Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. Chapter 1

This is Jonathan Crane centered story. It is set before the events of Batman Begins when he is running Arkham Asylum.

I would like to thank my Beta Night Monkey. Without her invaluable help this story wouldn't be published.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Batman characters.

**Chapter 1**

Dr. Jonathan Crane was sitting in the office of Carmine Falcone, successfully covering his irritation with an expression of smugness and cold patience. Falcone refused to tell him the reason he requested Jonathan's presence almost immediately over the phone.

"_I prefer we talk when you get here," _Falcone had sad._ "This is something I want to discuss with you in person." _Jonathan had sighed and hung up the phone with a frown.

Now he was sitting and waiting for the man that rushed him out of the asylum, to grace him with his presence.

Carmine Falcone was granting himself too much liberty in their business relations lately, and was apparently forgetting the insignificance of his role in the entire operation. Jonathan had the willingness to clarify to Falcone where exactly his place was, something the mob boss obviously had forgotten. But for now the doctor had to display patience and wait for the moment, when he could show this scum who exactly was in charge.

The fact that Jonathan had to conform to such low form of life did not make him the least bit happy. More precisely it was very annoying, especially since Falcone had the nerve to express a certain familiarity in their dealings lately. As if Jonathan was obligated towards him in any way. As if Falcone wasn't receiving enough payment for the services he provided. And yet he was demanding favors, clearly taking advantage of the situation.

That was what irritated Jonathan in the first place. With his carelessness Falcone was endangering the whole operation, so he could run his insignificant underground mafia business without being bothered.

And Jonathan Crane was anything but careless.

He knew the risks and the scale of the plan he was involved in, and that was far beyond Falcone's pitiful attempts to dominate the crime scene in Gotham. He was a tool, a pawn, a detail in the greater picture, nothing more. Jonathan was a tool too, he didn't delude himself at all that he was more important than he actually was.

But he was the only one capable to contrive and produce the substance needed for the execution of the plan. The achievement he was most proud of: his Fear Toxin. That at least guaranteed him some reassurance, although he didn't rely on anything but observing his obligations to his employer. Jonathan made sure to avoid unnecessary risks, and unwanted attention, some things that were not as important to Falcone, it seemed.

No, he wasn't fooling himself. He was important, but he didn't want to actually prove how much. In the current situation however, as things were in Gotham, he was the one in charge, until the arrival of Ra's al Ghul.

After all Jonathan wasn't interested in money, or some other form of material payment. He wanted power and control, or maybe even revenge. He wanted to possess the power of the human fear, to dominate it. And he did.

The fear toxin gave him exactly that: power and control over the others, over their most horrifying fears. By far this was his most complicated experiment, with the most prolific results. He was waiting his whole life for such opportunity, since no one was interested in his studies and methods.

A tingle of excitement surged through him at the thought, but he suppressed it, never showing external display of his inner elations.

Yes, maybe he was just a pawn on the board, but he was a bigger pawn than Falcone, and he would not let a mob boss and a drug dealer ruin his experiments and the work of his life.

Jonathan made a mental note, while checking the time on his wristwatch, to take a can of his toxin next time Falcone made him wait after calling him in all urgency.

The door opened, revealing the full but agile figure of Carmine Falcone, who entered the office and sat behind the desk.

"Hey Doc, glad you could make it."

Jonathan kept his cold appearance in place, hiding the growing annoyance. He was watching the other man with indifference.

"What is the important problem that has to be discussed?" Even if his cold gaze bothered Falcone he did nothing to show it.

"Well Doc, you see something came up. I need you to do something for me." At least he went straight to the point.

"And what that would be?"

"I need a favor. Nothing you can't handle." Then he added just for reassurance and his own comfort. "We gotta watch each other's back, you know Doc?"

Jonathan sighed, leaned back and crossed his legs.

"Mr. Falcone." He emphasized on the formal addressing of the mob boss "The last favor was an exception, I think we agreed on that. Besides I don't remember this as a part of the initial agreement. What kind of favor do you want? If it's similar to the prior one, I would have to decline."

Falcone joined his hands together on the desk and inclined his head towards Jonathan, indicating he wanted all of his attention.

"One of my guys got caught while we were taking in the last shipment. This ain't his first time dealing with the police. They have enough to lock him for some years. I can't lose good men anytime I sneak your goods in the country."

He made a pause, like he was expecting some kind of reaction, but when he didn't receive one, continued. "This ain't gonna happen if you want to get your part next time. So, I want you to take him in Arkham, you know, you are a psychiatrist. He will be out in no time. And maybe he really is not right, you know. The guy doesn't seem very stable in the head…" Falcone let out a little strained laugh. "All you have to do is to give statements in court."

Jonathan waited for Falcone to finish his little explanation patiently, not giving any indication to the mob boss what he was thinking. The doctor took off his glasses and leaned forward. His blue eyes bored with relentless coldness into Falcone, who backed away under the cold blue gaze, enhanced by the lack of the glass barrier.

"Are you saying that you want me to make a false evaluation for a second time, to lie in a court room again, risking my reputation as a doctor just to get one of your thugs out of jail?"

"Look Doc, the way I see it, you get your stuff through me." Falcone was trying to sound confident and unyielding. "And no one else is going to agree on your little offer, or have the connections I have to pull this through." He made a pause for greater effect. "Now, I risk losing people because of this. And I expect you to do something about it if you want us to continue our business."

"That would attract too much attention. There are more important things to be considered here."

Falcone got back to his advancing pose with shoulders bent towards Jonathan, who didn't move an inch from his position.

