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sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee · 2 years

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"Happy Birthday to you, doll!"

A very lovely, lovely birthday to my dear friend @itsmalachitenow, featuring her two favorite batman rogues Scarecrow and Mad Hatter! She's one of my favorite people in the world, so please join me in wishing her a wonderful day. As a note this is very personalized with her self insert Lyric Adagio.

TW: NSFW 🔞, dollplay, oral, penetration, hypnosis, plot with porn, x self insert

That morning when Lyric Adagio woke up, she noticed the large bed she shared with her two lovers was empty. Did they both get up without her? A pleasant smile played on her face. They probably wanted to let her sleep, given today was her special day. Despite what anyone else might think, her boys did treat her so well.

In the other room she could hear the whistle of the Mad Hatter's teapot and smell pumpkin pancakes on the stove. Oh, they were definitely setting up for her birthday. Jonathan Crane, also known as the Scarecrow, made the best pancakes. Perfectly fluffy and the pumpkin was deeply comforting. She stretched out her arms and yawned.

The cold of the hardwood floor under her feet gave her just enough jolt to look around. Next to the bed was a pill organizer and a bottle of water, which she quickly used to wash down medication for the morning.

Their home… an eclectic and almost haphazard mix of three different aesthetics. Alice in Wonderland motifs galore, along with video game and movie merchandise and somehow the occasional glimpses of the Southern Gothic. It worked for them. It made her smile every morning, a constant reminder of their presence even when they had to be apart.

Not today, however. This whole weekend was going to be all about her. A planned dinner out with her loved ones and friends and the rest of the time? Private time to two of the most infamous of the Rogues Gallery, all to herself.

As she entered the kitchen and dining area, she could see Jon finishing off pancakes in a pile and a thing of bacon about to be put on. Jervis was pouring tea in three separate cups at the table, a grin on his face as he spotted her.

The moment the kettle was set down, he was running to her and twirling her around. His voice rang out sing-song, "Aaaaaa very happy birthday to you!"

"To me?" Lyric giggled.

"To you!" He stopped just short so she could get her breath, "Oh Alice, I'm so pleased we get to celebrate yet another year of you… existing!"

"Hm?" Jon called out in monotone, yet a smile played on his face, "Is today some sort of special day?"

"Pooh-pooh, Marchie!" Jervis blew out his cheeks in protest, "You know perfect-ly well! None of us are exempt from the time spell."

"And now you're rhyming." He flips the last pancake onto the side plate.

Lyric was practically jumping on her toes, "Aw, but Jon, my heart is in a swell! You know that's his cutest tell. He can't be the Mad Hatter and rest just on his laurels!"

Jervis couldn't help the giggle that came from his throat, clapping his hands in delight, "Very good, Alice!"

Jon quickly turned, spatula in hand, "Don't you encourage him! …happy birthday, my dear." The mock frustration on his face quickly melted away to a warm smile. He held his arms out to her as she approached.

"Did you take your morning medication?" Jon asks as she leans in for a kiss on his cheek.

She grins, "Yeah, Doc, I did." There's an amused chuckle in response. The first time she had gotten discombobulated from forgetting night or morning medication, Jon took it upon himself to ask when he was home. It was one of several subtle ways he told her how much he loved her.

Another was the way he would make her plate to always include a tad extra food, even if she wasn't going to eat it. He knew what it was like to have food scarce or kept away from you. It was a feeling he'd never wish on someone else. And so, his loved ones would always have more than enough.

Jervis sat in the seat across the table from her, chin in his hands and his tongue sticking out just a tad, "There's already milk on the table. I know what you like!" And she'll watch as he puts far too much sugar and cream into his. Though… hers isn't much better.

"The reservations are clear for tomorrow night, by the way." Jon called above the sizzle of bacon, "And everyone cleared their schedules." It made him happy to say it. Just for you, dear. They all want to be with you on your day.

"Even-"

"Even the Cheshire Cat, yes!" Jervis interrupts.

Lyric mixes her tea and comments, "Oh man, I thought Edward was going to be out of town?"

"He was until he heard he got his dates mixed up. You know how that man is with dates." Jon rolls his eyes and jokes, "The illustrious Riddler- the genius Riddler- amazing at everything he touches but can't be bothered to keep track of the days when he hyper focuses on his work." The only time that man ever paid attention was when he was forced to- like in Arkham.

Lyric smiles. He canceled plans? The others really do all like her. She tries not to cry into her cup of tea. It took a minute for the rest of them to warm up, but… old friends and new friends and her parents. All together.

"I'm so happy." She sighed, "The only thing is that's gonna be so many spoons."

"Which is why today is about relaxing, pet!" Jervis cooed, "No flare-ups on our watch!"

Lyric felt her shoulders relax as Jon put a plate of food in front of her. He sat down between them, briefly bowed his head and then started to eat. She wondered briefly if this meant they weren't going to do anything today. Which was fine, she understood why, but… she was rather hoping they were going to do something, even if it was small.

Jon, as if sensing this, had a sly smile on his face, "I think we should open presents after."

"Presents?" Jervis and Lyric both chattered.

"Wait, why are you excited?" Lyric asked.

"Because, dear Alice…" Jervis grinned, "I know what your present is." The look on his face sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine.

A nervous laugh, "I am excited but also afraid!"

"All I could ever hope for, dearest." Jon flirts.

Certainly, it gave her reason to finish up breakfast, tea, and then brush her teeth. Get situated on the couch in their modest living room to wait for her presents. Midnight, the taxidermied crow, watched with glass eyes from a nearby bookshelf. There was that sparkle in her eyes that attracted them both at the various times they first met. That wonder she met the world with.

Jervis stood there with a larger set of boxes in his arms, meticulously wrapped with hand-tied bows. Meanwhile Crane dug into a nearby cabinet, moving various things out of his way to pull out a bundle- book shaped and wrapped in newspaper and twine. Jervis made a movement with his hand for Jonathan to go first.

“Age before beauty.” Jervis jokes.

Jon sniped, “Where in the world did you even hear that? One of your reality shows?”

“I do not WATCH-” If Jervis hadn’t been holding things, his hands would have gone to his hips.

Satisfied with the reaction he managed to get, Jon handed the bundle to Lyric, “You said how much you like hand-made gifts. Both of us decided to partly do that this year.”

Trying to stifle a laugh at their banter, Lyric took the present in her hands, delicately pulling away the twine in her lap. As the newspaper fell away, she could see a leather bound book, the binder sewn by hand. The binding was thick and sturdy, obviously recycled. As she flipped through, she realized these pages were of perfect quality for sketching.

Her eyes were wide, “You made me a new sketchbook?!” She was quick to get up and wrap her arms over Jon, the book tight in her hands.

“It was a new venture, certainly,” He kissed the top of her head, “I managed to purchase some inks as well that I think you’ll have fun experimenting with. Either for writing or sketching.” Out of her line of sight, he gave a thumbs up to Jervis, who began lining up his presents along the living room table. He grabbed up the newspaper to toss to the floor for now.

As Lyric turned back around, she looked over the boxes with curiosity, “Is this where I should be scared?”

“Positively frightened.” Jon learned to whisper in her ear, hand on her shoulder. The tickle of air on her ear made her shiver.

Biting her lip, Lyric sat down in front of them, and Jervis plopped down on the couch next to her. Jon managed to slink his way behind them, with his lanky arms draped over the back. She went to the smaller boxes first- ribbons for her hair, stockings, some very comfortable but still sensual lingerie… And a pair of women’s oxford shoes. Lace up, black and white with a small chunky heel.

She knows what’s in the largest box.

Jervis is positively brimming with anticipation next to her, “You’re going to relax today- We had just the thing! Doll you up… and put you on a string.” There’s a dark tone to his voice, not playful like he normally would be. It’s sultry, inviting. She can feel him edging closer to her.

The box opens and her hands immediately go to the soft fabric of a blue-green dress. She’s careful not to grab at it in a way that’ll wrinkle it. Jervis wordlessly assists to stand and take it out to show her.

“Jervis… It’s beautiful.” She sighs, smiling at all the details. There’s cotton lace patterns along the bottom and accent edges, poofy skirts and frilly long sleeves. When he turns it around, she sees the faux ties in the back hiding a zipper to ease her way into wearing it. A lovely combination of her tastes and sensible fashion for her body. For a moment her eyes close as she pictures herself wearing it. She can feel Jonathan weaving his fingers lightly through the hanging strands of her hair.

His voice is lower, more graveled, “Shall we begin treatment?” She recognizes it. It’s the voice he wears when he dons the Scarecrow mask. Unfortunately for her, it’s also a weakness in which he’s keenly aware of.

“How do you want to do this, dear?” Jervis licks his lips as he asks, “With assistance?”

Lyric thought about it for a brief moment. She knows why he’s asking. Whenever he used any of his skills and devices of the mind, he always managed to whisper in her ear that her muscles felt light, like air. It allowed movement and positioning that normally would leave her aching afterwards. Yet he would never just assume she wanted to be put even slightly under without asking first. It showed how their relationship had developed over time the longer they’d been together.

She nodded, “Just a little.” One of her eyes winked and she made a motion with her fingers indicating a small amount. Jon’s hands went flat over her shoulder in reassurance.

Jervis, even in his casual wear, kept a pocket watch on him at all times. Just in case. Gold, with an engraving of the white rabbit from the original book illustrations of Alice in Wonderland on the back. This particular watch was an anniversary gift from her. The moment it was opened and she saw the black and white of numbers, and could hear the ticking of the second hand- her mind already began to relax.

“Oh, Alice, dear Alice…” Jervis cooed, “We’re sure to find something to fit your palate. Relax and we’ll tell those muscles to mollify- Any pain you feel we will therefore nullify.” Immediately Lyric feels any tenseness in her muscles wash away like water on the beach.

The smile on her face was soft and happy, “That feels nice, thank you.” It was through dedicated practice that it was effective this quickly. At this point she practically hopped and skipped over extra steps with grace.

“What a pretty little doll we’ve found.” Jon’s voice has gotten close to her ear, helping tilt her chin with his hand.

Jervis compliments, “Yes… But we simply must dress her in something more fitting, don’t you agree? This simply won’t do!”

Lyric could feel the flush go to her cheeks and ears as they spoke. Trying to “behave” and not break the character. The Mad Hatter stood in front of her, holding out his hands for her to grasp so she could be pulled to her feet. Her feet were slightly shaky from being too relaxed, something Jon helped to manage by swiftly moving from behind the couch to her side.

“Thank you.” She said, getting her balance, “It’s… been so long since someone has found me-”

Jonathan smooths a palm over her cheek and laid a soft kiss on her lips, “Shhh… You’re alright now, dear. Nothing can hurt you now that you’re ours.”

“Yours?” Lyric asked.

“Oh, yes!” Jervis added, “Completely ours in every way! Let’s start with this shirt-” Giggling with excitement, Jervis moves to pull the young woman's shirt up over her head while Jonathan holds her by the waist. Her nipples perk with the cold air, which he moves to fix with his hands massaging over her breasts. His mouth opens to kiss her on the mouth, his tongue moving to taste her.

“Patience.” Scarecrow reminds them both, “We’ve barely just begun.”

The other man is clearing his throat, “Y-yes, quite!”

The trio of them grinning and smiling, they guide Lyric to the bedroom, laying her softly on the bed. Jonathan unceremoniously pulls off her pajama bottoms and presses himself between her knees. Staring down at her. Observing her reactions. He thinks how beautiful she is with her hair splayed around her head. The warmth in her eyes. Softly he grasps her hands to help her sit up as Jervis brings in the stack of present boxes for them to go through. She can’t help but lean in closer to a clothed Scarecrow for warmth. His arms wrap around her back and shoulders as their partner sets up the “game.”

