your new superiors might offer you a private space with a city view." Laghari's lips twitched at the idea. "Maybe..." Crane didn't stop there, sweetening the idea further, "Maybe become a business partner - live the luxurious life you dreamed of. Whatever that place is, I'm sure they're lucky to have you."

"You mean that?" the manager asked, unsuccessfully removing the hopeful pitch in his tone. "You truly believe it'll all work out for me?"

"As I said, I don't matter. The real question is do you believe that?" Crane didn't bother to wait for an answer. He didn't care, not even if Laghari had paid him for a therapy session. "Why not give yourself a little break?" Crane continued counseling the man who gave him his undivided attention instead of the vibrating phone in his holster. "Make yourself a cup of coffee. Take a moment to collect yourself. Hear yourself think for once. Believe me, Mr. Laghari. It's easier to find a solution that way than stick around and endure the voices ringing in your ear." Crane couldn't forget the dark voice haunting his mind. Laghari should be grateful for not requiring a prescription to cease the voices that weren't his own. Then again, Crane didn't have a file on the manager to know whether Laghari was in treatment for a mental illness, not that it was any of the doctor's business.

"I..." Laghari shook his head, "I don't know if I can-"

"Oh, come now, Mr. Laghari. Five minutes isn't going kill you," Crane insisted. "You already paid the cleaning crew to remove the paint anyway. Have you already filed a claim with the insurance company? Did you provide a statement to Detective Gordon?" Both Laghari and Gordon confirmed that both reports had already been filed. "Okay, so there's really not much you can do at this point. Trust me. Take a breath. Allow me to escort Doctor Knightly off the premises - get her out of your hair for a little while."

Kathryn perked at Jonathan's suggestion, opening her mouth to protest, only for the detective to interrupt her.

"I think that's a great idea, Doctor Crane," Gordon offered a hand to help Kathryn up from the couch, "Now it'll be a good time to clear the air." Jonathan didn't need to look at the stern father figure to know what he meant. He ignored the detective by focusing on his pet guinea pig instead, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders for security and warmth.

The manager took leave first, hopefully, to heed Crane's advice. Gordon watched the couple in awe, the corner of his mustache mouth involuntarily twitching at the newfound affection coming from the stiff tinman.

"No need to fret, Doctor Knightly. All this is nothing compared to what he could've done," Crane brushed Kathryn's shoulders as if he was dusting off his coat before cupping her jaw with both hands to insist on eye contact. "Your life's not over. Not today."

Kathryn shivered at his cold touch and steel eyes piercing her soul. At this moment, she would've embraced his touch by leaning closer for a kiss or placing her hands over his.

Not today. She repeated in her mind. Not because there were witnesses present. Up to this point, it didn't matter if Jonathan kissed her in front of the officers. Their secret was irrelevant to this break-in and no one's business anyway.

As much as Kathryn appreciated Jonathan's compassion and defense, he showed up too late. Even if he decided to be a decent boyfriend sooner, Kathryn was still reluctant to go with him, especially when she looked over her shoulder to see Gordon consulting with an officer who finished investigating the women's bedrooms upstairs.

Kathryn was surprised Officer Berg didn't storm into the crime scene, demanding answers. Maybe he was at the auto shop, playing the role of a protective older brother for his sister instead of a cop. The chance of that happening was debatable, considering the strained relationship between the siblings. On the other hand, despite the drama, they were still family.

"Nothing is taken, sir," the investigating officer confirmed. "Not even the money stashed away in one bedroom drawer. It looked like he just jacked up the place - that's all."

The mystery inside Elise's locked drawer was solved. Could it be the same cash Kathryn entrusted Elise with for the money orders to pay rent and bills? Cash that Kathryn withdrew from her bank account - from her hard-earned paycheck - every month? Jonathan's suspicions were justified if Mr. Laghari told the truth about the living arrangement. The thought flared up her migraine. Fortunately, Crane showed her mercy and didn't say the words she loathed to hear.

Gordon offered a temporary hiding place for the couple since both homes were compromised - a motel room. The manager there was a retired cop unafraid to pull a rifle from his desk if there was trouble. Kathryn accepted the offer before Jonathan could answer.

"Thank you," she nearly cursed herself for sounding meek and frail like a lost puppy. Looking at Jonathan, she could tell he wasn't happy about being cooped up in unfamiliarity. The dramatic schedule change could blow up his routine and research, agitating him even more.