"Hey Doc, you get your shipments on time, am I right? And who is the one that does the dirty work, eh? My people risk getting caught… _I_ risk my business so you could get your precious goods, am I right?"

The subtle warning in Falcone's voice did not affect Jonathan the least. He was still watching the mob boss with cold, unemotional eyes. Unnerving calmness was covering his features.

"You have received very generous payment. I don't see a reason for you to complain. You agreed with the conditions when you accepted to get involved in the operation." Jonathan's tone was even and calm but a little too low for comfort.

"Then you can go and say to your boss, that there isn't going to be next time. You'll have to find someone else to get you your bunnies. I don't care what you or any other smart boy has to say about it. This city is my territory, so you'll play by my rules."

"I hope you are well aware with whom you are involved, Mr. Falcone." said Jonathan with something like a smile curling his lips upward. "Our employer won't be very pleased if this threatens the operation."

"Hey, don't give me that bullshit Doc. We are on the same side, isn't that right? So don't threaten me. This is just a favor for a favor." Falcone's voice lost some of its edge. Apparently Jonathan's behavior was unnerving him a little. "You are loyal to me, and I am to you. You don't want to lose the protection I give you in this town, eh?" He gave Jonathan a meaning look. "This could change very easy."

The conversation was starting to annoy Jonathan, mostly because he would have to defer to Falcone's demands eventually. Ra's al Ghul has instructed him to do whatever is necessary for the unimpeded execution of the plan and they could not afford a delay in the deliveries.

Well, Falcone was not the only one who could take advantage of the situation. Jonathan suppressed a smile at the thought that came to his mind. Without knowing the mob boss had given him perfect test subjects for his experiments. He could use fresh minds for the purposes of science and for his own pleasure of evoking fear and terror. Moreover, this way the false psychiatric evaluation wouldn't be that false anymore if anything went wrong.

Jonathan continued with the same calm tone. "Someone will suspect something sooner or later."

"You are a smart guy, you'll think of something. Besides, who in this city will dare to do say or do anything about it? Everyone here are bought and paid for. It's called corruption." Falcone seemed to be regaining back some of his confidence.

"Not everyone. There are people in the DA's office that will be causing troubles, if this continues." Jonathan sighed and put on his glasses, never taking his eyes from Falcone. "I agree, but I expect you will proceed to supply the items on schedule." He moved back from his inclined position, straitening his posture and squaring his shoulders. He cocked his head forward in such a way it straightened the effect of his gaze. "I am sure you understand, if anything goes wrong there will be consequences." The words were pronounced half an octave lower, but the tone was still calm and cold. Jonathan was sure the man before him flinched from the hidden menace in his voice.

With that he stood up, took his briefcase and exited the room, leaving Falcone with whatever impression he got from their meeting, most probably one of worry.

Jonathan got to his car and slid into the driver seat in one graceful move. He wasn't pleased with the outcome; he didn't want to give false statements in court again, didn't want to get involved in Falcone's dirty little games. At least he could use the situation for his own benefit. A smile crept on his lips at the thought how he would be saving the mob boss' thugs from jail. He found the irony rather amusing. Someone had to make sacrifices in the name of science, after all.

The meeting had set him in a mood for inflicting fear and nightmares. He just had finished a new, improved version of the fear toxin and was eager to test it on one of his patients. Actually, that was the exact thing he was going to do before Falcone called, upsetting his plans for the day. He threw a glance towards his briefcase, peacefully resting on the passenger seat. Soon he would put what laid hidden in there to good use.

Jonathan started the car and headed to the asylum in tingling anticipation.

* * *

Anna Daniels was in a hurry to get to the DA's office without running late. The crowded sidewalks in Gotham didn't help in her effort, as if all the people conspired with each other to get in her way, without even making exertion to let her pass. She was trying to squeeze between them saying "Excuse me," now and then, wondering why she even bothered. No one in this city cared for anything, especially strangers.

She made it almost in time. After entering the building she adjusted her clothes and hair, which she attempted to lift in a bun, before she left for work, but the result wasn't very satisfying. Tucking the loosened tresses behind her ears she proceeded to her desk.

Anna found herself in front of two piles of folders with stuck single papers among them, little notes and pieces of paper mixed up in all that mass of documents. She stood for a moment, contemplating the stack before her then put down her business bag and jacket, preparing herself for a long work day. Being an intern for just a little over a month she still did not do work on real cases, but mainly helped with arranging the paperwork, sorting documents and researching closed cases. A rather tedious job, but she had to start somewhere, and those stacks of unsorted information were a good and prolific source for accumulating knowledge. Real knowledge, about real criminals and victims so she would be prepared, at least somewhat, when she got engaged in a real lawsuit.

And today there were huge piles of paper-backed folders awaiting her, hiding between their stained covers countless pages with cruel details about murders, kidnappings, robberies and god knows what else.

Anna went to the coffee machine, poured herself a plastic cup with something that may have been coffee half an hour ago, but now tasted more like muddy water and got back to the frozen avalanche of yellowish paper waiting patiently on her desk.

She placed the cup on the wooden surface after taking one unpleasant sip from it. At least the vapid taste and the remainders of caffeine refreshed her head in a strange way.

"Now, where to start?"

Reaching out, she took the top file of one of the stacks, carefully holding the unstapled pages, so they wouldn't scatter on the floor. The paper folder was old and darkened from the moisture. It was full with notes, forms and unattached fragments of paper. Just like most of the archived cases. Anna was sure the department just shoved the files in some basement with endless shelves above aluminum office cabinets and waited for the next intern to do the unpleasant work. At least that way she learned things she never had in university.

