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red-batty · 10 months

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The Arkham Hellion: Year One

Chapter 1: The One Where Everything Worked Out (Part 3)

Characters: Connie Inviglio (oc), Dante Spectre (oc), Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow. Emril Griffith (oc, mentioned), Connie Inviglio x Jonathan Crane (slight)

Warnings: Language warning, dark themes, psychoanalysis

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: okay i know i tagged this as Crane x Connie but like it only sets the foundation for it here

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Connie stopped by her apartment first. She had thirty minutes until she had to be at the station, and she needed to feed her dog. Bilbo came bounding towards her, his fluffy tail wagging with excitement. Her shift at GCPD ran from 3 to 8, mirroring the hours she worked at Arkham, from 9 to 2. She was going to get home late tonight, so she fed Bo half of his dinner early. As she looked at her calendar in between shifts, she realized that her shift ended at 8 (way past when her parents would be enjoying dinner) and that right after she needed to get to the university for her class. A lot of her credits came from her work with the police and at the Asylum, but there were still a couple of classes that would help round out her degree and assure her future doctorate. Her class would be at nine, end at ten, she’d be home at ten thirty, and she could sleep.

Today was Thursday for Miss Caroline Inviglio, which is why she had her night class with Dr. Crane. In the morning, she’d have to get up early to attend her positive psychology class, work her shift at Arkham, but she wasn’t needed at the station on Fridays, so she instead had a lecture, a self defense class, and the evening to herself to complete school work. Saturdays had no shifts, another self defense class and a kickboxing class, but then she’d have the rest of the day. Those were the days she’d take Bilbo out for walks, go to the park or maybe visit a cemetery and leave flowers at each grave. Sundays were more classes, more lectures, another walk, and then work would resume on Monday.

Connie worked hard. She took her pills, minded her diet, and crammed as much effectiveness into her independent life as she could. Once upon a time, she was trapped with a family with animosity towards each other, surviving through mental illness and before that, living paycheck to paycheck in uncertain households. She never would have seen herself with the life that she had now. A dog, steady work, an abundance of education and the willpower and time to train her body to fight. Rest may have been limited, but she earned every bit of it, and didn’t regret the life she had.

At 3:01 pm, Connie had parked her car, and five minutes later, she had her ID on and had checked in at the front desk of the Gotham City Police Department.

"Ms. Inviglio?" a voice asked, and upon turning around Connie was faced with one of the most attractive men she had ever met.

"That's, uh, that's me." Her mind raced to keep calm, but very attractive people, men in particular, had a way of causing her common sense to falter. Women she felt more confident around, more encouraged to impress and befriend, but men were intimidating.

He had odd features, not the kind one would typically describe a perfect man- no square jaw, chiseled features, sharp nose, or piercing eyes. Quite frankly, his features could almost be described as soft, with a rounded jaw and no overly pronounced chin, thin lips and dark brown eyes. When he extended his hand for a handshake, she gripped it with a firm and confident shake, despite her trembling. The softness of his hands caught the hopeless romantic that Connie was off guard.

A tattoo of a sun or star, some design that looked pagan but she wasn't familiar with, was tattooed on the side of his neck, and delicate symbols and shapes were tattooed on the back of his hands. A large windbreaker-type coat swamped his broad shoulders, and underneath that he wore a black shirt and a gold chain. His hair was shaved on the sides and slicked back.

The man may have had gentler facial features and pianist's hands, but his time as a detective in Gotham wore him into the focused, grizzled and bitter cop before her. His eyes were dark and shadowed, and his thin lips were pulled into a hard line.

"I'm Detective Spectre; Commissioner Gordon said you'd be arriving. You're our intern?" Even his voice was pretty, and Connie struggled to compute how to maintain social etiquette.

"I'm, uhm, yup. That’s me. I’m doing criminal profiling, yknow, ha..." Her father was an attorney and before that, a soldier. She gained a lot from growing up under him, and one of them was the lift of her chin, the squaring of her shoulders and her hands resting stiffly at her side when she was faced with a superior.

The detective regarded her carefully. "I'm told you work with Dr. Griffith?"

"Yes, sir."

As the detective lead her down to her place in the forensics lab, Connie used her inhaler. Her hammering heart and nerves did not help the scratch and ache in her lungs. It confirmed a theory she had once told a friend - that attractive people were bad for her health. Once Dt. Spectre explained his expectations for her work on his case, he left, and Connie’s focus returned.

Connie did see her dad when he came by the station to receive evidence; and she also noticed how it came from the Commissioner himself. It wasn’t hard to see the truth- that Batman was involved. In almost every aspect of her life and career, he was. Maybe, she’d get to see this fable of a man for herself, but until then, she regarded him as a resource for the criminal-justice system, and kept neutral opinions on the morality of his existence. Michael and Connie exchanged a hug, and Connie apologized that she would have to miss dinner to complete her work and make it to her class. Returning home was rescheduled for Saturday, when her mother Seanna would make her famous red rice.

Work went smoothly from there. As a forensic, she assisted a witness in Dt. Spectre’s case in sketching a depiction of the criminal. If the GCPD wasn’t so understaffed, Connie wouldn’t have any involvement in forensic art, but she was more than qualified to provide the service. As the witness struggled to describe her assailant, she shook, stammered and contradicted her own statements. Connie had to calm her down repeatedly. Connie then had to write out a rough description of what kind of person would be inclined to commit certain crimes - profiling. The assailant for Spectre’s case was the most interesting, because Connie deemed him to be a complete sociopath, and what behaviors and mannerisms he’d exhibit. Once Connie submitted her report and finished up other necessary paperwork for other cases, she finished her shift at 8.