“Hmmm you’re so cute like this.” Jonathan whispers, “So difficult to wrap our doll up when we could have you just… like this...”

Now it’s Jervis tutting them, “Patience! Here, love.” His movements are slow as he slips white lacy underwear up her legs. Lyric pulls herself up on his shoulders so they can be pulled up over her hips. The light brushing of Jervis’s thumb and she realizes the underwear has no crotch, thin straps on either side of her pussy leaving her showing. She whimpers but tries to keep still as they pull over a matching sheer bralette on her top. Jonathan went to tweak her nipples as he felt the fabric.

“This one is perfect.” He says to Jervis, “She looks like an angel.”

Jervis sighs dreamily, “Isn’t she, though?”

At that she couldn’t help but give a nervous laugh and look down at the bed. It wasn’t new things they were saying, but… every time they did, she felt so special. Jonathan grasped her chin in his fingers to look at him and to kiss him, Jervis kneeling onto the ground with stockings. Lyric couldn’t help but gasp at Jonathan's mouth as their third began laying kisses over her thighs, her knees, her calf- Soft cotton easing its way up one leg and then the other. When she could look down, she saw a looping blue ribbon accenting the top of them, just underneath the frills.

Jonathan helped to straighten the fabric over her thigh and ghosted his face along her jawline, “Pretty as a pinup.” His statement was followed by a dry laugh. There’s definitely a box somewhere with scintillating photos of her that he snuck in during stays at Arkham. He helped her lean on him to get to her feet, both men staring her over.

Jervis takes the opportunity to grasp her in his arms and kiss her rapidly over her neck and shoulders to the point of having her laugh. His fingers crept down just above her pussy, teasing but not quite touching her clit. Her soft moans echoed in the room as Jonathan unzipped the dress and loosened the ties so she could step in. Jervis almost pouted, no longer having the easy access as he had to back away. The colorful fabric skirt slipped over her waist, poofing out over her hips. As the sleeves fit over her arms, the look was almost complete- She looked like a fairy tale princess. One of the harder parts of this sort of play besides the sexual tension was they always made her wait to see the whole thing until it was done.

“My lady,” Jervis held her shoes in front of her as Jonathan finished tying the dress in the back. He couldn’t help but kiss her leg again as she stepped in and he tied the laces.

Jonathan kisses the side of her neck, pulling her hair away, “Dolls are to be cherished and loved, isn’t that what you said Jervis?”

A soft giggle as he stands, patting his knees, “Oh yes, I’ve said that many times! I’ve always wanted one to pamper… We’re almost done dressing up.” He motions with his hand towards the mirrored vanity in the room. It was antique, something the boys found for this exact sort of scenario.

It was here they sat her down on the small bench in front of it, facing away from the mirror, hands pulling her hair away from her face. Soft brushes that felt like silk glided over her cheeks to apply blush. Jonathan's wiry fingers dabbed on lipstick slowly to match the curve of her mouth. He moved behind her to tenderly brush her hair as Jervis applied a dab of nude eyeshadow to the corners of her eyes. She was getting the full treatment today and she knew it was their way of truly making the day all about her. A ribbon weaved through her hair behind her ears and was tied in a bow atop her head, completing the look.

As her eyes glimmered, Lyric was slightly turned around on the bench until she was looking directly in the mirror and able to see herself clearly. She could hardly contain her excitement at the view in front of her. With a slight wobble, she managed to stand up on her own two feet to see the entirety of what they had done. Her hands went to the skirts and swayed them back and forth.

“I think she likes it.” Jonathan said, his finger crooking into one of the ribbons in the back of the dress.

Jervis went to tilt her head up, “I think so too! But now what shall we do? We’ve brought our doll home… we’ve dressed her up-”

“I was thinking something of a reward. For us.” The Scarecrow began to circle her, “And surely we can pamper her in other ways.”

Lyric’s knees pressed together where they couldn’t see. Something about it- the way they talked about her like she wasn’t in the room, listening to everything. She knew what came next. Her body practically leaned into Jervis as his hand went to the small of her back and his lips found its spot in the crook of her neck.

“Well doll?” Jonathan’s brow queried, “Why don’t you show us how else we could pamper you?”

The young woman’s hands shook as she grasped the fabric of the skirts in her hands, trying to remain cool and collected even as Jervis dragged his tongue along her skin. With a shaking breath, she lifted the dress in its front just high enough to see her wet pussy on display. Just as she could see Jonathan lick his lips in a crass gesture at her, she suddenly felt Jervis move one of his hands to paw at her between her legs. Not quite pressing in, his thumb moving gingerly over her clit as his fingers explored between her slit. She grasped onto his arm for anchor as she moaned. The skirts fell over to hide his hand, but he continued.

Jonathan clicked his tongue, “I was still looking at that, doll. Don’t you want to please me as well? Or is your brain too clouded with pleasure to think of much else?”

Before she could answer, Jervis plied a finger inside of her and his teeth grazed into her shoulder. Her voice came out choking, “Yes- I- I-” Her hips moved in time with Jervis’s ministrations, the anticipation bringing her ever higher. The scarecrow assisted by first yanking the skirt up to put in her hand- Then he took her lips to his to overwhelm her. Every moan and whimper she gave him just made him harder through his pants.

As his body brushed against hers, she could feel it against her bare skin. For a moment she wondered how this was going to go before Jonathan suddenly backed off.

“I think Jervis should have you first.” There was a smile on his face she didn’t quite trust.

Yet, Jervis, panting hard against her skin, agreed, “Yes, yes, don’t you fret, you’ll have your turn soon enough yet. I want to taste our pet.” And with that he and Lyric went to the bed, him remaining clothed as he pushed her to fall on her back on the plush comforter.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyric could see Jonathan setting himself to sit one leg over his other crossed on the vanity bench. Staring. A closed mouth smile betraying how much he was getting off on this. The Mad Hatter was quick to push Lyric’s skirts back up and press her legs apart with his hands. With a moan, he went to kiss her thighs before moving to her pussy and diving right in with tongue. She couldn’t help but weave her hands and fingers into his hair as he tasted her right to the core.

It didn’t last long as his face peeked up over the fabric of her clothes, “Oh Alice, you taste delightful- I just know you’re going to feel even better…” She could hear him unzipping his pants and a groan of relief at what she assumed was him taking out his cock.

He managed to wiggle himself above her, kissing her on the lips, “See how good you taste? So delectable-” His cock lined up and pressed inside her aching cunt. He was average at most in length, but there was a thickness to him that always stretched her out just a little at first.

Not to mention the fervor in which he’d thrust up into her hips, always making sure they meet at the hilt no matter how he rushes. Like she’s the only person he could ever want. His hand pressed down over hers, holding them above her head by the wrist as his other balanced his weight.

“You feel so good, Alice- so… Just like I always-” All the foreplay leading up to now had him plenty wound up.

She managed to twist her hips up to meet him so he’d go deeper. A shiver went up her back, and she whimpered, “Please don’t stop, Jervis- Don’t let go.”

Seeing the sweetness of her face as she begged almost made him cum then and there. Yet Jervis knew he had to rein himself in, thrusting just a little slower to make himself last longer. As Lyric looks over to Jonathan, she can see he’s no longer sitting on the bench. Likely somewhere else in the room, watching. Normally, Jervis would be the volunteer to be a creepy voyeur for his enjoyment. Feeling his eyes on her was enough, Lyric could feel herself building to that first orgasm.

“I’m almost- Jervis!” She moaned as Jervis kissed her again, moving faster to stimulate her with his cock. With a grunt, he came, pressing in deep for just a moment before he kept going- Panting and practically unable to speak as he went. She could feel that warmth of his cum inside of her slipping out.

“Mine, mine, mine-” He murmured, “You’re all mine-” Almost like a prayer on his lips to keep him going despite his own overstimulation.

With an arch in her back, Lyric came over his cock, her wrists pressing hard against his hand. Thankfully, he was just that little bit stronger, a wide grin on his face as he watched her face contort in ecstasy. Then he lifted himself off of her with a kiss to the cheek. He was going to clean up while Jonathan had his fun. Just before Lyric could wonder where he was, a fully nude Crane was pulling her up into his lap. She was so malleable like this- something he took advantage of as he positioned her over his cock.

His voice was rich as he growled, “And now you’re all mine. Just what am I to do with such a pretty little thing?” Before she could answer, he began to press her hips and pussy down over him- thankfully only half way at first. He was thinner, but longer. Just enough that pressing her all the way down in the initial stroke would be cruel.

He lifted her, despite her agonized moans, “T-too much- S… Sensitive-” Yet he continued, knowing she was fully aware of their safeword or colors if it all got to be too much.

“I think you should be able to take both your masters' cocks in one sitting-” Jonathan chastised, “Perhaps next time we’ll even do both. This body is ours. You belong to us, beautiful doll.”

He’d been stroking himself off in the dark as he’d watched, pre-cum already lining his shaft. Mixing with Lyrics slick and Jervis’s cum inside of her. There could be something witty to be said about it, if he wasn’t so focused on trying to hit all of her sweet spots. Slow, methodical and agonizing was the way to drag out her pleasure like this. That with some choice verbiage and the tender way he held her midsection as he thrust all the way into her, was nearing her at another edge.

Jervis sat in front of her on the bed, head in hands as he stared at her lovingly. Helping pull the dress out of the way as her face flushed and she seemed to lose any possibility of praise or banter. Just crying out as Jonathan played with her clit with each even stroke.

“Our perfect doll…” Jervis cooed, petting her cheek.

All of it was too much- Lyrics second and final orgasm hit her like a large wave in the ocean, trickling out to smaller waves as she panted out her release. Jonathan held her there for a moment before lifting her off and handing her to Jervis to cuddle into as she came down. Grabbing a nearby tissue from a box, he jerked himself off to completion, hand on her arm to keep his mind on track. He could have kept going inside of her, but he figured she had been pressed far enough for one session.

He put his cock away after some quick cleaning and settled in behind her on the bed, his arms going across her waist. Kissing the back of her shoulder.

“Was that good?” Jervis asked, “A pleasant present for our dearest? You are now… fully awake, my control is no longer a suppressant.” He gave a small clap for good measure, pulling out the watch for her to hear the ticking.

With the weight back in her body, Lyric painted, “So good. Better than good. That was… That was fucking amazing.” She was almost breathless but laughing all the same. The smile on her face made Jervis feel so warm.

Jonathan’s voice was quiet in comparison, “Happy Birthday, darling. Do you want to clean up or sit here for a minute?” They would have to apply some aftercare, but it could wait for her to process.

“I’m tired…” She said before moving her leg and wincing, “Actually, clean up. Is that okay?”

“More than okay!” Jervis sat up, “We’ll get you all cleaned up! And this dress will have to be cleaned too.” There was a knowing smile on his face as he said it.

The aftercare was a calming haze of motions from helping her undress and getting her in a bath to her having fresh water and pain medication on hand after (just in case). Her fuzziest and most comfortable pajamas ready for her to put on. A small collection of Vincent Price horror movies for them to watch as she sat in a blanket huddling between them. Soft reminders that they love her and care about her and consistently asking if she needs anything else.

“Don’t hesitate to ask.” Jon says as he kisses her softly on her head.

At first she takes out her new sketchbook and makes doodles of the two men next to her. Yet Jonathan could see the two of them with droopy eyes in weariness. They both end up convincing him to move to the middle and then napping on him in the middle of “Theater of Blood.” A soft sigh and smile. He wouldn’t have it any other way. His hands on both of them to keep them closer.