After placing the folder in front of her she took out from one of the drawers of her desk a pen and a notepad so she could write down notes. The case was about a robbery and manslaughter. The defense had pleaded for a sentence reduction due to extenuating circumstances. The judge had approved the request and had lessened the sentence by ten years. The next one was about a kidnapping, the defendant was found innocent on all charges. Anna stopped counting after the fifth folder. All of these pages filled with pain and suffering, laid out in words like mundane details of everyday life were making her nauseated. She could feel the weight of every page in her mind.

The next case was of considerably recent date: just a few months ago. Among the documents had been attached the report of a psychiatric evaluation.

_The defendant was found mentally unstable, with tendencies of self harm and suicidal intention. Unable to process reality and to distinguish good from bad._

_Conclusion: The defendant cannot take responsibility for his actions and is considered a threat to himself and society. Psychiatric treatment is recommended in a specialized facility._

_Psychiatrist: Dr. Jonathan Crane._

"Dr. Jonathan Crane," She murmured quietly, tracing the letters with the tip of her fingers without realizing what she was doing. The name was familiar to her; she could remember seeing it in some other files. He was the director of Elizabeth Arkham Asylum, the only psychiatric institution in Gotham. All she knew about Dr. Crane was that he was a brilliant doctor, actually the youngest director in the history of Arkham, a real accomplishment, and that he avoided being in the social spotlight. He rarely was seen outside his asylum and kept to himself. Personally, she never had met him, didn't even know what he looked like. The few times Anna heard his name mentioned in the office, she recalled that it wasn't with many positive comments. Rachel in particular wasn't very fond of the doctor as it seemed, and had made some sharp comments once. Anna wasn't sure but it may have been concerning the case she was now perusing through.

The fingers of her left hand began to fidget with the lock behind her ear, while she was scribbling something on the notepad unconsciously with the other one. Her gaze slid to the almost fully written out page under her hand. Among the various notes and absent mindedly produced swirls, her pen was resting on the curve of a capital "J", followed by a "C", both carved deep in the paper as a result of repeating the lines. Anna contemplated the letters before realizing they were initials: the initials of Jonathan Crane. It confused her; she didn't have the slightest idea why she had wrote them down. Her immediate reaction was to scratch out the letters with the pen and not pay attention, pretending this never happened. Her hand moved the pen with quick, jittery movements, nearly breaking the paper from the pressure and the soaking ink.

Shaking off the unnerving feeling with a shiver, Anna turned her attention back to the spread pages before her. The defendant was declared temporary insane and sent to Arkham for treatment, which meant that the possibility of being released after a second evaluation in some months or a few years at most was more than probable. And then he would be free again to flood the streets of Gotham with drugs, to maim and kill its citizens unpunished. Just like the hundreds, no thousands of killers, robbers, drug dealers terrorizing this city day and night.

Anna flipped another page of her notepad and jotted down some notes. Dr Crane was a psychiatrist, so his job was to put the mentally ill under medical care, as the job of their department was to lock them in prison. Her opinion didn't really matter, she was just an intern.

Closing her eyes, Anna felt tiredness permeating her whole being. She did the only thing she could think of against the upcoming headache and vertigo: she pressed her closed eyes with the palms of her hands. Soothing darkness enveloped her, scattering her thoughts and leading her mind through distant paths. She set her forearms on the desk, making a support for her weary head.

"Anna?" A voice sounded above her. She raised her head, blinking a few times in effort to focus her foggy vision. It was Rachel Dawes' secretary, a cheerful and friendly girl that always wore some shade of too bright nail polish. "Miss Dawes wants to see you in her office." The girl was looking at Anna with worry. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, my eyes are just strained from all the reading." Anna smiled through her weariness. "I am coming in a minute."

The girl threw a glance to the scattered papers, then looked at her with understanding and walked away. Anna pressed her temples to relieve the pressure. After staying that way for a few seconds she stood up slowly, heading for Rachel's office. She straightened her clothes and tried to look as representative as possible after spending hours at her desk reading through piles of mould pages with unpleasant content. Her bun was messier so she tucked the straying tresses behind her ears, brushing the back of her head with hand to ensure that the unsteady construction will hold up.

Not knowing the reason she was called, Anna was a little worried. She hoped it wasn't because of her being late again that morning. Anna reached the door, took a deep breath and turned the handle.

"You wanted to see me?" She asked after stepping in and closing the door behind her. Mentally, she scolded herself for the timid way her voice sounded.

Rachel raised her head from some file she was reading. "Yes," she waved her hand to one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Please, sit."

Anna approached the desk with carefully measured steps. The move she made to take a seat was less graceful than she intended. Acquiring a rather stiff posture she straightened her back and tensed her shoulders a little. Anna felt like a schoolgirl that's going to get reproached, hoping she didn't look the same way.

Rachel closed the folder from which she was reading then put her hands on the desk before her, focusing all her attention on the intern. Trying not to show her nervousness Anna followed every move of her boss, searching for a sign where this was going. The anxiety only contributed to her growing headache.

"You've been here for little over a month," Rachel interrupted her thoughts. "Do you like working here?"

Shifting in her seat, Anna answered. "Yes, I do. I learned a lot for the past month."

Somehow, she didn't sound convincing in her own head but couldn't think of a better answer. If she was going to stay at the department, she would have to gain more self confidence. Right now it seemed the hardest thing to achieve.

"Do you feel ready to be assigned to an actual case?" Rachel asked.

The surprise didn't allow Anna to answer until a few seconds passed. She wasn't sure she had heard right. Blinking several times in order to process what Rachel said, she asked "You are offering me to work on a real case?"

Rachel nodded "Yes, I believe you are prepared to take part in an actual lawsuit."