Cold barbecue pizza, feed and pet the dog, double check on the plants, grab your lanyard. Four things, just a quick stop at her apartment, and then Connie was heading out again. Leftover pizza was not the most nutritious dinner, but it would tide her over for her class. She technically didn’t need to take this class, but of all the classes that could have given her credits, this one was the most interesting. A lot of students didn’t like Dr. Crane or his class, and found him creepy, but Connie gave him the benefit of the doubt and deemed him an eccentric; additionally, in a class about fear, creepy things would inevitably be the topic of discussion.

Connie took this class despite its reputation, because understanding the psychology and behaviour centered around fear would inevitably assist her work at Arkham. It certainly helped Crane, who also worked at the asylum; his office was just down the hall from Dr. Griffith’s. She found Dr. Crane attractive in a way, but he was strange and intimidating, so it was much easier to dismiss, but she still found herself admiring him. He was dedicated to science and his work, and he had succeeded in his career. That gained her appreciation far more than his elegant features and cold blue eyes.

She made it to the campus early. After walking across the courtyard of Gotham University, going up a flight of steps and walking across the building, she found Dr. Crane’s classroom. Twenty minutes to go, and the door was closed. Not wanting to disturb her professor before he opened the door, she found a seat on the floor against the wall, and checked her phone. There were too many texts, messages, emails and notifications waiting for her; over ten hours since she was able to really check her phone, and Connie marveled at how work now distracted her from the device, and not vice versa.

Several of the messages were from Camille Gutierrez, her friend from before Connie moved to Gotham, who moved there as well pursuing her acting career. Most of it was videos that Cam found funny, and others were updates on her life. Connie took the time to respond as appropriately as she could.

“Hello, Caroline,” a voice said suddenly, and Connie jumped, jerking her eyes upward and swearing under her breath. Her gaze landed on Dr. Crane, thin and cold as always, looking down at where she sat. As her heart rate settled from the jump, Crane smiled. With one thin finger, he pushed his clear glasses up his nose, and regarded his frightened student with a remote intrigue.

“Dr. Crane!” Connie finally said once her thoughts were gathered. “Excuse my language.”

Connie stood and gathered her bag, brushing herself off and straightening her shirt.

“You’re early.”

“Traffic wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.”

Connie squirmed nervously in Crane’s presence, which brought him a mild form of delight.

“No need to sit in the hall. Come inside.”

Crane turned back into the classroom, and not wishing to be disrespectful, Connie followed.

“How have you been enjoying my class, Caroline?” Crane asked as he walked to his desk. This was the most one on one discussion she had ever had with him, and her social anxiety crept in on her. She found her preferred seat in the class, a desk towards the front of the room where she could better see and hear the professor. It wasn’t directly next to Crane’s desk, but it was close enough that Crane could engage in conversation with her.

“I’m enjoying it,” she replied, clearing her throat. “I’m finding it insightful on behavior.”

“Is that so?” He hummed. “Fear, I have found, is the most potent of neurological reactions. It is stronger than any other instinct.”

“Even love?” Connie blurted, and when Crane looked up at her with an unamused expression, she regretted it.

“What good is love to survival? And don’t say reproduction, because love is not needed for that.”

“For other animals, love and reproduction coexist for a purpose, but not for humans.”

Crane adjusted his glasses once more before looking at his computer.

“Not exactly, of course,” Connie rushed to correct herself. “Love is objective and it’s not entirely known if animals feel love, except for like dogs, or maybe dolphins…”

She laughed uncomfortably under her breath and sat back, curling in on herself.

“Then tell me. Why do you suggest love?”

“It- it gives people purpose. Without purpose, there is insanity. I think, uhm, at least. This is more philosophical, though…” Connie reached for her inhaler as she cleared her throat again.

“And you think the need for purpose is stronger than fear?”

“I think without purpose, there is no reason to fear anything.”

Crane looked up at Connie again, leaning forward.

“Interesting.”

Silence fell as Connie’s mind raced and Crane studied his pupil.

“What do you love, Caroline?” Crane asked carefully, breaking the silence.

“I, uhm. I love my dog, for sure. And my family. And my friends.”

Crane rolled his eyes.

“Only living things that give you some sort of validation?”

“I love my dog because seeing it happy makes me happy.”

“You keep mentioning your dog.”

“He’s not human. And I have nothing negative to connote to him.”

“Do negative connotations negate love?”

Connie thought over all that had happened in her life, the conflict and divisions and the fighting amongst her family, the distance and grief at missing her friends, the conflict and chaos that tore at her heart for years. At that moment, her pain of the past killed her social anxiety, and she winced.

“I’d rather not go over it. My dog is just an easy example.”

Her family was a weak point, and Crane took note of that.

“Does your dog give your purpose?”

“No,” Connie replied reluctantly. “But my dog makes the pay off of work sweeter.”

“Then what gives you purpose?” Crane gave her one of those strange looks that only he seemed to give, that other students despised.

“Helping others,” Connie replied steadily. “I can’t heal the world, but there are good people who don’t deserve to be in pain all the time.”

“Like lunatics?” Crane smirked in amusement.

“Like the people of Gotham,” Connie shot back, as politely as she could. “If I can understand fear, I can help others overcome it.”

This elicited a small laugh from Crane, and he slowly removed his glasses.

“Very well.”

Other students began to arrive, and the rest of the class went on without anything unusual. She returned home, showered, took her medicine, and went to sleep. With her loyal Bernese pup curled up at her side, she felt safe, and at peace. Things were normal.

That was, until the next morning. She heard it on the news:

Harvey Dent had escaped Arkham.

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