"It's just one night, Jonathan," she reasoned, caressing his shoulder. "If we have to stay longer, Doctor Arkham will understand." The man let out an aggravated sigh, recoiling from her touch like a moody teenager forced to go on a family road trip for the summer. Unfortunately, this vacation lacked an ocean view and beach access. Sunscreen and towels weren't necessities. Instead, they must pack snacks, clothes, and an experimental toxin.

"This is for your protection, Doctor Crane," Gordon wasn't done. He offered a police escort to the motel; that's when Jonathan put his foot down.

"The idea is to keep us inconspicuous, detective. I very much doubt riding a police car will match up to those expectations. Mr. Ryder will suspect it; he's not dumb - not completely."

Kathryn frowned. Did Jonathan compliment the Creeper? Despite everything, the psychiatrist was too proud to accept assistance. Crane was usually the voice of reason; now, it was Kathryn's turn to take the helm.

"You might not want police protection, Jonathan, but I do," she argued.

"Kathryn-"

"No," she fought to keep her volume in check. It was a miracle that she could articulate. "I want them there. If you don't like it, then I'm not leaving with you," she folded her arms in defiance.

"Kathryn," he hissed her name, which sent chills down her spine, "the police can't guarantee our safety."

"And you can?" she challenged, bitterly laughing while ignoring his appreciation for her lack of faith. "What could you possibly have that they don't?"

'A toxin that can make snakes appear before her frightened eyes,' his half argued. Jonathan closed his eyes to control his breathing. She could tell he was frustrated with her as much as she was with him.

"I can assure you, son," Gordon assured the doctor, "my people are highly trained to react should anything happen to you and Doctor Knightly."

"Oh?" Jonathan raised a challenging brow. "Which one will you send to protect us, detective? One who serves the public or Falcone? What about the retired cop at the motel? Whose side is he on?" The heartless tin-man returned. Kathryn barely embraced his vulnerable, empathetic side while it lasted.

Her eyes widened as she watched Gordon's reaction to the revelation. She almost forgot that Falcone owned this condo space and the entire city, including the police department. Seeing Gordon's head bow, not looking nor answering Jonathan directly, was a shame. They all knew the painful truth. To think Kathryn had trusted the officer before, but now, she couldn't depend on anybody anymore, not even her best friend. Why did Kathryn decide to move here in the first place?

"Whatever," she raised her hands, slapping them back to her side in defeat. "Let's just go." She refused to waste the little energy she had left over this.

Gordon, as much as he hated the idea of the couple leaving without an escort, advised the couple to drive straight to the motel - no detours. If they see Jack, they must alert him immediately. If they have a gun, don't initiate deadly force right away. Attempt to vacate the premises or give the intruder a chance to leave with a verbal warning. If these options were inapplicable, if Jack had every intention to cause bodily harm, it automatically qualified the couple's right to shoot. The therapists didn't need another lecture. They watched too many horror films and critiqued the genre's lack of common sense. Kathryn's reaction to jump scares never ceased as she cursed and squeezed Jonathan's hand with all her might, digging her nails into his flesh and nearly kicking the coffee table over. Her chances of survival increased with Crane by her side.

The detective promised to check on them later, once he finished questioning Miss Berg, should she return from the auto shop. He should go to her instead. It's not like Jack planned to trash this place even more.

"Very well. Thank you for your assistance, Detective Gordon," Jonathan was kind enough to spare a few parting words for the officer. "I hope this motivates you to do your job as much as it motivates me to protect what's mine."

Kathryn's corner lip curled at the choice of words. Now she felt like a dog on a leash, which was not a good feeling. Jonathan escorted her downstairs to his Lincoln car with his hand on her low back. The coat didn't block the questionable stares around them, but her curls concealed her face like a curtain.

Some of the tenants asked if Falcone owned the place. Rumors spread about a prostitution ring existing here. One confirmed two women - as far as the person knew - lived in that vandalized space. His roommate added that he had partied and spent the night with the willing blonde. Kathryn closed her ears at the explicit details he shared while his friend group laughed. Usually, she wouldn't tolerate anyone talking to her friend with such vulgarity, but their friendship status was deemed questionable. She didn't need Jonathan telling her to keep her head down and mouth shut. She wanted to pick her battles carefully and speak her mind when the time was right. It was unwise to call somebody out in the open with witnesses around.