Overcoming her excitement Anna only smiled in response. "Thank you for the opportunity, I appreciate it."

"For now you'll have smaller obligations, but you'll attend meetings and discussions, and maybe you could be present at the court sessions. Although most of the time you'll be an observer, I think seeing and taking part in the process will be to your benefit."

"Does that mean I won't be sorting paperwork anymore?"

Rachel smiled. "You could put it that way."

Smiling in response, Anna raised a hand to adjust the ever persistent lock of hair behind her ear. She realized the gesture and dropped her hand back to her lap.

Rachel took the closed folder, handing it to Anna. "Here is all the information we have on the case of George Swale. He was arrested while trying to import illegal substances in the country. Take this and read it carefully."

Taking the folder with a nod, Anna stood up with the intention to leave the room.

"I hope you know that it won't be easy." Rachel's voice stopped her mid-step, just before she reached for the handle. "And I don't mean it for this particular case, or because you are new. There are a very few people you could trust in this city. Basically, what we are doing is a hopeless cause."

Smiling half-heartedly Anna looked at Rachel, then opened the door and got back to her desk with mind deep in thought. She wasn't here because she believed she could change something: that would be too naive. You try to change the world, but in the end the world changes you.

The one thing she had learned in her life was that hope wasn't for the hopeless. And she had lost her hope long ago, along with the little child that cried in the dark behind a locked basement door. That child never left the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Batman characters.

**Chapter 2 **

The faintly lit, long and lifeless hallways of Blackgate Penitentiary contributed in making the atmosphere there resembling to that of Arkham. With one difference. In Arkham there was a constant smell of sterile disinfectant, always lingering in the stiff, stagnant air, filling the darkened whiteness of the halls and cells of the Asylum. Here the colors were more yellowish and dingy, but both places had a sickening, suffocating feel to them.

Jonathan had developed something akin to immunity to the consuming forces of such institutions. He felt comfortable in this environment, which he managed to convert to his own element. Here he was the one in control. Or maybe his own immense darkness, residing inside his mind and soul had found fruitful soil to flourish. He didn't know and didn't allow his mind to wander off to places that were better left forgotten, keeping secrets buried long ago. If he could help it.

Instead of making him apprehensive, those life draining places filled him with a sense of superiority and ill peace. Now, as he strode with confident, prompt steps through the hallways of Blackgate Prison that familiar feeling of dominance gave its way inside him. He wasn't frightened of the shadows anymore, wasn't lost inside their darkness. He controlled the darkness now. Possessed it. Not the other way around. This thought sent a shiver down his spine, spreading through his entire body.

Jonathan's glasses were the only thing reflecting the dull light in the hallway. Behind the reflection gazed bright blue eyes. So bright and clear, it was hard to believe they could hide such immeasurable darkness. Until they bored into some unfortunate soul who dared to hold his gaze long enough to glimpse inside the depths those eyes were hiding.

All of his attention and the strength of his stare were directed on some distant spot in the far end of the hall. He didn't turn his head to look at the prison official, a woman in her forties who was wearing a neat but dull suit, while she informed him of the prisoner's condition and behavior since Jonathan's last visit. He only replied in a low, professional tone, agreeing with most of what she was saying.

As she was trying to keep with the pace of his long strides, she constantly glanced in his direction, expecting some kind of flicker in his expression, only to find no visible reaction.

His face was immutable. It seemed to her that his lips were curled in a slight smirk. Or maybe it was his high cheekbones, even more prominent when his face was viewed in profile that gave him a smug expression. It didn't occur to her that no one that young should have such power over others, especially when he was not even looking directly in their eyes. His boyish face only contributed to the contrast of the stern coldness those eyes exuded, making his overall appearance unnerving.

They reached a solid door with two guards placed on both sides of it, talking and sniggering at something. When the guards spotted the two approaching figures they went silent immediately, stepping into their positions.

"Swale hasn't been violent, but his behavior is concerning." said the prison official, when they hailed to a stop. Turning to Jonathan she finally met his eyes. There she saw the same nonchalance that she was used to, but still something inside of her stomach churned. She continued. "If you need anything, just press the button on the cell wall."

"I am aware of the procedures when attending an evaluation meeting, Mrs. Smith." Jonathan spoke with his even professional voice. "I won't be needing assistance, thank you." He clasped his briefcase with both hands in front of him, the move emphasizing his elegant, lean posture.

"Then I will leave you to your work." She made a gesture to the guards, indicating that Jonathan voiced the orders from now on. The two men nodded and straightened their backs, casting brief glances towards him. Turning once again to Jonathan she said. "I will be in my office." And with that she spun around, walking away.

Without deigning another look in the direction of the prison guards, Jonathan entered the room, closing the door behind him.

George Swale greeted him, sitting in one of two chairs in the room with elbows popped on the bare surface of a metallic table. His lips were contorted in a half smile.

"Thanks for dropping by, Dr. Crane." He folded his arms in front of him, inclining himself forward with some kind of nervous agitation.

Jonathan approached the unoccupied chair on the nearer side of the table. Placing carefully his briefcase on the cold plane, he took a sit, never losing his perfect posture. He inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. His eyes were impassive as he stared at the jittery man before him.

This was their third so called evaluation session and Jonathan was beginning to grow bored with the lack of something even remotely interesting about the man's psyche. Aware that wasn't the primary reason for their professional meetings, Jonathan had decided that if he was going to use Swale for his studies and personal enjoyment it was preferable to learn something about him. Something, that would help him afflict his most weak and vulnerable foible. After all everyone had weaknesses, it was just that people tended to emphasize on the physical dispositions, not paying heed to the mental ones.