#dc scarecrow #dc mad hatter #smut #x self insert #jonathan crane #jervis tetch #foxwriting

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elena-mayfair · 1 year

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Risky decisions

Paring: Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, strong language, violence, themes of depression, depictions of mental illness Summary: Bruce knew he should keep his distance. He knew that any move he made toward her was the worst possible idea. He could picture every feasible, most probable, far-reaching outcome of his actions. He knew the answer to every if and when. Every possible scenario. He could see every worst possible future. Violence, pain, suffering, shock, disappointment, death, blood on his hands. He could see them all and each of them separately as they projected like a movie tape before his open eyes, intercut frame after frame by the image of his hand over hers. And yet, despite all his knowledge, experience and certainty that he knew, he couldn't find within himself the answer to one question. "What if I'm wrong." Word count: 14.3k Note: Some gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

"Are you free tonight?" Bruce asked casually as if an idea had unexpectedly crossed his mind.

"I'm sorry, but I already have plans," you replied, and to your surprise realized that your heart wanted to give a quite different answer. "Raincheck?"

"Another one," he smirked, "we didn't get a chance to go to the movies as we had planned."

"Bruce, men are divided between those who seek opportunity and those who can create one," you began flirtatiously, feeling a sudden boost of confidence, "I'm sure you are one of the latter."

He answered nothing. He simply smiled with that signature mysterious half-smile of his, leaned toward you and gently brushed his lips against your cheek. For a split second, the exuding aromatic scent of his fragrance surrounded you. Spices, citrus, leather and something sweet that lingered close to his skin. You imagined him in a black cashmere sweater, sitting with a book by the fireplace, sipping on a glass of whiskey delighted by the quietly resounding jazz. It was a good image, warm and comforting, you wanted to save it in your memory to one day relive in reality.

"Thank you," his low, husky voice snapped you out of your daydreams, "I can't remember the last time I had such a wonderful time."

Some part of you wanted to defuse the tension with a witty joke, a snappy retort, a self-deprecating slight, but when you glanced into the ocean depths of his blue eyes all you could do was to respond with the same.

"I thank you," you replied softly, "see you soon?"

"See you soon."

"Soon" was about to come earlier than you expected, but at that moment you didn't realize it. A few minutes after noon you closed your apartment door behind you, threw your suitcase into a corner, and sat at the window with a freshly brewed mug of coffee. You longed for the touch of his lips that still lingered on your cheek to last, along with the scent of his perfume that still floated around you. You gazed at the cloudy gray Gotham sky and drifted into dreams. These past three days were like a journey through the most beautiful fairy tale, even if at times the vibrant magic got covered by a shadow of darkness. With him, even the darkness did not appear so dark, taking on a warm enveloping shade instead. Charming and mysterious, full of contradictions, confident, noble, a gentleman in every way, that's what he was, and you wished that "soon" would come as soon as possible.

"I have a date with Jonathan…" your consciousness broke suddenly through the languor. You reached for the phone, fighting the urge to cancel. It didn't feel right, it didn't feel right to Jonathan but especially to Bruce. Perhaps Jonathan did say he liked you, perhaps Bruce never did, but Bruce's behavior conveyed more than any of Jonathan's words. You shifted your gaze to a beautiful black A-line floor-length dress with lace shoulders and a lace insert on the back and sighed with resignation. In your wildest dreams, you never imagined that a weekend in Metropolis would mess with your head like this.

"I can't cancel, it just isn't right," you decided then impulsively opened the Twitter app. The smile disappeared from your face as quickly as the feed refreshed.

"Unfortunately I'm afraid we won't avoid controversial headlines," Bruce's voice sounded in your head as your feed filled with photos from TechX most of which featured smiling faces, his and yours. Photos from the red carpet that captured perfectly his hand on your waist, photos of your smiling and slightly embarrassed face as he leaned toward you whispering words of encouragement in your ear, photos that captured his sparkling eyes directed toward you as he complimented you, your beaming smile as you walked with him proudly with your hand placed on his forearm. It was all there, frozen in frames and shots, cropped with variations of the question, "Who is billionaire Bruce Wayne's new girlfriend?" With a trembling heart, you expanded the comments under one of the posts, there were hundreds of them.

Does anyone know who she is? I need an answer asap #curious #brucewaynegirlfriend #brucewayne #techx They look kinda cute #brucewayneinlove #brucewayne Adorable Stunning I wish to be her He deserves better #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend Is she wearing a dress from Zara? If H&M and Tom Ford made a collab #brucewaynedesrevesbetter Cheap skunk #brucewaynedesrevesbetter Wish he would have go back with Charlotte. They were perfect together #charlotteandbrcue4ever She's so cute omg I'm dying!!! #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend Need name now! #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend I would tap that! I look at this and all I want is to become a new villain in Gotham. He's way out of her league. Mommy please seat on my face #BruceWayne could destroy my body and my life and all I'd say is "does tomorrow work for you too?" I would let her sit on my face until I die from suffocation. It would be beautiful death. Whore! BRING VANESSA BACK!!! #bucenessa4ever Gender swapped beauty and the beast They look so in love!!! I'm loving this!!! He deserves love!!! #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend You should know better… Is it just me or does she look like Killer Crock did a number on her? Oh my god I am so jealous!!! #brucewayne #wayne #brucewaynegirlfriend He definitely exudes big dick energy #wayne She looks like a girl next door. The kind you want to watch from behind a curtain, in the dark room, with lube nearby.

It was too much. You locked the screen with rage and threw the phone on the bed. Your heart pounded in your chest and blood pulsed in your temples. "Fucking assholes!!! Fucking assholes on fucking Twitter!!!!" you shouted furiously trying to swallow the tears rushing into your eyes. Wonderland was gone. Reality had returned. And you hated it.

Bruce hoped to slip into the mansion unnoticed. He had no desire for Dick's quasi-innocent teases, Alfred's controlled curiosity, Tim's knowing glances, or Damian's clearly judgmental stares. All he wanted to do was slip into his bedroom, change his clothes, head to the cave and make up for the past three days. He tried at all costs to maintain a modicum of privacy, and although he usually succeeded now he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to avoid his boys. How was he supposed to maintain privacy in a house full of detectives he himself had trained.

"Father, we need to talk," Damian greeted him with a stern look as he entered the main hall and set down his suitcase. Hands crossed over his chest indicated his determination.

"Not now, Damian. I have work to do," he replied, avoiding his son's scrutiny.

"We did the work, Father. You just have to read the report. I'll admit that in your absence Todd has proved to be an invaluable asset," he didn't take his eyes off him, "I shouldn't be surprised. After all, you trained him."

"Jason was here?"

"You know very well that Jason is always here when you're out of town so don't act surprised," despite his young age and small stature he exuded confidence, "Father, do we have reason for concern?"

"Concern about what?" Bruce played confused.

"Well I probably don't need to remind you that most of the women you've associated with in the past have been on the wrong side of the law," Damian pointed out gruffly, "you told us that this whole affair is driven by the observation and investigation."

"And what makes you think otherwise," Bruce smiled softly, bending down to look his son in the eye.

"The photos that are circulating the Internet reveal a very different story."

"Damian, I assure you that you have nothing to be worried about," he put a hand on his shoulder, "I appreciate your concern, but your suspicions are absurd."

"Father…" Damian began but Bruce did not let him finish.

"Clark and Jon will visit us next Sunday," even though Damian tried to feign indifference Bruce could see a glint of joy in his son's eyes. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he considered Superman's son a friend, "I was hoping it would make you happy."

"It will be a nice change from the company of Grayson and Drake," Damian grunted, "but you're avoiding the subject."

"Because there's nothing to talk about," Bruce denied stubbornly, "and now if you'll excuse me, I really need to get on with my work."

With a cigarette in one hand and a phone in the other, you stared at Jonathan's name displayed on the screen. You hadn't heard a word from him in two days, and the evening was approaching fast. You inhaled deeply and let the smoke soothe your nerves. You weren't proud of your returning habit, but you desperately needed to calm down and alcohol wasn't out of the question. You knew it was appropriate to call but anxiety prevented you from making such a bold move. The certainty that he had also seen the photos made your stomach curl and your throat tighten with a strangling choke. Judgment by strangers on social media was one thing, but you weren't ready for judgment from him. With a cigarette hung at your lips, you tapped a simple short message.

Are we still up for tonight?

The answer came a moment later. Equally short and simple, leaving you unable to decrypt his emotions.

Sure we are. I'll pick you up at seven.

The date wasn't looking promising. "A date," as he called it, under your pressure. "It didn't come from him, he invited me there as a friend, I was the one who pushed. Why did I push?" the thoughts piled up in your head. Part of you wanted to move as far away from the idea of a date as possible while the other was pulling toward it with uncontrollable force. After all, it was Jonathan who was always there for you when you needed him, it was Jonathan who answered your calls in the middle of the night, calmed your fears, listened to you, tried to help you, Jonathan not Bruce.

"Bruce busted out the hotel room door because I had a bad dream…"

You lit another cigarette and took a drag.

"Maybe Bruce would have done all this too if he knew? Bruce doesn't push, Bruce understands without words…he is so caring…so understanding…" you stared into space, "Bruce is completely out of my league. Unattainable. Why the fuck am I even thinking about this?" anger stirred within you again, "I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else right now…" you recalled his words and cursed viciously. "Would I even want to be with him? Constantly judged, constantly trending, zero privacy…." and even though your head said one thing your heart strongly disagreed, "oh for fuck sake!!! I have to come down to earth! Jonathan is here, Jonathan is just a regular good guy who likes me and cares about me!"

"Jonathan was in Arkham…" a quiet voice of doubt spoke up from the depths of your consciousness, "Jonathan was in Harleen's hidden office. He was looking for something. Batman was clearly suspicious of him. Batman…"

The thought was now completely unnecessary to you and yet once it appeared in your mind it surrounded all the others with a black cloak drowning them all out. You dimly looked out the window at the darkening sky. You could not help but wonder where he was now? Who was he? What was he doing? Was he chasing criminals? Or was he conducting some kind of investigation?

"Batman would know what to do and who to trust…"

Bruce checked his watch nervously, trying to form in his head a schedule for the evening. The gala was starting at eight o'clock in the evening, which would give him four hours of operation time. He could use it to re-analyze the results of the research boys had conducted, meet with Gordon which was well overdue, or take a breather and prepare for the gala. The autumn season provided the benefit of an earlier dusk, and the earlier dusk gave him the cover he needed. Sitting at the kitchen table, in Alfred's quiet company, he swiped mindlessly over the tablet screen while his thoughts kept drifting back to the scent of jasmine and vanilla that surrounded him with soothing warmth as they said their goodbyes.

"Pointless…" he muttered under his breath chastising himself for his indecisiveness.

"Young masters were very pleased with the results of the study and what they were able to achieve," Alfred's attentive ear caught the comment.

"That's not what I'm talking about, Alfred," Bruce corrected himself, "the lab results are truly insightful. They did a remarkable job! We may not know everything but we are one step closer. We have a correlation between the pills and most of the victims. The only thing we're missing is a connection with Juliet Cambell and her daughter…"

"Maybe it's not the same perpetrator after all?

"I'm sure these cases are connected," Bruce mused for a moment, "Damian told me that Jason was in the house. That he was helping with the investigation."

"Master Jason showed up at the house on Saturday morning," Alfred replied softly, "he looked healthy and had everything under control."

"Good…"

"Master Bruce, you are avoiding the problem and therefore its solution," irritation crept into Alfred's controlled voice, "why are you able to talk to each other when you are working and not quietly at home?"