Raised to be a gentleman, Jonathan opened the passenger door for his lady. The second she ducked her head, her nose crinkled from the stench in the vehicle. Did Crane run over a skunk on the way here? Was he smoking weed?

Once Kathryn was seated, he reached in to buckle her seatbelt like a parent buckling for a toddler. This was becoming ridiculous. Kathryn may felt defeated, but that didn't mean she was completely helpless. She grabbed the belt, insisting that she could fasten herself. Jonathan seemed unfazed by her irritable rejection as he shut the door and walked over to the driver's side without a word.

Typically when someone turns the key in the ignition, they automatically hear the roaring engine followed by music. Who didn't wish to hear Ryan Seacrest introduce a new hit single before the song plays? Jonathan's car was an exception because the doctor always switched the radio off. He wasn't into pop culture and preferred to hear the honking traffic instead.

Kathryn remembered the first time asking Jonathan permission to tune the radio to KIIS-FM, their first car ride to his apartment. After that, she automatically reached the knob without any objections or critiques about her singing. If he had a degree in music instead of psychology, Jonathan could be the next Simon Cowell.

To Kathryn's surprise, Bubbly was already blaring through the speakers without her doing. It hadn't been long since their last ride together, and Jonathan had a habit of switching the radio off before turning the engine off altogether. Questions soared through her mind as she withdrew her lips, concealing her nose with the jacket to block the smell. Could it be that Jonathan missed her company so much that he had the radio on the whole time? Did he memorize America's top forty? Did he sing along to fill the void of Kathryn's off-key melody? The woman had to bite down to keep herself from laughing at that ludicrous thought. The image of him playing the piano while muffling the lyrics through a smoking cigarette proved difficult. Jonathan didn't obtain that nasty habit, as far as Kathryn knew. Then again, the smell... The air was switched on, though it didn't alleviate the odor. Rolling down the window was a better alternative.

Despite the slight change in car routine, they both respected the most important rule: never discuss conflict during the ride. Neither party bothered small talk. Instead, Jonathan focused on the road, ignoring the security guard's second wave as he passed the gate.

Meanwhile, Kathryn found her lap fascinating, her hands interlaced between her knees. Her feet remained on the mat instead of the space above the glove compartment, another habit Jonathan tolerated as long as Kathryn wiped the dusty prints and kept her shoes on.

As she snuggled in the heavy fabric, the left cuff of Crane's jacket caught her eye. Yellow residue coated around the edges, small enough that Kathryn wouldn't have noticed if her feet were elevated. She inhaled sharply at that, quickly gazing at Crane's grip on the steering wheel. The dorsal side of his hand was clean, while the worn-out dressing wrapped around his injury still contained its white color as far as she could tell without her glasses, but it didn't guarantee the same result on his palms.

"Jonathan, what's this?" She controlled her pitch, showing him the stain that resembled the crime scene.

The man briefly double-glanced the sleeve before returning his undivided attention to the traffic. His trained reaction was expected - neutral and unbothered. "Guess the paint hadn't dried off completely," he concluded in boredom.

"So you got paint all over your hands," she stated rather than asking.

"I suppose," he dismissed, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"Let me see." It didn't surprise Kathryn when Crane side-glanced her as if she was crazy.

"What for?" he demanded. "The damage is done, no different from Miss Berg's car. I'll clean up once we reach the motel, not a moment before."

Kathryn stiffened and bugged her eyes wide, now regretting the transportation. The thumping pattern in her chest increased. The love of her life failed to realize that he had fallen on his sword.

"How did you know that?" she breathed, watching Jonathan's reaction as her hand rested on the window seal.

"Know what?"

"Elise's car? I never told you that," she observed his face to spot a crease or twitch - any expressive sign of guilt. He merely blinked yet remained stiffly dignified.

"No. I overheard your discussion with Detective Gordon - both of you failed to notice," his speech fastened slightly defensively as he turned the wheel, not looking at her. "A terrible thing for Miss Berg to deal with." That line should come off as sincere, but when Crane said it, he was flat with a pleasurable edge to his tone. Kathryn shook her head in annoyance. She didn't have to look at him to see that he was smirking. He would've enjoyed Elise's humiliation a lot more if he had been the one holding the spray can.