However, if someone could recognize what power the human mind held over the body, over one's primal instincts, that someone was Jonathan. It was fascinating, the possibilities of exploring and manipulating such force, for his own benefit and imposing superiority. For his own pleasure. The same jolt ran through his nervous system, echoing with shivering ache, but his body did not register any physical manifestations of the musings and inner cravings of his mind.

All of his life everyone around him had underestimated him, failing to take into account the hidden strength his thin body held, forgetting what damage the unseen force of one's mind could cause. Until it was too late. Jonathan did not mind waiting, observing patiently from the side how a frail sanity would begin to give way to its unsteady foundations, fret with childhood fears, suppressed traumas and hidden phobias. How the smallest of cracks would begin to split the surface, merging together into larger ones, until the fragile frame holding the mind together shattered into small fragments. Then he would step in, relishing in all the terrors, nightmares, being let loose from their hiding place deep within the darkest corners of the unfortunate sub conscious.

The man that sat before him, watching him with a sly smile on his thin lips, wasn't exactly bulky or heavily muscled, but he was noticeably larger and stronger than Jonathan. The doctor observed the conceit spread all over his face, the repellent glee in his eyes full with insolence.

Even the strongest man have their weaknesses, no matter how neglected the development of their mentality may be. Swale was a typical thug; doing services for the mafia, which included robbing, killing, threatening. Certainly nothing out of the ordinary, at least not for this city. But Jonathan knew everyone had hidden secrets, somewhere deep inside and unraveling those of Swale would make the result of the trials all the more interesting and exciting. Especially the ways those results were going to be achieved. That was the primary reason for the whole effort, and Jonathan was sure it was going to be worth the time invested in it.

"What are we going to chat about today, Doctor?" Swale asked after a short moment of silence, during which Jonathan's eyes were fixed on the criminal, studying him. That obviously wasn't appreciated by Swale, who moved anxiously in his chair.

"I have a few questions I had prepared for our meeting today." Jonathan spoke with coldness, which made Swale quiver, even though he tried to conceal it with another nervous fidget. He spread his elbows on the table with hands folded in front of him in an attempt to gain some territory, trying to prevail over the other one's presence. Apparently he had forgotten that the man sitting across the table was a psychiatrist who had talents in reading body language.

"If you have specific requests considering the topic, I would be glad to hear what you may have in mind." Jonathan continued calmly.

Swale laughed, but it came out forced and unsure.

"Dr. Crane, I thought those sessions were just so the whole thing would look plausible." He licked his lips, which seemed even thinner. "As far as I know you just have to fill some forms, isn't that right?" After not receiving the reaction he expected, Swale pushed a little further. "What is this all about?"

Jonathan sighed, adjusting his glasses with well calculated move. So Swale wasn't that stupid after all. Not that it made any difference whatsoever. "Mr. Swale, I would appreciate it if you keep your opinions to yourself." Jonathan's brow furrowed in annoyance. "But if you insist on knowing the reason for our conversations, then I will tell you. I simply need detailed information in order to be as convincing in the report I have to present to the judge as I can." His eyes grew even colder, boring into Swale's dull ones, who blinked a few times under the pressure of the gaze. It looked like an anxious tic. "I hope you didn't forget your diagnosis will be nothing more than a fictitious one."

Jonathan wasn't making an effort to hide the smugness in his voice. He just contemplated the subtle restlessness, which Swale didn't manage to hide too well, despite the efforts he was putting into it. It was obvious that the time he had spent in prison, although not very long, had negative influence on his psyche. Slowly it was getting to him, the long hours spent in a small bleak space with nothing but his thoughts. This seemed to have lowered his defensive mechanisms, making the outside reality more distant. Or maybe he had stronger inclinations towards breakdowns and had ineffective coping mechanisms. Jonathan smirked mentally. There was always the best possibility, that the situation would evoke some suppressed fears or even phobias. Even if it didn't, he as a dedicated professional would help him. If Swale did not have schizophrenic, paranoiac, manic or any other abnormal mental tendencies, it was more than likely that he would develop them after their evaluation sessions with the help of Jonathan's fear toxin.

Swale stared at the doctor with a pensive expression, nodding slightly while reflecting on Jonathan's words. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence he said. "I still don't like it and don't see the point of the whole thing. Either way you will write something that's not true. All this talking is just useless." He shifted in his seat with uneasy move, which didn't pass unnoticed for Jonathan.

The doctor's lips curled slightly in the corners. His eyes remained emotionless. "So, you find our meetings useless? Then I would have to remind you, that my recommendations in court will be getting you out of at least a fifteen year sentence. You should be more careful when choosing your words." Jonathan drew his briefcase nearer and pushed the clips with both hands. "Now I think we can continue with the essential part of our meeting."

Giddiness crossed his face, while opening the case and observing its contents. Jonathan's fingers brushed slightly the brown burlap mask that rested inside, taking in the ragged feeling which was tingling his fingertips. It was so real, physical, almost sensual against his skin. He was eager to pull it out and introduce it to his conversation partner, along with some fear toxin. But here was not the perfect place to do it. Not that he worried being caught, that wasn't his main concern, although such possibility existed. It was just the fact that here, he wouldn't have enough time to perform and complete the task properly; there weren't enough conditions for gathering and recording information. But mostly, and he had to admit it to himself, the risks and possible complications, for which he had to be alert, wouldn't allow him to enjoy himself, to be in control.

He preferred to wait until Swale was moved to Arkham, when he would be left under the doctor's care for treatment. The darkness flooded his mind, humming like a white noise in the edge of his consciousness. Jonathan felt temptation and excitement built inside him, permeating every part of his being. He couldn't allow the darkness to come now; he had to stay calm and focused. With a steady breath he composed himself, without letting Swale notice anything.