"Al…"

"You raised that boy Bruce! You can't push the conflict aside hoping it will resolve itself! I know you care about him and he cares about you too. "

"I'm not hoping for that…" Bruce interrupted him gently, "Jason has to come to the point where he wants to talk about it himself. If I pressure him he will only lash out and all the progress we have made will be lost. I know something about this…" he smiled faintly remembering his own behavior, "Dick has his eye on him, Jason trusts him. We'll deal with the rest when Jason is ready for it," he locked the tablet screen, finished his coffee and got up from the table.

"I prepared the tuxedo as requested," Alfred stated abandoning his attempt to continue the topic.

"Thank you Al, but the tuxedo will come later."

"What are you planning?"

"I have to see Gordon."

The black cloudy sky over Gotham lit up with a bright bat-symbol as if in response to your contemplation. For a moment you couldn't help but feel as if Gotham heard you, listened to your thoughts, listened to your worries, and in response decided to lighten the darkness that surrounded you a bit. Batman was busy which could only mean growing terror. Still, the symbol did not bring fright as it did just a few months ago. It brought a sense of peace, of reassurance. Whatever was happening, Batman was there, whatever would happen next you had the transmitter he handed you. Whatever happened…

"Could I trust him?" the thought came suddenly, "I have to trust someone."

The scattered puzzle pieces you called memories slowly began to come together, and at their center stood Lex Luthor. He had done something to you, of that you were sure. Something that created gaps in your memory, something that created the nightmarish images that haunted you during therapy. Perhaps not by himself, perhaps not with his own hands, but you were convinced that on his orders. You were certain that you were not the only one.

How were you to discover something that had been erased from your memory. How were you supposed to go up against one of the most powerful men in the world? Compared to him, you were a nobody, powerless, hopeless, a mere insignificant voice that could be drowned out at the snap of a finger.

"Bruce is powerful when compared to him…" you quickly pushed that thought away from you. Bruce couldn't know, you couldn't tell him, as a matter of fact, you didn't even quite know what you were supposed to tell him.

The images in your head, the facts from reality slowly pieced together but still were not enough. You continued to be in darkness. You still didn't know. You could only guess. You needed help.

"What about Jonathan?" you wondered for a moment as you slipped the beautiful black gown over your shoulders.

An implacable, infinite blackness enveloped your thoughts and from its depths a quiet, low voice rang out, piercing through your every other thought. A voice that said, "be careful…something is not quite what it seems."

Gordon didn't have to wait long to meet his masked friend. Barely a few minutes after he turned on the signal Batman landed softly on the roof of the GCPD building. A stoic, black figure hidden under a black cape that seemed to form a unity with the shadows of the night.

"Did you teleport or what?" Gordon chuckled as he lit a cigarette.

"I was on my way," Batman replied in a low voice.

"Good to see you back in Gotham. Don't get me wrong, working with Nightwing and Robin is definitely more enjoyable than working with you, but still, I'm glad you're back. Honestly, I don't know how you and Nightwing…" he stopped his words in time to refrain from breaking an unwritten rule they had. He pretended not to know who Batman and his team were, and Batman pretended not to know that Gordon knew. "Right, anyways! This morning we apprehended a woman who, unless my hunch is wrong, is another victim of this maniac. Which means we have a living witness."

"She's alive?"

"Yes, but I don't know how useful it will be for us," Gordon sighed heavily and rubbed his tired eyes, "you'd better come with me and see for yourself." He put out his cigarette and headed inside the police station. Batman followed him.

His presence at the police station always generated extremely different reactions. Some sighed loudly in disbelief, smiling, even expressing gratification at his presence, others leaned out from behind their monitors, looked out from their offices to see him, others growled not-so-discreetly calling him a "freak," informing him that "this is a police building." He ignored them all as effectively as Gordon, who only occasionally would send an angry glance or issue a strict order. An order they reluctantly obeyed.

The door to the Holding Cells wing guarded by two heavy-armed police officers was located across from the other one, which Batman knew all too well. Maximum Security in the east wing was a place designated to hold Gotham's most dangerous criminals before their transport to Arkham, Blackgate or, in extreme cases, Belle Reve. Currently unguarded by anyone, it was empty, with a cell prepared for the one whom Batman planned to capture soon. At least that's what he hoped.

The officers wordlessly moved away from the door as soon as Batman and Gordon approached. The young policewoman, far too young, in Batman's opinion, to stand guard in such a place, smiled discreetly as if grateful for his presence.

"What's the status?" Gordon asked dryly.

"It's quiet, commissioner," an older police officer began the report, "the sedatives are still working."

That was all Gordon needed to know. Without a word, he opened the door and he and Batman walked into the wing.

"We had to give her a large dose of sedatives for her own safety," he began the explanation not waiting for Batman's question, "we got a call from civilians, a possible suicide on Penitence Bridge. According to the report, the woman was seen in several different places in Drescher, scared, lost, running away in panic from anyone who tried to approach her. When we arrived at the scene, paramedics tried to calm her down and detain her. Batman…" Gordon stopped in mid-sentence as they approached the cell, "she was petrified."

"Why isn't she in the hospital?"

"She's a witness," Gordon stated, "I'm sure that whatever induced the frightened state is the same substance that caused the death of Juliet Cambell and her daughter."

"Toxicology?"

"We have ruled out the use of drugs," Gordon reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of red liquid, "taken thirty minutes ago. I thought you might find it useful."

Batman tucked the vial into his belt pocket and silently opened the cell door to examine the woman more closely. She was lying unconscious, sedated, while her arms and legs were tied to the bed with straps.

"It's for her and our safety," Gordon commented as he followed with his eyes after Batman.

"Scratches, abrasions, tattered clothes on her arm, dirt and moisture on her knees and thighs…" Batman traced his eyes over her body, "she was running away. She must have fallen over more than once." He gently took her arm turning it towards himself, "the only punctures fresh, from the blood draw and sedation…" He ran his eyes over her neck, pushing back her hair in color "…the same as hers."

"History of mental illness? Treatment? Relationship to previous victims?" he asked Gordon not stopping his examination.

"Funny you should ask," Gordon sneered grimly, "our witness here is Sarah Walters, Jeremy Walters' older sister. So I can answer 'yes' to all three questions, the first two of which remain as conjecture. No recorded or documented psychiatric treatment."

Batman did not comment immediately. He gently lifted her eyelid and shone a flashlight into her eyes then took two steps back to examine her whole. Height, body build, hair color, eye color….

"Just like…" he suppressed the surging fear, "I don't believe in coincidences Gordon. Neither do you," he stated quietly, "I have reason to believe that all the victims with the exception of Juliet Cambell and the suicide from the bank robbery had contact with Doctor Jonathan Crane."

"The head of Eliot Memorial psychiatric ward?"

"Conjecture, I have no evidence to back it up. Yet."

"If it's true Sarah Walters may also have had contact with him…" Gordon looked at her unconscious body contemplating, "and if she indeed had it would mean that Juliet Cambell and her daughter…"

"Inform me if you learn anything," Batman instructed, "hopefully when she wakes up she'll be able to talk."

"Don't you want to be around for the interrogation?"

"I don't know if I'll be able to but I'll send someone," Batman stated, "I need to test a sample of her blood and start working on an antidote. I'm sure this won't be the last case like this we see."

***

Johnatan had it all figured out. Every last detail of the approaching evening carefully analyzed and planned including all possible unwanted deviations. He had been preparing for many weeks, working for days and nights, planning every single step, each and every move, carefully and with extreme care. As he put on his shirt and jacket, he ran in his mind through every point of the night ahead, as he tightened his tie he analyzed once again every uncertainty, on the way to his car he methodically ticked off every last checkbox of the plan. He had sacrificed too much, taken too many risks, the plan had to succeed and nothing could stand in his way.

At seven fifteen in the evening a black BMW parked on the side of the road in front of your building. You observed it for a while, hidden behind a curtain, waiting for the driver, who should have gotten out of the car, but did not. Instead, a short message popped up on your phone screen.

I'm waiting downstairs.

Anxiety, suspicion, suddenly arose, seemingly without reason. You quickly pushed away the unwanted thoughts, which immediately began to compare this situation with the one from two days ago. This didn't seem right. You took one last glimpse at your reflection in the mirror, brought the most charming smile to your face, and with the intention of enjoying the evening once again left your apartment.

Yet, with each stair down, the positive thoughts seemed to disappear. With each stair, they grew heavier and more anxious. Only three days ago, you were impatient to get an answer to the question that tormented you and brought you no peace. Now, even though your excited heart was beating restlessly, thoughts and instinct seemed to repress it, seemed to take over, to drive out the excitement to replace it with anxiety. Now, you regretted asking the question.

"Nothing happened, though," you tried to explain to yourself, "what am I even thinking about?" you tried to argue. And yet, two and a half days spent in the company of Bruce had changed so much. Just two days were enough for you to see that maybe the world and life didn't always have to be so dark.

Jonathan watched her as she left the building. Beautiful, elegant, dressed in black satin and lace that seemed to follow her like a shadow of the night itself. To his eyes she was like a mistress of darkness, powerful without knowing it, tempting without trying, dangerous if she wanted to be, fascinating. He saw it all in her, behind the facade of uncertainty, behind the guise of innocence, with the feigned persona behind which she so carefully tried to hide. He saw it in her eyes when anger ignited her blood, he saw it in her gestures when rage overwhelmed her thoughts, he heard it in her unspoken words when she pushed hard to contain her hatred. He saw it all and wished to get it out of her. But she played her part to perfection. The grace with which she walked down the stairs gently lifting her dress, the look that glanced from under her windswept hair, made a part of him feel like turning back. To take her far away from here, to lock her away from the world, to keep her only to himself. As for the smell with which his car filled as soon as she closed the door behind her, made him eager to rip off her dress and devour her in a rapture of passion. He couldn't. He had given up too much already, risked too much, he couldn't back down.

"Was it for me that you dressed up like that?" he smirked the moment their eyes finally met.

"You said it was a formal gala to which Gotham's scientific elite was invited. I didn't want to stand out from the crowd," sharp as ever, she refused to be embarrassed.

"You chose the wrong dress, then," he swept his eyes over her shamelessly.

"Is it too much?"

"Do you really care?"

"A bit," she smiled that innocent smile of hers, the one he thought didn't quite fit her, then added, "but now it's probably too late to change. So I'll choose to take it as a compliment and bear the consequences of my decisions."

"And rightly so," he smiled slyly and turned on the engine, "I hope you have some energy left after a busy weekend in Metropolis. It's going to be a very interesting evening."

In the cool cave below Wayne Manor, everyone had gathered, for it was not often that Bruce called for a briefing before a patrol. Everyone suit up, everyone ready to take on the task that would be given to them. They were a team, they worked as a team, but he had the final word. Bruce was the only one not wearing a suit. Dressed in an elegant black tuxedo, he stood in front of the computer, as if afraid of the creases that sitting in the chair would inevitably cause. He silently stared at the computer screen and waited for the conversations to finally quiet down so he could begin.

"Sarah Walters, the victim restrained this morning," he began quietly, displaying the case file on the computer, "the thirteenth victim, of a psychopath we have so far been unable to identify or apprehend," a long pause brought a silent tension to the team, "thirteen victims. Thirteen unclosed cases, between which the connections are thin."

"We will find him," Dick tried to defuse the tension. To no avail.

"As Dick has surely managed to tell you, I have reason to believe that Doctor Jonathan Crane is involved in this case," Bruce continued, "I don't know to what extent."