Unless...

Kathryn couldn't find the handprints on the steering wheel - his hands were squeaky clean. Oddly, his coat got caught in the paint on his way upstairs but not his hands, unless he was smart enough to wear gloves. It might be a coincidence, as well as the timing.

"Funny how you showed up the way you did," she played coy, "just in time to be my knight and shining armor."

"Not really," he disagreed. "I followed you out, remember? Emma informed me you were upset, so I left work early to ensure you returned home safely."

"Aww. How thoughtful," her appreciation didn't match the flat sincerity. "I hope Dr. Arkham didn't mind."

"Told him it was an emergency."

"Right..." She needed a different approach without giving herself away. "Did you eat today? Should we stop by a drive-thru for supper?" This contradicted Gordon's instructions: no detours.

"We can if you're hungry. I already ate."

"Oh? Did you stick around in Arkham for lunch, or did you cross the bridge for something more edible?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Kathryn shrugged, "somewhere nearby like Big Belly Burger -" Jonathan frowned in disgust. When had Kathryn ever seen him eat a hamburger? "or maybe..." she quirked a brow and hunched slightly to get a better look at his reaction, "the city cafe?" Jonathan took a moment to notice her suspicious gaze at him.

"Kathryn, if you have something to say, don't be afraid to say it," he bitterly pressed, ignoring the twitch in his eye. "You're the detective, remember?"

"What do you mean? Is it a crime to ask about your eating habits?" Most likely, his lack of food intake.

"No. The problem is you never asked about my eating habits before - ever," his tone matching the false niceties. While he sometimes found her amusing, Jonathan didn't have the time or temperament to play games right now. "Not unless you're asking for my alibi."

"Alibi for what?" she asked innocently. "I'm not accusing you of anything."

"Good," Jonathan slowed the vehicle to a complete stop when the cars slowed in front of him. "As the good detective said, it is unwise to point the finger - not without hard evidence to back up your claim." Kathryn didn't miss the side glance as the traffic light shined bright red on his face, intensifying the cold steel color in his eyes. It made him more demonic, the perfect head for the headless horseman. Kathryn was forced to keep her composure. Her hand was prepared to open the door if she needed to get out.

"Lo-look," her voice came out shaky, which Kathryn quickly rectified by clearing her throat. "It's no secret you and Elise hate each other and want to show me the worst in one another. The guy who did this didn't break in to rob the place but to reveal the dark truth about Elise. Falcone's name on the door, my money stashed in Elise's drawer..." Although, Kathryn couldn't prove the cash was hers. "Your accurate assumption about Elise is questionable. You showing up the way you did of all days when I needed you, and now, this," she showed off the stain on his sleeve. "I just can't help but wonder..."

"Kathryn, please," he hissed, giving the woman chill bumps, "spare me the merry-go-round with the monotonous tactics and hints. Just ask." Crane should be offended that she was accusing him of this petty crime. Then again, he was a psychiatrist, trained to react indifferently while listening to gruesome stories from Gotham's finest. It was hard to decipher his thoughts sometimes. Kathryn's smart-aleck patient was right about one of many things, creating a mind-reading invention was impossible.

"Okay," Kathryn whispered before looking at his face to ask him firmly. "Did you trash my condo?" Her voice nearly matched the DA Devil, who occasionally questioned Jonathan's expertise inside and outside the trial. This was no different.

"No." Of course, Jonathan would say that. At least he offered eye contact while answering her.

"Did you stop by Elise's work to paint her car?"

"No," nothing in his demeanor stuck out to contradict him. Maybe he was telling the truth, that it was all Jack.

"So you're telling me that you haven't left the building at all today, not one time for a quick lunch?" His reluctant silence said it all, much to her disappointment. "In that case, why don't we make a quick detour back to Arkham?"

"Kathryn," Jonathan warned, tightening his grip around the steering wheel. His flesh nearly matched the bandage.

"What? It's not like we're backtracking - it's on our way to the motel, and I'm sure Emma can corroborate your story - no problem - she is the eyes and ears of that place, after all."

"Kathryn, I'm not crossing the bridge to Arkham, and that's final."

"Why not?" she pressed. "Where did you go if not the cafe?"