Jonathan's fingers left the stitched burlap and moved to the opposite side of the briefcase. There were a set of arraigned syringes with needles containing a clear liquid with just a slight cyan hue. If he couldn't gas Swale now, that didn't mean he couldn't subject him to his fear toxin, even if the form wasn't that strong and the effect was far milder. The best results were produced when the gas was inhaled. That was the proper way it had to be administered, if one needed immediate results. However there were situations which required more convenient ways to deliver the substance. It was more subtle and discreet to mix the toxin with a sedative and to inject it into the unsuspecting test subject. It wasn't difficult to produce the liquid form. With minor alterations it had the same effect, only far from the potency of the concentrated substance when inhaled.

If Swale was reluctant to cooperate by confessing his darkest fears or simply never had the chance to face what terrified him, Jonathan was more than willing to help him. After all, doctors have to be there for their patients and help them stand against their fears and uncertainties and to overcome them. In that case just evoking the horror and letting it take control, anyway.

Jonathan unlatched one of the syringes with his slim fingers from its bedding and slid it into his sleeve, with the needle pointing to his palm. He managed to do this swift trick without puncturing himself with the exposed sharp tip of the needle. With his other hand he took a notepad, while finding a pen with his right one, then closed the briefcase and moved it down, beside the table.

Swale snorted in a mocking manner. "Doctor, you are really overdoing it. Now you look like a shrink for sure." His eyes shifted from the notepad to Jonathan's face a couple of times.

"Mr. Swale, I think we already established the purpose of our meetings and the way they have been and are going to be held." Jonathan crossed his legs and put the notepad on his knee, balancing it with one hand and pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose with the other one. His pose exuded both authority and non threatening ease. "Now, since we cleared aside the insignificant matters, I think we can begin our session. As you know our time is limited." And he wasn't going to waste his time here with one of Falcone's men. One more reason to do this quickly and to move things to his territory at Arkham. There he could take his time with Swale. And he would. Jonathan tried to ignore the hissing noise that spread in his mind at those thoughts.

Swale slacked back in his chair with his hands still on the table. He watched Jonathan from under his eyebrows with head lowered to his chest. He didn't say anything, didn't make a remark, just watched with a little smile on his pale lips.

Jonathan loosened his shoulders, as if making himself ready to write down notes.

"Since you don't have any objections, I think we can begin." He lifted his gaze from the page and brought down all of its cold strength onto Swale. "Mr. Swale, did you have any negative experiences since you've been moved here? Any sleep problems, anxiety, intrusive thoughts?"

"As you can see for yourself, Doctor, I've been better. But I guess the reason is that I am in prison." He sniggered and craned his head. His smile faded. "I am sure you won't be at your best if you stay here for a couple of weeks with those scumbags and that awful food. What do you expect? To say I am insane? Well I am not crazy." Swale narrowed his eyes. "But you already know that."

With unaffected expression Jonathan lowered his gaze to write something down.

"As far as I know, you had mental problems in the past." His eyes darted to Swale's nervously blinking ones. "Do you have a motive for your crimes? Ever felt remorse afterwards? Do you enjoy it?"

Swale leaned against the table again. Jonathan could tell the man was getting irritated and hardly controlled his tics. "I think I already told you there is nothing wrong with me. I don't know where you come up with these stupid questions."

Jonathan smirked ever so slightly. Swale was too easy to manipulate. "For someone who has no problems you act rather agitated Mr. Swale. Whatever is bothering you, it would be wise to share it with your doctor. I am your mental counselor after all. Or maybe there is something you don't want to share." He tilted his head in such a way that the reflection didn't allow the other man to see his eyes. It seemed to unnerve Swale even more. "Maybe you have a repressed trauma, or other unpleasant experiences. But by the nervous fidgeting and the cold sweat breaking on your forehead, I suggest a slight drug withdrawal." Jonathan made a pause as if contemplating an important fact. "That would be a good diagnosis. Do you hear voices, Mr. Swale? Long periods of drug abuse can lead to schizophrenic conditions. Even if they are only temporary episodes."

Swale clenched his teeth and seethed through. "Hey Doctor, I won't take that from you, I don't care what connects you with Falcone"

"It's enough for you to know that what connects me with him will be moving you out of here and into Arkham. You are not in a position to make objections." said Jonathan in a cold voice.

Swale trembled in frustration. "I don't know what you are trying to do here Doctor, but for your own good you better stop it."

"Mr. Swale, it's hard for me to understand why you are complaining, since that was the initial plan. My involvement is limited to testifying in court. Or maybe there is something else that is concerning you. Do you have nightmares since you've been moved here?"

"Doctor, this is getting too far. Stop or you will be sorry. Go ask some of your patients your stupid questions, if you are so interested why they are crazy. I am not mad."

Jonathan put the notepad on the table, carefully placing the pen on top of it and uncrossed his legs. Swale didn't notice how his relaxed posture faded, as his muscles tensed under his suit in anticipation. So far everything was turning out as expected. Jonathan could see the exasperation fuming in Swale's eyes. The larger man's hands were clenched into fists and he was breathing heavily.

"Do you want to know what is of real interest to me, Mr. Swale?" Jonathan asked with low, calm voice. "Fear. I find it intriguing." He made a pause, waiting for the words to reach Swale's overexcited brain, while watching carefully his reactions.