"Where did this supposition come from? Crane is a respected psychiatrist, highly regarded in his field," Barbara interjected the question, "I did some research on him. An impressive career, outstanding achievements, numerous scientific publications."

"On what subject?" Bruce asked.

"Phobias, PTSD, panic disorders, substance-induced anxiety disorder…" she stopped listing, "I see your point."

"Even you couldn't link it to the attacks without solid evidence," Jason muttered. He remained at a distance the entire time but listened intently.

"True," Bruce only reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of green pills, "exactly the same ones Tim found in Marc Jacobs' house. You all know the results of the analysis."

"They found them with the victim?" Tim asked, "the same composition, the same chemical compounds?"

"The same composition. Exactly the same pills," Bruce replied evasively giving himself a chance to avoid answering questions he didn't want to answer, "the pills connect unquestionably to nine of the thirteen victims. But given the nature of the latter, the conclusions are self-evident. The perpetrator is the same. Only his methods are evolving."

"He's just getting started…" Barbara sighed quietly.

"We'll stop him before he starts," Dick's hand twitched as if he wanted to embrace her and provide comfort.

"Batgirl," Bruce turned to her, "the victim is currently being sedated in police custody. You and Red Hood will interview her as soon as she wakes up. Commissioner Gordon will keep us informed."

"Bruce…" Barbara began, trying to back away from a mission that required her to work in close contact with her own father. Both of them pretended to have no idea about her costumed alter ego; she didn't want to deliberately strain their unspoken agreement.

"I need you on this one," Bruce interrupted her, "we don't know what she went through or what happened to her. Your sensitivity and gentle approach is invaluable here."

Barbara only nodded, observing Dick's surprised reaction to unusual paring out of the corner of her eye. Bruce noticed it too but ignored it and continued.

"Red Robin," he turned to Tim, "to you and Damian I entrust the city partol. If anything happens, anything that would require our involvement, don't try to prove something to yourselves."

"You got this," they both nodded.

"I'll take care of Crane."

"What about me?" Dick finally asked, " you want me on computer duty?"

"You need a change of clothes," Bruce smirked mischievously, "I believe you'll find a tuxedo prepared in your bedroom."

"You shitting me?! That is so not fair! Why do I have to go!" a grimace of disappointment twisted his face.

"I believe it is your turn," Tim pointed out with a wicked grin on his face.

"Not true! Now it's Damian's turn!"

"You wish!" Damian snorted, laughing as well, "I was forced to the Charity Ball in July!"

"Hood?!" he looked desperately at his brother.

"Forget it," Jason huffed.

"Barbs?"

"My talents are needed elsewhere," she smiled innocently, "besides, your agreements on public appearances don't apply to me," she rightly pointed out.

"Come on, Bruce!!! I hate this stuff!"

"Navy blue as far as I could see was Alfred's choice."

"But I'm already suited up!"

"You have 30 minutes to change and be ready to go," Bruce's tone ended the discussion, "everyone knows what to do. We have an intense night ahead of us," he turned away from them, took his jacket from the back of his chair getting ready to leave, but an unwanted question stopped him in mid-motion.

"You still haven't told us where you found the pills and what led you to put Crane in connection with the case," Jason pointed out. Everyone thought the same thing, but they knew Bruce well enough to know that if he's not talking about something, questions won't change it.

Bruce only looked at Jason with a stone face, and only his gaze betrayed a shadow of emotion. Conflict fought within him like a storm, an instant analysis of the situation, an immediate conclusion, a firm decision followed by hanging the jacket back on the chair and settling heavily in the armchair.

"I found them in Y/N's possession," he replied in a stern voice measuring himself against Jason's softening gaze, "I'm also convinced that the nightmare she experienced on Friday night was induced by them," perplexed by his sincerity everyone remained silent, only Jason dared to ask further.

"She again," he scoffed quietly, "I'm beginning to think that problems find her on their own. Maybe she told you how she came into their possession?"

"She did," Bruce had no intention of lying. He might sometimes deliberately omit certain things but when asked directly, he never lied. That's not what he taught them. "I don't know the details, and I haven't insisted on them, but it turns out that Doctor Crane has been helping her for some time. She didn't say explicitly that she got it from him, but the conclusion seems logical."

"It makes sense," Jason nodded in agreement, his voice sounding much softer than it did moments ago, "will you tell us what happened in Metropolis? You can skip the details."

And so he did.

***

Long years ago, Bruce established a rule in the family. Once in a while, each of the boys appeared with him in public at formal events. This routine was intended primarily, to maintain their secret identity, but also to maintain the public image of both Bruce and his sons. Over time, the family grew and their public presence rotated, with the exception of two events a year, the Wayne Foundation Christmas Gala and his birthday party at which they all usually appeared. One of the many measures they used to keep their double life a secret, admittedly who would have guessed that the obscenely wealthy CEO of Wayne Enterprises and his sons spent their nights as masked crime fighting vigilantes in Gotham.

Dick understood the established rule very well and over the years had grown accustomed to his role in the spotlight, although that didn't change the fact that he hated it more than a drenched suit on a winter night. Although he retained his family name, Gotham's elite treated him as Wayne and observed him with the expectations and judgment the name carried. Still, years of practice, learned mechanisms that came as easily to him as a quadruple backflip, made him bury his resentment deep in the pocket of his navy blue tuxedo, bringing to his face the charming smile that accompanied polite answers to all unsolicited questions.

"Yes, I graduated law from Hudson University and did an additional major in psychology at GU," he answered politely when asked by someone whose name he should remember.

"Oh I currently live in Blüdhaven but it's hard to stay away from Gotham for long. This is my home. So I divide my time a little here and a little here," he smiled brightly.

"Children! Oh no no no no… maybe one day," he attempted to contain his amusement pretending to sip champagne.

"To be honest, I don't have an opinion on the direction Wayne Tech is taking. These are matters that my younger brother Tim is much more interested in," he retreated from the uncomfortable conversation.

Their presence has always sparked general interest. No matter how many years passed, no matter how many events they appeared at, no matter how many times he answered the same question, wherever Bruce was, interest followed. However, this time, to Dick's undisguised delight, most of the attention was focused entirely on Bruce. Photos from TechX circulated the Internet at lightning speed, and Gotham's high class women didn't wait long to surround him with the intention of extracting information from him. It may have been a scientific society Gala designed to celebrate the most brilliant minds, the most outstanding achievements, and the hardest work, but underneath every Gala was a social event where the elite mingled, exchanged gossip, drank, danced, and enjoyed a rich, privileged life.

"If they keep obsessing over you like this you'll never make it to Crane," Dick grinned when he finally managed to drag Bruce away under a contrived pretext, "I can't remember the last time you made such a social fuss."

"Natascha Patenko," Bruce muttered letting his socialite mask drop for a moment.

"Ah yes! Taking the entire Russian ballet on a cruise the day before a performance has that effect!"

"Do you see Crane anywhere?" Bruce scanned through the guests seated at lavishly set tables shimmering with silverware and crystals, swept his eyes around the bar area where the most expensive spirits poured endlessly, peered through the twirling couples on the dance floor.

"You're worried about her," Dick stated completely ignoring Bruce's question.

"He should be here."

"She gives the impression of a smart woman, she can handle a little heat."

"You said he was on the invite list."

"Besides, the subject will die down soon. The buzz will last two weeks tops, then they'll move on to the new hot gossip."

"Dick!" Bruce finally pulled his gaze away from the crowd and looked at him angrily, "we have work to do."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help!"

"Then focus on Crane," his eyes darkened.

"There he is!" Dick's glance ran over Bruce's shoulder straight toward one of the tables, "holy shit…"

Jonathan knew you were sure of it. You could see it in the way he surreptitiously scanned his surroundings, in the tone of his voice, in the way the green of his eyes shone angrily every time you smiled kindly at someone. A mixture of anger and possessiveness simmered beneath the surface of his controlled demeanor.

"Are you looking for someone?" you asked softly when his glance once again traveled past you.

"No, why?"

"You're looking around all the time," you pointed out, "so you're either looking for someone or avoiding me."

"Why would I avoid you?" he scoffed, "we're here together. We have a beautiful evening ahead of us. Maybe not as beautiful as the ones you spent in Metropolis, but beautiful nonetheless."

"If you have something to tell me then tell me," you prompted gently, trying to control the anger that was also rising in you.

"If I had something to tell you, I would tell you."

"I can see that you are angry."

"Angry?" the green eyes blazed angrily, "angry? No. I'm not angry. Disappointed more."

"Jonathan…"

"There is nothing to talk about Y/N," he interrupted you, "you are an adult, a free woman who makes her own decisions. One of them was the decision not to tell me you were going to Metropolis with Bruce Wayne."

"I work for him, that was…" you didn't want to explain yourself but you couldn't leave it at that

"If you're about to tell me it was a business trip then save it," he interrupted you again, "I don't resent the fact that you went with him. As I said, your life, your decisions. However, I do resent the fact that you chose not to tell me. That you concealed this detail."

"And what does it matter!" you chuckled in a loud whisper, blessing the orchestra that drowned your conversation.

"It makes me wonder…" he leaned over the table reducing the distance between you, "how many things have you concealed, thinking they don't matter. How many details you left out, how many threads you considered irrelevant. It seems that lies come so easily to you. You pretend to be open, and you lie incessantly."

"Don't psychoanalyze me," you snarled annoyed.

"Can't help it," he smirked but it wasn't a charming smile, "we're talking about trust, I'm offering you my time, attention, support both professionally and privately, help, and you can't bring yourself to be honest.

"And now you are guilt-tripping me…"

"That's how you perceive it," he replied immediately, "I'm pointing out the facts to you. You perceive them as guilt tripping which only means that your subconscious sees it that way."

"I don't!" you denied, "there is no guilty conscience. I had a wonderful time in Metropolis and I have absolutely nothing to regret. It's not my fault that you suddenly decided to act like a jealous boyfriend!"

"Do not project your desires onto my behavior," green glowed dangerously, "I'm not talking about us just the fact that you lie all the time."

"Bitch please," you scoffed, "two days ago you couldn't give me an answer as to what is between us, and now that you saw me in the company of Bruce you suddenly try to change the whole narrative. Maybe if you had been open with me instead of playing mind games we wouldn't be having this conversation now!"

"I'm not playing mind games with you."

"Maybe my head is fucked but I am not stupid!" you snapped, "what was in those pills that you gave me?!" without thinking you shot the question catching him off guard.

"Where did that came from!" he frowned.

"What was in those pills?" you repeated the question, "I may not be telling you everything but I trusted you. I didn't question anything. So answer me."

"A mixture of herbs to calm your nerves and sleep peacefully," he replied calmly.

"If that's so, then why did I have nightmares because of them?" you quipped, "horrible nightmares from which I couldn't wake up! Nightmares as intense almost as those visions during the last therapy?"

"Side effect," he replied gently placing his hand on yours, "why didn't you tell me earlier? Another thing you withheld from me. Why?" you didn't answer so he continued, "if you had told me earlier that you had such a reaction I would have reacted right away. You chose not to, by doing so you, harming only yourself."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologize to me," he smiled softly, "but promise me please, truly promise that you will stop hiding things from me. Lies and secrets are not a good foundation for building a relationship."

"You meant to say friendship," you smirked.

"I know what I wanted to say."

Bruce knew he should keep his distance. He knew that any move he made toward her was the worst possible idea. He could picture every feasible, most probable, far-reaching outcome of his actions. He knew the answer to every if and when. Every possible scenario. He could see every worst possible future. Violence, pain, suffering, shock, disappointment, death, blood on his hands. He could see them all and each of them separately as they projected like a movie tape before his open eyes, intercut frame after frame by the image of his hand over hers. And yet, despite all his knowledge, experience and certainty that he knew, he couldn't find within himself the answer to one question. "What if I'm wrong."