"Enough!" Once the light switched to green, he sharply turned the car, scanning the sides to find the nearest parking. He had to settle for parallel parking by a cathedral. Nobody paid mind that Jonathan parked next to a fire hydrant, which explained why the space was available. "Listen, Kathryn," he said slowly, his eyes darkened in rage. "It's bad enough I've taken time off work for you, but do you really want Doctor Arkham to figure out the situation between us?"

"Which one? Our work affair or your stalker?"

"Both," Jonathan didn't act shocked about her assumptions. He assumed Gordon enlightened Kathryn about Jack; the detective warned him. It didn't help that Jack made his presence well-known to Kathryn that night. Jonathan would've killed him on the spot if he could, but he settled for a punch instead. He also wouldn't put it past Elise to drop hints about his involvement with Falcone while he returned the favor.

"Kathryn, I didn't want you to find out this way."

"You mean you didn't want me to find out at all!" she wailed her argument, not looking at him. He didn't answer the obvious. Kathryn closed her eyes, attempting to block the tears from falling down her face. "Emma told me all about the little package Jack sent you weeks ago."

"Of course, she did. Let it be known, with you being the exception to the rule. I will never exempt a stranger from accidentally spilling coffee on my coat again."

"Weeks, Jonathan," she emphasized, not bothering a trip down memory lane. "Jack's been stalking you for weeks, following you everywhere you go - spying on us." The thought of Jack catching her intimate moments with Jonathan made her skin crawl. "He knows about us, doesn't he?!"

Jonathan blew out some air in dismay. Why did Kathryn bother asking questions when she already had the answers?

"Why you, Jonathan?" Finally, a decent question. This could open another can of worms if he weren't careful. No doubt, Kathryn was going to find out eventually. Jack or Gordon would share their version of the story if not him. There was still a small chance Kathryn could be forgiving if Jonathan told his side, at least half the truth.

"Unfortunately, I was a victim of poor timing. I was an earwitness to Jack's vicious crime, and he is doing everything in his weak power to intimidate me - even if it meant sending dead birds to my office and ransacking your home."

"Earwitness? Crime? You mean you overheard him..." Kathryn was reluctant to say it aloud, afraid of the worst-case scenario. "Him ki..." she choked, but luckily, Jonathan didn't allow her to finish, for he knew what she was trying to say.

"Jack Ryder believed I overheard him kill Summer Gleeson over the phone. Yes."

"Did you?"

Jonathan recollected Summer's screams ringing through his ears until a brutal bang ended it all. At first, he thought one of his men hung up the phone until it turned out Jack was the real victim of poor timing.

"Oh my gosh," Kathryn was stunned. She was slowly piecing everything together, struggling to imagine what was going through Jonathan's head that night. However, the sympathetic moment quickly shattered when another thought entered her mind.

"What were you doing talking to Summer?" her tone was supposed to be identical to a scorned woman catching her man affiliating with another woman. Surprisingly, she lacked anger. This sounded like an insecure woman, afraid of losing her man to a beautiful woman.

Jonathan breathed deeply through his nose, "She held a grudge against me for not following through with the interview."

"The interview you promised her at the meet and greet."

"Yes. With Jack as her new lapdog, she sent him out to take pictures of us and use them as a bargaining chip. She threatened to expose our affair to Doctor Arkham if I didn't cooperate. We argued. Next thing I knew, she wasn't talking to me anymore but someone else..."

Jack Ryder.

"And then..." Jonathan pinched his fingers and mimicked a dial tone, coating goosebumps across Kathryn's skin.

"When were you going to tell me?" she pressed.

"Never." His lack of hesitation and empathy was the last thing Kathryn wanted to hear.

"Jonathan!"

"I was only trying to protect you. I entrusted Gordon to protect you, unfor-"

"Protect me from what?!" she dropped her hands, revealing the red in her eyes and soaking wet lashes. "The truth? You think keeping me in the dark is protecting me, Jonathan? Don't you think, as your girlfriend, I had the right to know what's going on - what you're going through?"

"Sure," Jonathan agreed in exhaustion, but Kathryn could tell he didn't mean it.