Jonathan continued. "Fear is a very interesting human emotion. Actually its nature is very primal and basic. It can be a very terrifying and illogical emotion. Like phobias for example. There is no coherent reason for any human being to fear insects, heights, closed spaces; those are the most widespread ones." His tone reminded of a teacher lecturing an ignorant child. "But what about fear of feathers, also known as pteronophobia for example? What harm could a feather do to someone? There are even more uncommon and strange phobias. The fact that the majority of people do not comprehend how a person can fear feathers to the point of excruciating panic, does not lessen or ease the person's panic at all."

He watched the confusion written on Swale's face. Jonathan smirked and continued with voice laced with smugness.

"Fear is not always harmful. Sometimes it can help you. It can mobilize your body, pumping adrenaline into your bloodstream, focusing all your physical and mental resources at the only important task at hand. Surviving the threat. The line between pure terror that renders you helpless, unable to defend yourself, leaving you numb, and the fear that sends stimuli to your nervous system, forcing it to take action and run from the source is a very thin one. And sometimes human brain can't see a difference between what is dangerous and what is not."

His smile twisted wider, but his eyes remained cold. Swale wasn't able to move, only blinked away the sweat forming on his brow.

"Can you imagine how would it feel if all your fears emerge from your subconscious and become so real, you can't tell which ones are and which ones are not? What would you do then? Run? Scream? Or just stay frozen in your spot covering your head with arms, shrieking until they devour you?

Jonathan leaned forward, so that Swale could feel the full relentless power of his stare.

"Now, tell me Mr. Swale, what do you fear?"

Swale shivered and visibly came to his senses. "I don't have any idea what this is all about, but you are sick." He gulped.

"Oh no, you are the sick one, or at least you will be soon. It will be interesting to discover what your inclinations are." The words were pronounced in a mocking manner. "Everyone reacts in a different way to my treatment. I wonder what makes a strong and tough man like you scream and cry from terror."

In the next moment Swale lunged forward, reaching out over the table, almost knocking it down. His large hand shot out and caught Jonathan's tie and shirt, yanking the doctor to him, only inches separating their faces.

"You'll be sorry…" Swale couldn't finish.

With one swift movement of his arm Jonathan retracted the syringe out of his sleeve and wrapped his fingers around the container, driving its needle deep into Swale's neck. The grip on the doctor's shirt immediately loosened. Jonathan could see the surprise, confusion and yes, fear in Swale's eyes. The prisoner's hand dropped to the table as his body began to slump over the white reflecting surface.

Jonathan rose from his chair, stepping aside while adjusting his tie and his not so smooth shirt under his sweater vest.

"What have you done to me?" Swale managed to sputter out, his arms and legs twitching with mild contractions. His body was quivering.

"It will be over soon. I gave you a sedative." In fact it was only the beginning. But there was no need to burden Swale's incapacitated brain with that knowledge.

Jonathan waited a couple of minutes for the strong sedative to take effect. Soon Swale's movements subsided and with a final shudder he slipped into unconsciousness.

Jonathan took a deep breath, reached for his briefcase and smoothed his suit one last time before he exited the room, leaving Swale to experience the not so pleasant aftermaths of his fear toxin. Outside the two guards still stood next to the door. They looked at him in expectance.

Jonathan cleared his throat. "I had to sedate him." He said while brushing strands of mussed dark hair away from his glasses. "He had a violent outburst and tried to attack me."

The two guards exchanged unbelieving looks, then stared at him with incredulous expressions on their faces. "You handled him by yourself?" Their eyes ran over his thin frame in disbelief.

Jonathan did not bother to conceal the annoyance in his voice. "I didn't have time to call for assistance."

With that he turned away from the guards and walked down the corridor leaving them wondering how come the larger man was the one left sprawled helpless on the table.

Jonathan had other things to think about, while he waited for the results his cocktail was going to produce on Swale's cracking mind. He checked his wristwatch and sighed in an irritated manner. In an hour he had a meeting with Rachel Dawes from the DA's office. Nothing could ruin his day like a meeting with this pesky woman. He promised to himself to use the toxin on her if he ever had a chance. With these thoughts he walked through the poorly lit corridors, heading for the exit, his glasses the only surface reflecting the light, never reaching the darkness below.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to all who read and reviewed. You don't know how happy you make me. Here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Batman characters.

**Chapter 3**

Nearing Arkham Asylum with every step she took, Anna felt the cold, bleak building hovering above the grounds like undefined threat looming over the unsuspecting beings below. The feeling was almost surreal, awakening and stirring memories that had been suppressed in the distant corners of her conscious. She never had been in the Narrows before. The reputation of the place was well known and widespread throughout Gotham and beyond its borders. She secretly wished that she would never have to cross that bridge and see for herself why everyone was avoiding the island. And she wouldn't have to, if Rachel wasn't stuck in court in an important meeting she had to be present for.

So now Anna was walking through the Narrows, heading to the solid darkened building of Arkham Asylum, its silhouette giving her an ominous feel deep in her stomach. The gray, almost toxic purple clouds that were concentrating their tattered masses in the low sky weren't helping her impression of the place. She felt as if something invisible was lurking in the air around her, but finally concluded that it was the electricity from the upcoming storm, combined with her nervousness. Still, she didn't like the place. The heavy building in front of her was standing in the center of this decaying place, as if it was feeding on the eeriness and hopelessness around it. It was like a black pulsating heart, keeping a disfigured organism alive by draining almost all the energy out of it, leaving just enough so that it could continue to exist.

Anna shuddered and tried to push these thoughts out of her head.

She walked inside and made her way to the reception, while looking around her surroundings. Everything was white, but not a bright white, like in a normal hospital. It seemed dulled somehow. She felt something heavy, stiff in the air, and it wasn't just the smell of disinfectant and medication; it was the place itself.