"Stay here," he turned quietly to Dick without taking his eyes off Y/N and Crane. Something didn't sit right with him. Every time Y/N looked away, Crane glanced at his watch or phone screen, discreetly yet nervously, only to return to the conversation a split second later. "Watch him from a distance," he ordered.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm about to find out if I'm wrong."

As he approached them with a calm, confident step, he saw how close they were to each other. Closer than he expected. He saw the heated conversation, the angry glances, the cynical smiles. Crane attacked, subtly, stealthily, while she defended herself, only to boldly attack a moment later, directly, without warning. He saw anger in her eyes and surprise in his. He saw the moment when surprise turned into calculated, measured concern. He saw the movement of his lips and understood the words without having to hear them. He was manipulating her. So skillfully that she succumbed to him unaware of his tactics. Her eyes softened with every lie he uttered, her face brightened with every minute in which his hand rested on hers. Her anger gave way to humility, her attack turned into an apology, as Crane continued to weave his manipulations. With each step toward them, the anger grew stronger within him. Anger at the scene he was observing. Anger at her for not realizing the danger she was in. Anger at the fact that by some miracle she was always in the middle of danger. Anger at himself for not inviting her here sooner, for failing to predict this scenario. The anger burned stronger and stronger, with each passing moment fueled by a new emotion, jealousy.

Fragments of a hushed conversation began to reach his ears. The scent of her perfume reached his senses when she glanced up at him and for a moment their eyes met. For a split second, the world seemed to stop. Her eyes shone brightly caught in his while her face lit up with a sincere smile as she slipped her hand out of Crane's grasp.

"Bruce!" she greeted him brightly and for a brief moment he indulged the idea of her being naturally brilliant at this game which, he called life.

"Y/N! Fancy that!" he greeted her, loudly announcing his presence.

"Fancy that…" she repeated with a hint of disbelief in her voice, "I actually should expect you to be here. After all, the gala is named after your family."

"There's no denying it," he replied with a smile unsure of whether she saw through the mask of socialite he had adopted, "Thomas Wayne was my father."

"A renowned surgeon in scientific circles and to the people of Gotham a philanthropist and benefactor," Crane inserted himself into the conversation, "to this day everyone remembers and appreciates his contributions to the city Mister Wayne."

"Ah Bruce, meet Jonathan Crane," although it wasn't necessary Y/N maintained courtesy, "Jonathan, Bruce Wayne."

"It's hard not to know who you are," Crane joked dryly as he shook his hand, "Y/N has told me all about you."

"I certainly hope not," Bruce replied in a vague tone. "So let's put a couple tables together!" it sounded more like a statement than a suggestion.

"I'm not sure they'll let us," Crane expressed his doubt.

"Oh they should," Bruce smirked confidently, "I own the place."

It took only one hand gesture, one look, and reality once again shifted to match Bruce Wayne's will.

"So, Doctor Crane, Y/N said a lot of good things about you," Bruce began the conversation as he sat down nonchalantly in a chair and accepted a glass of whiskey from the waiter, "and I, for my part, have also heard and read nothing but positives. Your work on fear control was particularly interesting."

"Are you interested in psychiatry Mister Wayne?" Crane asked startled.

"Not particularly, but as a board member granting annual research funds, I have come across your work once or twice," Bruce admitted casually, "besides, my son Richard studied psychology at Gotham University. You studied there too, didn't you?"

"That's true," Crane nodded, "I spent the best years of my youth there."

"And if my memory doesn't fail me you also taught for a short time."

"That's also true."

"Why aren't you teaching anymore? Working with young people and tempering their bright minds was not to your liking?"

"We had differences of opinion with some professors about the direction of the research I was doing," Crane replied dryly, "you know a lot for a man who is not interested in psychiatry," the change in his tone of voice did not escape Bruce's attention.

"The Wayne Foundation provides annual grants to both Gotham University and Mercy General, Eliot Memorial Hospitals and minor clinics," Bruce countered with a touch of well-balanced arrogance, "I like to know where that money is going."

"You are continuing your father's legacy," Crane commented, "your father was friends with Roger Elliot, after whom the hospital was named, wasn't he?"

"Friend is a big word. They were both surgeons and worked together. But that was a long time ago."

"Yes, it's tragic what happened to them," Bruce saw through Crane's artificial sympathy, "to both of them. It's truly terrible what happens to good people in Gotham."

"We all know Gotham is a dangerous city. But let's hope it doesn't stay that way."

"Oh yeah! I read about the WayneTech plans you announced on TechX! Impressive!"

"News travels fast," Bruce chuckled and, pretending to reach for his phone, discreetly glanced at Y/N. She looked upset and her usually sparkling eyes clouded with sadness.

"Why the sudden interest in the city's security?" Crane asked, "I know you do a lot for this city, but as you. And here all of a sudden such a big development for the company."

"Oh, it was Y/N who came up with the whole project!" Bruce replied with his businesslike smile, "but I'm sure you already knew that. I couldn't help but support such a thoughtful and well-planned initiative!"

"If it all looks as beautiful as you presented it perhaps the city will stop relying on freaks in capes."

"Could it be that you have no sympathy for Batman and the rest?"

"With all the supposed good they do for the city I think their place is in Arkham. In the padded cells next to those they fight," Crane replied without hesitation.

"Strong words Doctor. I think many would disagree with your diagnosis."

"Batman is a firefighter and arsonist in one," Crane didn't back down, "his very presence creates the conditions for the rise of criminals like the Joker, the Riddler, Two Face, or the new one who surfaced recently, whoever he is. If I were the head of Arkham Asylum I would forbid him from entering the premises and force the police to apprehend and psychoanalyze him."

"You would psychoanalyze everyone!" Y/N playfully chuckled, "I think that's an occupational deviation."

"Everyone has one," Bruce also laughed, "why aren't you the head of Arkham? With your reputation, that shouldn't be a problem."

"Elliot Memorial had greater needs," Crane replied warily, ignoring the incoming call and tucking the phone into his jacket pocket.

"I may not have lived in Gotham for long but I think your diagnosis is way too harsh Jonathan," Y/N continued, "Batman does so much good for the city."

"You're letting your own feelings overshadow rational thinking," Crane countered gently but with firmness.

"I don't think there's anything surprising about it, since he saved my life," seeing Crane's puzzled look she added, "Bruce knows."

"Yes, Y/N demonstrated immense honesty, respect for the work ethic that governs WayneTech, and trust in the company when she explained the unusual medical bills."

"He is risking his own life to help those who need it," she continued.

"That's what the police and emergency services are for," Crane quipped.

"The police also have their limitations," she continued, "it only took me a few days to see how powerless they are against the Joker."

"If there was no Batman there would be no others like him," the light of the screen broke through the blackness of the fabric.

"If there was no Batman there wouldn't be me either," she threw in a final argument, "this discussion is pointless! It's like debating the origin of the egg and the chicken!" she added wryly after a moment, "besides, your phone is ringing. Why don't you answer it?"

"Yes, sorry. It's so annoying," Crane once again reached into his pocket and glanced at the phone screen, "it's one of my patients. I have to answer it, excuse me for a moment."

With a hastened step, Crane walked away and silence fell around the table, broken only by the sounds of violin, cello and piano. An orchestra stationed at the head of the room was playing a beautiful melody to the many couples who twirled on the marble dance floor.

"I didn't think 'soon' would come so soon," she finally smirked at him, "I thought I wouldn't see you for at least a few days."

"Sorry to disappoint," he murmured with a spark of satisfaction shining in his eyes, "I see you've grown sad, I hope not because of something I said."

"No," she replied in a half whisper and took a sip of champagne, "it's because of what Jonathan said. I don't know why the hell he brought up such a distant past. His comment was unnecessary. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for words spoken by someone else," she was the only one who had never so far mentioned a story that all of Gotham knew and Bruce couldn't help but wonder why.

"I feel obligated. I am his plus one today."

"Forgive me for being blunt, but I take it Doctor Crane is the friend you mentioned?" Bruce inquired.

"Yes…" she replied quietly, "although I'm increasingly wondering if friend is the right word," she added in reflection and gazed again at the dancing couples.

All shades of gold, silver, maroon and blue swirled in the soft light trickling down from a crystal chandelier hung by the marble ceiling. Couples twirled and swooned to the accompaniment of a beautiful waltz led by talented violinists. Seamlessly and rhythmically as if at a fairy tale ball, the gowns rose and fell, flowing in waves with each turn. He observed her in silence. Her subtle smile wandering on her dreamy face, the gleam of delight in her eyes, her finger gently tapping on the exposed knee that slid out of the high slit. He wondered if she was aware of her beauty, if, seeing herself in the mirror, she could appreciate how brightly her skin shone under the black lace that adorned her shoulders, if she could see the magic he saw. Did she know? His heart ached as she closed her eyes delighting in the music. Could he allow himself to be selfish even if only for a moment?

"Beautiful…" he said in a barely audible whisper unable to tear his eyes away from her.

"Beautiful that's true…" she replied with her eyes still closed, "classical music, especially played live by an orchestra…" she fell silent when the pianist began a slow overture, "there is magic in it."

"I was not talking about music…." her eyes opened in bewilderment while a soft blush came to her cheeks, "although as an obscenely rich snob, I appreciate the beauty of classical music," he added provoking her hearty laughter.

"How long are you going to tease me like this?" she asked, drowning her gaze in his, "what do I have to do to get you to finally forgive me for this embarrassing slip-up."

"Dance with me," his eyes darkened, and although he could see that she wanted to escape with hers, she didn't.

"This?" she chuckled, pointing discreetly toward the dance floor, " Mister Wayne, I don't do waltz. So please forgive me but I'll spare myself another embarrassment."

Bruce only rose from his chair, walked around the table to stand in front of her, and extended his hand.

"Dance with me," he repeated, deepening his gaze.

"I can't…" she whispered but her eyes smirked, "marble and heels don't seem to be safe."

"Take my hand and trust me," he did not lower his hand, "I will not let you fall."

She hesitated. For a moment, for a split second, there was uncertainty in her eyes which disappeared immediately. She smiled brightly, took his hand, and let herself be led towards the dancing floor.

Your heart was pounding frantically, threatening to burst out of your chest as Bruce took your hand and, holding it slightly outstretched in the air, led you to the dancing floor. Before your eyes, reality shifted once again to match his presence as the dancing couples moved aside creating space for you. But he seemed not to notice. With his eyes fixed on you, he placed one hand on your back and closed the other on yours.

"You forget to breathe," he whispered pulling you closer to him, "forget about them. They don't matter."

"They stare…" you whispered wandering with your eyes.

"So do I," he pulled you closer as if to eliminate the distance between you and sank his gaze into your eyes. You smiled, put your hand on his shoulder, and flowed.

As if carried by the tangible sounds of music, by the light and the electrifying air that seemed to gather between you, you drifted. Gently and rhythmically to the sound of the music, one-two-three, one-two-three, you spun and the world swirled around you dissolved into a meaningless background as you sank into the ocean of his eyes. They stared at you incessantly, calm and stormy at once, inviting and dangerous, reflecting the brilliance of the crystals like the surface of the water reflects the stars scattered across the night sky. He smiled and you forgot to breathe again. His hand traveled higher on your back as if he longed to feel you whole, to remove the little distance that dancing had created between you, which he would not allow.