"Really? 'Cause what you have been doing this whole time isn't protecting me. This is protecting your pride. This is a pride thing. You think vulnerability is beneath you - that admitting your greatest fears will weaken you. This is like reliving the beatings you had to endure every day by your own grandmother! My God! When will you realize, Jonathan, that staying silent doesn't make the problem go away faster; it will only make things worse?"

After seeing Jonathan's parted, speechless mouth, she almost regretted the words. As angry as she was, Kathryn didn't mean to bring up the touchy subject, but it was too late to retract.

"Wow," Jonathan couldn't help but bitterly laugh, shaking his head. "And people thought I was cruel." What's worse, his other half was laughing for another reason. He was undoubtedly impressed with the guinea pig, almost admiring her fiery comeback.

'You better hit her where it hurts, Johnny-boy, or I might start rooting for her instead.'

"Maybe," Kathryn whispered sadly, nodding in agreement, "but it's the truth, and you know it."

The man was torn between kicking her out of the car or giving her a taste of his medicine. It didn't matter if she was on point with her assumptions; she was going too far. She could only push him so much, leaving him no choice but allow the Scarecrow to take over and do unspeakable things to his angel.

"I don't care what you're dealing with." Jonathan tilted his head at her questionably, unsure what she meant. She picked up on that and elaborated, "You should've clued me in. I would've helped you."

"Help me, how? What could you've done to eliminate the issue that is beyond our control?"

"Not leave you alone to deal with it," she offered. Jonathan opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. She continued, "We would've figured it out together. No matter how this could affect me and my life, I would've stayed. You wanna know why?"

Kathryn, please, don't. He cringed, closing his eyes, begging her whether it was in his mind or through his mouth. Not tonight. Not now.

"Because I loved you."

The declaration shouldn't surprise him, yet once again, he felt the painfully familiar punch in the chest, knocking the brain waves off rhythm and increasing the heart rate. This was not how he wanted this night to go. He wanted her to tell him in a more appropriate setting, not in the car, not with The Fray singing what almost sounded like a breakup song in the background. This was anything but romantic, not to Crane's standards.

"Kathryn, please, don't-"

"No," she denied plainly, ignoring his disbelief reaction. This wasn't the first time she said that word to him, and Jonathan had a feeling it won't be the last. "You can't control how I feel, Jonathan. Love doesn't work like that. You may not feel the same way, but it doesn't matter. Despite your flaws and complications, it doesn't change the fact that I love you still." Tears rolled down her face, which she didn't bother wiping away. Jonathan inhaled sharply, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Shame that you don't care enough to tear down your walls and offer me that same courtesy. Love is sacrifice, Jonathan, and it comes from both ways."

His poor, naive guinea pig, if only she knew.

"I love you, Jonathan Crane, and unlike you, I'm not afraid to say it out loud."

Jonathan closed his eyes and pinched his brows, struggling with the aftermath of another powerful blow in his system. He could hear his dark side oohing at her comeback. Once again, Kathryn stabbed him where it hurt, pushing the knife deeper. What could he possibly say to rectify this situation? Anything he said right now could dig him a deeper grave. Her venom was killing him. Scarecrow wished he was Kathryn's disorder instead, cheering her on while Crane silently did the same. He deserved it.

"Please, understand, Kathryn, I do care about you," he declared softly, still couldn't say the other word. Not yet. "I never done anything like this before - you know this," he gestured to the space between them. "You know better than anyone that I'm trying. I'm trying to be better."

"You tried? You have been lying and keeping secrets from me for weeks! And when I addressed my concerns for you, how did you respond? You punished me by keeping me in the dark and leaving me alone with him to scare me! You didn't even bother to warn me or call to make sure I was okay-"

"I phoned Gordon-"

"Good for you! But I needed you more!" She aggressively jabbed her finger against his arm as if she was inserting a needle in him. "I needed you," her voice was hoarse by her sobs, "but you cast me out."

"I warned you what kind of man I am," he remained unfazed by her teary mess, determined to win this fight, "but despite all that, you were willing to try and did not object until now."

"I know," she agreed before shaking her head, "but you can't use that as an excuse anymore." He had the nerve to roll his eyes at that line. "Relationships are all about growth - it's about change, not just your relationship with another person but yourself. However, you still want to stay the same. You wish to be the headless horseman - the heartless tinman - whatever you want everyone else to see. You want control, and if someone like Jack comes along to take your remote, you get scared."