"You trust me?" he whispered quietly. You nodded only to break away from him a moment later, twirl in place, and return straight into his arms.

"What are you doing?" you asked feeling his hand back on your bare skin.

"I'm dancing with you," he smirked then pushed you away from him again, spun you in place and drew you back. The world swirled with colors all over again. One-two-three, the piano gave a rhythm when the violin made you twirl.

"Don't tease," you corrected your hand that landed closer to his neck.

"But when teasing with you comes so easily," he moved his hand dangerously low across your back. A shiver ran down your spine.

"Are you having fun Mister Wayne?" you flicked your eyes surprised.

"I do," he replied with shameless satisfaction, "I believe you do too Miss Y/L/N." He turned and the world swirled again in colors and lights only to return with the warmth of his chest against yours, with the touch of his hand firmly on your back, in a captivating smile. With each passing note, all the pretenses he had kept over the weekend disappeared, escaped with each exchanged breath, faded with each deepening glance.

"I have to admit that this is not quite how I imagined this weekend," you moved your hand up over his shoulder toward the back of his neck.

"And how did you imagine it?" the whisper of his words danced over your skin.

"Less magical…" he released you from his embrace again. You twirled and returned to his arms to finally eliminate the remnants of the space that separated you.

"If you were worried before about them staring then you'd better not look around," he whispered in your ear, pressing his cheek against yours. The scent of his perfume swirled through your senses.

"I won't," you whispered closing your eyes, "they won't ruin my princess moment," a low chuckle sounded deep within his chest.

"Princess moment," the touch of a smile imprinted itself on your skin, "damn…you smell incredible."

"Stop…" you didn't open your eyes, "whatever you are doing, stop." The touch disappeared, the world swirled, the closeness returned, along with the ocean in which you wanted to sink.

"Why should I stop?" a new feeling resonated in his deep husky voice as the ocean stormed with desire.

"I'm a big girl, I don't believe in fairy tales," your mind believed it, but your instinct screamed the opposite, "in a second our dance will be over, the moment will disappear, the gala will come to an end and with the rising sun the fairy tale will vanish with the return of reality."

"Since when are princesses so cynical?"

"Realistic," you corrected him, "and I'm not a princess."

"Cynical," he repeated as his hand wandered up your back again, "what if…"

"What if what?" you asked almost feeling the touch of his lips on yours.

"What if we took that risk…" his words danced on your lips, "what would happen if we…" he didn't finish. The unspoken words died in your breath, faded into touch, turned into a dance of craving lips as the last space separating you disappeared. His kiss deep, yearning, passionate took away the remnants of doubts that only moments ago spoke uncertain words. Beneath your closed eyes, the world ignited with desire as your hand found its place on the back of his neck drawing him closer. Your lips danced on his, your breaths became one as you lost yourself in a magical moment. The world stopped. Reality once again yielded to his will.

In the middle of the ballroom, a feeling blossomed in the glimmer of silvery light diffused by hundreds of crystals. He, dressed in a black tuxedo, tall, handsome, charming, known by all. She, dressed in a beautiful black gown, shorter by a head, elegant, graceful, enchanting, known by no one. They, joined in a kiss, suspended in a half-step, between a twirl and a turn, paused in a dance that just a moment ago everyone admired. A feeling they did not want to hide. Desire culminated in a passionate kiss. They indulged in the moment while others watched them intently.

Some, with a heartfelt smile, recalled a time when they themselves were in the same place.

Others with undisguised envy, wishing they could be them.

Others with indignation or amusement, shaking their heads in disbelief at the sight of a scene like this in an elegant society.

Someone muttered words of disdain.

Someone else sighed in delight.

Someone else followed their example.

Dick only took out his phone and discreetly took a picture. Warmth spread through him, a beaming smile lit up his face as he tapped the message in a quick motion. "Capture THIS!" two words, one picture, sent only to two people, Barbara and Alfred. A quickly calculated move directed at the best possible outcome. For one needed a bit of joy, and the other needed a warning of impending chaos in the family. Both, on the other hand, were necessary for him to protect Bruce from self-sabotage.

Dick was happy. For a moment, he too forgot the task, forgot the mission. He lost sight of the goal only for a moment however the moment was enough.

On the opposite side of the room among the guests, Jonathan Crane was also observing the fairytale scene, but there was no jealousy, contempt or mockery in his eyes. There was nothing. Without breaking his dead stare, he took his phone out of his pocket, dialed a number and, after just one beep, gave the command.

"Do it."

Two words, one decision, that's all it took to unleash chaos.

Scream. A terrifying female scream tore through the music paralyzing all the guests. But the paralysis didn't last long. A loud thud followed by the sound of shattering glass, cracking wood, the rumble of tumbling tables and chairs, the sounds of panic. People backing away in fear deeper into the room, grasping each other's hands, trying to hide in the crowd. It only took a few seconds for all the magic of the charming evening to shatter into pieces. Bruce instinctively grabbed Y/N's by the hand and, taking a step in front of her, hid it behind him. He scanned the crowd instantly, swept his eyes over the terrified faces, eyes filling with tears, looking for Dick and the source of the danger. One glance, a discreet nod, and Dick disappeared from his sight. The danger did not keep him waiting for long. A mocking, maniacal laughter echoed around the room freezing people's blood in their veins.

"No, no please, don't interrupt yourselves! Musicians play!" with a dancing step Joker entered between the crowd wielding a knife in his hand. Amused Harley Quinn followed him.

"I wanna dance puddin! Let's dance!" she asked playfully jumping from one foot to another.

"Now now, pumpkin, remember what we came here for," Joker waved the knife in Harley's direction in a gesture bordering on threatening, "but we could definitely use some music! Orchestra play!!!" he exclaimed towards the band but none of the musicians picked up their instruments, "no one has respect these days," he muttered to himself.

Bruce followed his steps, every little movement, every slightest gesture. He had no possibility of moving away from the crowd, no way out. Every exit was blocked by a shotgun-wielding henchman. His mind ran through all the scenarios, calculated all the possibilities trying to formulate a plan that didn't exist, while Y/N's warm hand clenched tightly in his own made him realize that there was nothing he could do. He had to wait.

"What do you want!" a man shouted from the crowd.

"Finally! I'm glad you asked!" Joker replied theatrically bowing to the man, "I want the music to play!!!" he shouted and when the answer did not come he pulled out his gun and fired a single, precise shot. The cellist fell inertly to the ground into a growing blood stain. "This is how it's going to be! I will ask the questions and all of you will politely answer," he walked closer to the man, grinding the knife toward his throat, "capiche?" the man only nodded. "Fantastic!!!" he exclaimed gleefully, "then now after we've said our good evenings, can someone tell me where my toxins are!?" He circled the crowd, directing the knife to each person one by one, "anyone? Maybe you can tell me?" he pointed the knife at the director of Gotham Mercy Hospital. "I'm taking a short vacation at my favorite resort and when I return my toxins are gone! Maybe you know something?" he waved the knife in front of the Gotham Diagnostic Laboratories representative's face. No one answered. "Someone among you must know something!" everyone remained silent as they measured themselves against the clown one by one, praying that they wouldn't be the next victim. "Someone took them and is unleashing this wonderful terror on the city and I want to know who!" the scientist from S.T.A.R Labs scowled when Joker ran his hand over her face. "As much as I enjoy seeing Batman failing miserably I can't stand outrageous, disgusting theft!" he continued theatrically gesturing. "Would you agree with me that theft is an outrageous crime?" snapped one of the women who only nodded desperately and tears streamed down her cheeks. "A horrible, horrible crime! And do you know what the best part is?" he asked the people around then aimed his gun at the space and fired. A huge flower vase shattered into pieces and a small metal ball rolled on the ground. The Joker picked it up and, with a grin on his face, pretended to inhale the toxin trapped inside. "This stuff is fantastic! Truly makes you go mad!" he laughed and placed the ball into Gotham University professor, "he must really dislike you guys," he added, grinning, "he wanted to gas you all! Can you imagine?! Outrageous! But not as outrageous as the fact that he stole from me! So, now that I have saved your fragile minds from a trip to the crazy side I expect your cooperation. Who stole my toxins!" he grabbed a Strader Pharmaceuticals board member violently by the jacket, "I'm sure you'll know. Where are my toxins?"

"I don't like him, sweetie. His giving you a stinky eye," Harley measured the man with a disdainful glance.

"He does?" Joker pulled the man closer to him, "are you giving me a stinky eye?"

"No, I'm not, I'm not…" the man replied in a pleading tone.

"Harl, I think you are right!!! He does give me a stinky eye!" the blade shone against the man's face.

Bruce watched everything as if in slow motion while his mind desperately searched for a way to protect the guests. However, cool logic kept his nerves under control. Five exits, five shotguns, the Joker had a knife and a .44 Magnum with 8 rounds magazine capacity, Harley had a baseball bat resting on her shoulder and a Chiappa rhino 60ds by her side, which meant another six bullets.

"I don't like it puddin'! He has no respect!

"You are right pumpkin pie!" Joker pulled a man out of the crowd and threw him against the ground right at Harley's feet, "there, he is all yours!"

He had to stay calm for a little longer. Nightwing will fall through the ceiling window in a moment, followed by Robin and Red Robin. He will have to get out of her sight. He will have to quickly order her to run away, order Nightwing to lead her outside. His suit was hidden in the car. She will look for him. He will have to lie.

"Stop that!" Y/N's hand yanked violently as Crane stepped forward from the crowd, "leave him alone!"

"Why? Do you want me to play with you instead?" Harley let go of the man directing her attention to Crane.

"These people don't know anything, can't you see that?"

"But it's so much fun to see them squirm!" facing Crane Harley crooked her fierce head, "but you ain't scared, ain't ya Doctor Crane?" she placed the baseball bat on the ground and looked defiantly at him, "nah, you like good old scares!"

Y/N's hand yanked again in Bruce's grasp, trying to break free. He turned to her, looked at her but there was no fear or apprehension in her eyes. Only anger.

"There's nothing you can do," he whispered looking at her intensely, "on the opposite wall, in the upper right and left corner you'll see a discreet green blinking light," she followed his words with her eyes, "it's a silent alarm. Someone has set it off. The police is on the way."

"She's my friend," she replied quietly, "she'll listen to me."

"Y/N stay calm," he instructed but the hollow sound of a thump shattered his words. Crane lay curled up on the floor, his head shielded by his hands. Y/N's hand slipped from his. A split second, a moment of distraction, and she ran out into the middle of the room.

"Harley!!! Enough!" she shouted. It was enough to distract them. Harley jumped up happily at the sight of her friend and moved immediately in her direction. But the Joker was first.

"Oh hello, beautiful…" a quiet murmur came from his throat as he approached her, "long time no see. You don't visit, you don't call, I'm hurt! We had so much fun together," he circled her straining his words but she stood unfazed, "it is so good to see you!!!" he smiled widely.

A shadow of movement ran across the glass tiles of the roof. One, then another, and moments after that a third. They will fall with a crash and shattering glass. Batarangs will fly toward the two most distant goons. Robin will attack the other three quickly disarming them. Red will attack Harley. Nightwing will deal with the Joker. Haos will be unleashed. People will start fleeing in panic.

"Harley told me that you refused my invitation," Joker continued reducing the distance separating them, "you made her sad. What kind of friend are you?"

"A friend wouldn't let her boyfriend hold her friend at gunpoint," Y/N growled measuring herself against Joker.

Shadows moved swiftly across the roof. Just a moment more. Every muscle in Bruce tensed to fight, but his mind controlled his actions. He couldn't face the Joker and take away his ability to leave to get the suit. He needed a few minutes, but he couldn't stand by passively. He couldn't watch as the Joker closed the distance between him and Y/N.

"Ha, I like you! You have a fight in you!" Joker exclaimed with amusement only to lower his tone again and grab her violently by the arm, "are you close?" he glared at Crane, "oooh you are. You can't deny it, I can see it in those angry eyes of yours."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce noticed a window in the ceiling swinging open. Muscles tensed waiting for the right moment. His eyes watched the Joker's hand clenched on Y/N's shoulder, his body subconsciously assumed a fighting position, ready to react at any moment.

"The rage is burning…" she yanked but Joker grabbed tighter, " curiouser and curiouser…" with a quick movement he corrected his grip placing his hand on the back of her head.

"Interesting company you choose my dear…" he lowered his voice so that only she could hear him, "dangerous…. but you like danger don't you," she tried to break free but he grabbed her face tightly forcing her to look at him. The blade flashed dangerously against her cheek, "yes, you like danger. That feeling when adrenaline burns in your veins making the whole world cover itself in red. That crazy waltz on the edge of life and death," he strained his words, "you're as crazy as I am. All you need is a little push."

A silvery rain of broken glass rained loudly from the ceiling to disappear a moment later in a cloud of thick smoke. A swish cut the air as the Batarangs soared toward their targets. The black and red cape danced nearby knocking the weapon out of Harley's hand, that rolled with a clatter on the ground.

"Push that!" Y/N growled while an invisible force pushed the Joker back a few steps. Through the smoke, she couldn't see his amused look. The screams got lost in his maniacal laughter. His vicious words drowned in a throaty growl as the blue emerging from the smoke kicked him in the stomach.

"Run!" Nightwing shouted in her direction dodging the knife gleaming in the midst of the smoke, "run!!!"

For a moment, paralysis overwhelmed you completely as your legs refused to move. You stood there frozen, with your eyes wide open observing the scene. The Joker's purple coat danced amidst the smoke with each aggressive swing, the blade gleaming from the left then from the right as Nightwing nimbly blocked and dodged. The deadly dance cut through clouds of gray smoke but only one of the dancers was the harbinger of death. Fury blazed in Joker's eyes as he unsuccessfully dealt blows. Curses of hatred drowned in the sounds of battle. Watchful eyes glared in your direction beneath the mask that covered part of his face in a mixture of surprise and worry. But you couldn't move, you couldn't stop admiring. As if mesmerized, you watched the agile leaps, accurate strikes, painful hits and soft flips, and only one thought filled your entire mind. "I need to help him."

Strong male hands grabbed your shoulders trying to pull you aside. Intense blue filled with dread shone before your eyes. He shook you gently in an attempt to snap you out of your amok. His lips moved but you couldn't hear his words. His hands tightened on your shoulders but the touch seemed distant.

"I need to do something…" you said than snatched from his grasp and began to run through the dense gray.

Instinct seemed to guide your steps when reality as if seeing your determination, matched your will by creating a path for you. Frightened people fled in terror, but you dodged them swiftly. A Batarang swished past your ear, but you slowed your step just in time to avoid the accidental impact. The light from the shattered chandelier shone through the clouds of smoke, revealing the Joker's weapon at your feet. You bent down to pick it up, evading the black and yellow cloak flying over your head. A voice called out from the distance, loud enough to make you stop for a split second to avoid a massive blow from the staff. You tore through the chaos without fear, without doubt, without hesitation, as your body and mind seemed to sense the impending danger before it came. It seemed to sense its surroundings before your eyes had time to register the image and transmit it to your mind. The thick gray smoke blocked your vision and yet you knew perfectly well that the moment your dress got caught between your legs, you should crouch down, chase away the smoke with your hand, and help him get up.

"Jonathan…" your words sounded close and yet so far away, "Jonathan, are you alright?" Still clenching your hand on the gun, you helped him up. Blood ran in a thin trickle down his face.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy?" he looked at you surprised.

"Can you stand up?"

"Y/N, get out of here! Run!" the green lit up intensely.

"Can you stand up?" you repeated stubbornly, and without waiting for his answer you grabbed his hand and lifted him to his feet, "tell me you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"I'll be fine. Let's get out of here," he grabbed your hand but you didn't move, "Y/N?"

"Go!" you ordered, "I can't. Not yet."

Before he had time to react you rushed deeper into the room while reality shifted again, yet this time to match your will. The smoke thinned, revealing overturned tables, broken glassware, scattered food, spilled glistening stains of fresh blood. Red-blue lights flashed outside the window exposing a distant rush of blond hair. Involuntarily, you tightened your hand on the gun and sped up your run. Harley fell out the door and you followed her. She rushed down the stairs in desperation trying to get away, to no avail. Leaping down several stairs at once, you could clearly see the surprise in her eyes as she turned around to see how close you were. With a grunt, she fell through the next door but you were right behind her.

"Harley stop!!!" you yelled falling behind her into the hallway, "stop!!!"

"Forget it!!!" she yelled back without slowing down.

"Stop!!!" you had her almost at arm's length.

"Or what!"

"Harley!!!" you could see the glistening droplets of sweat on her bare arms.

"Catch me if you can!" she laughed mockingly.

"I said stop!!!" you shouted reaching out your hand towards her. She did not stop. An invisible force pushed her forward with a powerful surge sending her flying through the air. With a deafening crash she fell painfully to the ground.

"Hey, how did you? That hurt!" she cried out, trying to pick herself up from the floor, but it was too late. Not thinking much, you jumped to her, knocking her over onto her back, kneeling over her, pressing her to the floor with your whole body, immobilizing her.

"Hey!!! Get of me!!!" she exclaimed trying to break free, "get of me! Get of me! Get of me!"

"Harleen! Calm down! Listen to me!" you tried.

"Let me go! Let me go or I will!!!

"What will you do Harl!" you grabbed her hands and pressed her to the floor, "What will you do! You fucked me once already! You took advantage of me! You left me to drown! You let that maniac threaten me with a gun!!!" the Joker's gun suddenly ignited in your hand, "with this gun!!!" you shouted furiously putting the gun to Harley's temple. "You let him put it to my forehead, he threatened to splatter my brain all over the windshield…" you pressed the gun harder against her temple, "so tell me, what else are you going to do?"

"It's not like that, puddin' was just joking."

"Stop it! For fuck sake, stop it! Stop this madness! Whatever he told you, whatever he promised you, he's crazy! A psycho!"

"You don't know him like I do!"

"Harley! Do you even hear yourself? He's a murderer and a psychopath!"

"Before you start judging me maybe you should first look at the company you choose for yourself and who you seek help from!!!" she shouted furiously, "my puddin' loves me! He loves me! And when he finds out what you did he will be very very angry with you! He will not like it, not a bit!"

"Batman was right…" you sighed with resignation, "I can't help you."

You lifted yourself heavily from your knees and reached out to her. For a moment you thought you were looking at Harleen, your friend from the best years of your life, the one you could rely on, the one who would never betray you. For a moment, Harleen smiled warmly as she used to do. She reached for your extended hand and for a moment you thought that everything will be alright. You couldn't see the knife flashing from behind her back. She swung sharply and blood flowed from your slashed arm. You jumped back a moment too late.

"See ya sucker!!!" she laughed, jumping to her feet and launching herself into a run.

For a moment you watched her move away. For a moment you thought to even let her. But the moment vanished in an instant, replaced by pain and anger. Red shrouded your vision, rage filled your mind, ignited the blood in your veins, filled your will. A deep inhale that seemed to consume the anger and then an exhale that ripped it out of you releasing the accumulated force outward. The red disappeared. Silence followed. Reality took on normal colors and shapes. Reality stopped bending to your will.

Nightwing, Red Robin and Bruce watched as an invisible force appeared out of nowhere, pushing Harley forward only to pick her up in mid-air and slam her against the wall. Harley's lifeless body slid down the wall. Y/N stood in the middle of the hallway, clutching a gun in one hand, she breathed heavily. Neither of them needed to see her face to understand the exhaustion her posture betrayed. She lowered the extended hand only to slump against the wall and sank heavily to the floor.

"What the hell…" Nightwing gasped in disbelief. With a nod, he instructed Robin to check on Harley as he himself moved toward Y/N. Calmly and gently so as not to frighten her, so as not to trigger an instinctive defensive reaction in her. The gun glistened in her hand, damp with sweat and blood running down her cut arm. Out of the corner of her eye he glanced at Bruce who had followed, his face betraying a blend of tension and worry.

"I stopped her…" she whispered when Nightwing entered her line of sight, "I had to stop her. It's all my fault. If it wasn't for me, none of this would have happened."

"She's alive," Robin informed, "only unconscious."

Bruce brushed past Nightwing and crouched by her side. Tears shone in her tired eyes.

"Y/N, it wasn't your fault…" he said softly, "it wasn't your fault."

"Bruce…" a confused glance jumped between Nightwing and Bruce.

"Mister Wayne is a very stubborn man," Nightwing explained, "he ran after you first, pointing us in the right direction. He refused to stay behind."

Without a word, Bruce knelt down, took off his jacket, loosened his bow tie, and took out a white silk handkerchief from his pocket.

"I helped her free the Joker from Arkham," she explained quietly as he pressed the handkerchief to the cut on her arm, "I tried to convince Batman that she was innocent," she continued as he used the tie to stop the bleeding, "I let her escape when they tried to stop her…" his eyes stopped on the gun she was still clutching in her hand. His glance asked without words. "Oh…that…" she sighed as if her consciousness had only now registered the weapon in her hand, "it's Jokers'. I found it as I chased Harley. He must have dropped it…" she deftly turned the gun in her hand directing the grip to Bruce as if she had done it many times in the past, "I would never use it…" she continued handing it back to him, "I just didn't want it lying there. I didn't want him to use it."

Bruce did not take the gun from her. He merely looked at Robin, who quickly took the gun from Y/N's hand, pulled a Ziploc bag from his belt pocket and closed it tightly.

"We need to get you to the medics," Bruce finally said, throwing the jacket over her shoulders and gently lifting her to her feet.

"I'm fine, it's just a mild cut.

"It wasn't a question."

"What about Jonathan?" she asked as he put his arm around her waist as if he feared she would fall down any moment.

"He is fine," he replied shortly, "let's go," he ordered motioning her towards the exit but Robin blocked their way.

"Miss…" he began uncertainly trying to ignore Bruce's menacing stare, "Y/N right?" she looked at him and nodded, "how?" he asked glancing at Harley whose unconscious body lay laid in a safe position nearby.

"I don't know…I just did…" she answered weakly, "what's going to happen to her?"

"She will probably be transported to Arkham," Robin replied.

"Please remind Batman that he promised me."

"What did Batman promise?"

"That he would help her."

***

Chapter twelve: Running toward danger

~~***~~ Author note: I got carried with words. Sorry about that. But I had this idea for this scene, you know which one, but it couldn't happen in isolation. The story needed to happen. Speaking of that scene, a few months back I heard this song, Merry Go Round Of Life Cover By Grissini Project. Within minutes that scene was born. Everything, from the initial setup, through the conversation just before, to the final moments. For the last few months that scene lived in my mind waiting for its time. Waiting for the story to lead our characters into this place. Hoping it will lead them there. And as they finally arrived here, I'll be honest, I was giggling like a teenage girl while writing it. I do hope that it worked for you as well as it did for me. But now, I can finally move away from a keyboard (for now) and go watch Good Omens season 2. At the end, as always my Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

~~***~~ Tag list: @mrsgrahamsdesign @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom @maripositanoctruna @pluckastarfromthesky @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @pirate-with-internet-connection

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