"That's not true," he said in a grave voice. She was pushing him towards the edge. It's only a matter of time before he falls.

"You said it yourself - back at the condo. All the things you've said and done to me, it's not you. It's your fear. Your fear of being vulnerable."

Jonathan sighed, leaning back against his seat and shaking his head with his eyes closed, still in denial.

Where was the man Kathryn encountered in her apartment—the one who allowed his heart to take over and didn't involve cold-calculating tactics to tame a beast? Many would compare Jonathan and empathy to oil and water - they're incompatible. Jonathan wasn't supposed to be a compassionate, selfless tinman from the story. He was designed to keep things in line - his way with logic and precision - and not let himself unravel under any circumstances.

Of course, exceptions must be made.

It was rare to hear, for he sounded broken and uncomfortable while discussing the topic. It went beyond his pep talks and proposal for a secret affair.

It was beautiful.

If only Kathryn were on that receiving end instead of a stranger. Maybe Emma and Elise were right. Maybe Jonathan Crane was homosexual, after all.

"I'm sorry if I sound so harsh-" she began.

"No," he cut her off, refusing eye contact. "No, you're not." It might have been the moonlight or streetlight, but the shine brought a watery glist to his eyes. She didn't believe he was crying. Jonathan wouldn't allow her that satisfaction.

The air in the car was getting stuffy. Kathryn could barely breathe, and the stench was constricting her airway faster.

The woman reached for the door handle, only to hear the familiar click that locked the car door. She glared at Crane, "Jonathan, I'm just getting some fresh air. Unlock the door."

Jonathan looked her way with narrowed eyes, not saying a word at first.

Another click switched the lock, granting her quest.

"Thank you," just as Kathryn reached for the handle, the door again locked. Now frustrated, she pushed the button on her door and fiddled with the lock sticking by the window only to find out that Crane child-locked it. The door unlocked again, only to switch immediately after her fingers touched the handle.

"Jonathan, stop it!" she clenched her fists, tempted to punch him. "I swear to God. If you don't open this door-"

"It's not me!" Jonathan declared, who was just as confused as she was. "I'm not doing this!" Kathryn furrowed her brows, hearing the click while Crane's hand was nowhere near the mechanism. He fooled with his button while Kathryn pulled the handle and switch. The car repeatedly locked and unlocked itself as if it had been possessed, toying with the occupants inside.

"What's going on?!" Kathryn banged the window, now panicking. "Why is it doing that?"

"I don't know," Jonathan reached for his car keys to turn the engine off, only to find out the remote was missing from his keychain. He froze, all the possibilities in his mind mashed together in one conclusion—no wonder the car smelled like a skunk.

The wolf whistle and the shadowy presence rising from the back seat confirmed his hypothesis. Kathryn automatically screamed on cue. This was just like watching scary movies on TV, except this was real life. A killer creep was in the back seat, dangling the remote control between his stained fingers.

"Looking for this?"

"Oh my god!" Kathryn leaned a distance from her headrest to see the Creeper's face. His snicker through that yellowish grin brought goosebumps, spooking the woman to call for help and repeatedly yank the handle, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

"Nuh-uh-uh," Jack scolded as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and roughly pulled it back, bumping her head against the seat rest while ignoring her painful yelp. "Now, Mrs. Crane, there's no need to cry wolf," he teased playfully with gritted teeth, wincing from Kathryn's nails scraping against his palm and her obnoxious kicking against the glove compartment. He couldn't see her but could tell the woman was crying, most of which he wasn't entirely responsible for. He tried shushing her, offering her false assurance that everything would be okay. She didn't believe him; to be fair, he wouldn't have believed himself either.

Ignoring the creep's sick greeting, Jonathan quickly opened the sunglasses compartment, only to find his secret weapon gone. He closed his eyes and grimaced in dismay.

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny," the creep clicked his tongue in mock disappointment.

Gazing through the rearview mirror, Jack held Kathryn's hair tightly while poking a filled syringe against her neck. If the high dosage doesn't kill her, the air bubbles Jack failed to tap out will give her an embolism.

"You think I wouldn't thoroughly search your car while you were too busy consulting patients? How I was able to lock-pick myself into your home and mold a copy of your keys while you were sleeping. I told you I know where you live. Kudos for not taking the girl back home. It wouldn't have been smart on your part."

"I should say the same thing about you, Mr. Ryder," Jonathan tried to keep himself neutral as he addressed the Creeper, who snorted in amusement. "Whatever it is you're planning to do with that-"

"Not to worry," Jack assured, oblivious to the doctor's eye twitch. "I won't use this..." His eyes averted, swaying his head in deep thought, "not unless I have to."

"This is between us. Leave Doctor Knightly out of this."

"Why the formalities, dear doctor?" The creeper asked in genuine confusion. "We all know your relationship with her. No need to hide it," he pulled Kathryn's hair, ignoring her wince. "I gotta say, I was this close to screaming from hearing the toxicity between you two. It's annoying really. Another star-crossed relationship in the books."

"What do you wan-ah!" Kathryn could hardly feel her scalp anymore, silently praying that Jack didn't yank her hair out.

"Now. Now, Mrs. Crane. I'll explain everything if you just keep that big mouth of yours shut," Jack threatened with gritted teeth. "Let Mom and Dad talk for a minute. Okay?" Tears descended the woman's face as she felt the needle uncomfortably poking her neck, not enough to break the skin. Jack's shushes and false reassurance didn't ease the anxiety. "Seriously, Johnny, what do you see in this girl? She is too whiny even for you to tolerate."

"Which is why she has nothing to do with this," Jonathan suggested. "One last chance, Mr. Ryder. Let her go."

"Au contraire, mon frere," Jack shook his head, not considering the alternate solution. "She has everything to do with this. Even if you're right, I still need her help." The confused look on the couple's faces spoke volumes. The creeper couldn't help but laugh, "C'mon, guys. Surely, you figured out what just happened. Although you two weren't on speaking terms, you - Doctor Crane - couldn't help but change your work schedule just to make sure your woman made it home safe and sound. Sweet, really. I've done the same thing for Summer, only to be called a creep for caring."

"So vandalizing Elise's car - the condo," Kathryn questioned, "that was all you."

"I had to put you two back together somehow, and it worked. Johnny came back to play the hero, and how did you repay him?" The woman tried to lean her head from the syringe, but Jack's grip was too strong. It didn't help that he had an advantage in the backseat. The headrest blocked her view of him.

"By pointing the finger and belittling the poor man," Jack clicked his tongue in dismay. "You have a problem, lady."

"Get to the point, Mr. Ryder," Jonathan demanded. His patience was already on thin ice.

"Right," Jack addressed Crane once more, listing off his demands, "First off, you're going to change gears and start driving."

"Where?"

"Never mind, where. It would spoil the surprise. Once you follow my directions, all will be explained later at the dock..." Jack cringed, realizing that he had said too much. "Whatever. Start driving."

Jonathan hesitated because he predicted the worst-case scenario in his head. He knew what was at the docks and who would be waiting for him - them. Kathryn was in danger regardless of Jack's petty threats. Because of his weakness, Falcone printed out the death warrants for Jonathan Crane and Kathryn Knightly. He wished to lash out in a rage but remained still, sulking in dread.

"To think we were BFFs," Jonathan grumbled.

Jack cackled, "Johnny-boy, friends don't rat out friends. Friends don't beat up friends, either. And friends don't beg crime lords to off their friends."

"What?!" Kathryn cried in shock, only to grit her teeth when the needle pressed her neck again. This time, Jack might've inserted the needle into the skin; she didn't know for sure. So far, she hadn't felt the mysterious effects of Crane's medicine - not yet.

"I never once asked Falcone to kill you," Jonathan clarified.

"Maybe not, but you clearly stated your true feelings for me. You wanted me gone, and thanks to you, so does Gotham. I get it. But Falcone had a better solution in mind, guaranteeing me a free trip to my very own private abyss. I'll be living the dream: drinking rum out of pineapple fruit, tanning my bod under the sun while some hot chick applies lotion on my bum... or maybe I should find someone dark and handsome to do the job," Jack teased, giving Jonathan a wink, "what do you think, Johnny-boy? Would you be jealous?"

The couple couldn't but cringe at the disgusting images forced in their heads.

Jack sighed sadly, "Guess it doesn't matter anyway. As much as I'll miss this game between us, unfortunately, playtime's over. Daddy's have enough now. Drive!" he screamed, causing the woman to jump and sob in fright, "or she dies!"