She didn't like hospitals, never did, but this was worse than a hospital. There were strange and unpleasant noises coming from somewhere in the back. Metal doors shutting, people hurrying, and other sounds she couldn't distinguish, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. There were nurses and doctors walking about on the first floor in white lab coats and uniforms. Everything was sickeningly white in this place. Even the light that the fluorescent lamps were casting was sterile white, but it wasn't bright. Everything was darkened.

She reached the reception, where a young nurse looked at her with inquiring look in her eyes. "Can I help you?"

Anna smiled as much as the environment allowed her. "Yes, I am from the DA's office. I have an appointment with Dr. Crane."

The nurse checked something in the papers, spread in front of her. "Yes." To Anna's surprise she returned her smile with a faint one. At least not everything in here was that dispiriting. "Follow me, he is in his office."

Anna took a calming breath and followed the nurse through some scarcely lit hallway.

Jonathan was standing by the window in his office, gazing through at the overcast sky with heavy dark clouds. It looked as if the sky above would open at any moment and pour out in a torrent of rain and wind over the numb ground below, but it wouldn't. Jonathan could feel the electric tension in the air preceding the storm crawling over his skin. But relief was not coming. The clouds continued to amass, obstructing the little sunlight that reached the Narrows, making the early afternoon feel more like fading evening with the dark shadows and overtones the Asylum was casting outside. The mood of the bleak scenery corresponded to the inner state of his mind and soothed him. For a few prolonged moments he was taking in the gray lines of the urban scenery before him, letting the feeling of dark placidity overcome him. He rarely allowed himself to be lost in such a contemplative moment, and after a few calm breaths decided that admiring the dull view outside was enough for now.

He just needed a moment for himself, to compose the thoughts reeling inside his mind after what happened in Blackgate Penitentiary. There were still pleasant shreds of excitement crawling in him, and as much as he enjoyed the aftermaths of the feeling, spreading like a perfect concentrated circles in a dark distant lake, he needed to shut it down and shove it deep inside his darkness. He needed to be composed for the meeting with Rachel Dawes. He wasn't concerned about her sensing something, or him showing it. Not at all. He just needed to accumulate as much patience as possible, so he could go through the meeting without earning himself a headache. Every time he had to go into a discussion with that self-righteous woman she was advancing on him with her annoying questions. Annoying, just as she was. He always thought that puritan views were hypocritical in their very core and pitied the people who insisted on defending such empty and fake believes. Well, not that there was immunity to mental blindness. He was sure he wasn't preserved fully from such mistakes, and that was what made him confident. Being aware of the possibility of a mistake is the first step to avoiding that same mistake.

Jonathan sighed and moved away from the window to his desk. Everything on the top of it was neat and put in order. All the folders, the papers, every item was on its proper place, methodically arranged. Not even a pen or a pencil was impairing the perfect orderly condition of his desk. The same was true for the state in which he kept his office. There was not much except his desk, some cabinets filled with files, chairs, couch, the coat rack where he kept his lab coat when he was leaving and his suit jacket when he was coming to work.

Some might say that this almost sterile medium reflected the emptiness of its occupant. How wrong would they be. The truth was Jonathan didn't want the others to be allowed that glimpse inside his true self, whatever it was they would see there. He didn't want his surroundings to reflect his inner self. How could some boring inanimate objects describe a person? He didn't need a picture on the wall, a flower or a tasteless cheap souvenir on his desk to express himself, to feel someone. He was someone already, more than the others could imagine. So the coldness of his office was enough, and suited him in a way. Somehow it showed everything, but revealed nothing.

He had just seated down behind the desk and straightened his lab coat when a knock resounded in the room. Jonathan eased in his not stiff, but not flagging professional pose and said with an equally professional and somewhat cold voice, "Come in."

A nurse stepped in warily, with eyes planted on the floor. It took her a couple of second to lift her gaze so she could look Jonathan in the eyes. He seemed to have this effect on people, especially his employees. He wasn't one to flatter himself, but such display of uneasiness towards him—uneasiness caused by him—always made something inside him hum, spreading sickly warm darkness inside him.

The young nurse took a breath, then said, "Dr. Crane, I am sorry to bother you, but someone from the DA's office is here to see you."

A slight smile touched the corners of his lips ever so slightly. He was sure that one significant part of the nurse's uneasiness was actually fear. He didn't know if she realized it or not, but it didn't really matter. Fear lurked below and slithered its tentacles, spreading its effects, uncaring if the victim was aware of its presence or not. To Jonathan it was a sweet sensation either way. And now he could see those tentacles probing the mind of the nurse, without her realization or consent. It was beautiful. For a moment he indulged himself imagining how her screams would sound and her body would tremble with horror. She had a lot of potential he wouldn't mind exploring.

Looking like his collected and professional self, Jonathan said. "Tell her to come in."

The nurse nodded an unsure "Yes, Doctor," sliding her gaze back to the floor in a gesture that showed all of her defenses lowering before she opened the door and slipped outside in a hurry.

Jonathan continued looking at the closed door after she left. Pleasurable thoughts and activities would have to wait for now. Now he had to brace and prepare himself for one long and agonizingly annoying meeting with a woman that had the rarest of talents: to grind on his nerves until he had to clench his jaw in frustration so he could contain himself from doing something thoughtless. He never would, but the feeling and the willingness were there, which was more than enough to ruin his day.

He just had a minute to prepare himself mentally, when the door slid open and he saw someone take a step inside the office. To his surprise it wasn't Rachel Dawes.

The young woman softly closed the door behind her and made another step. She stood still for a few moments, unsure of what exactly to say, or how to begin.

In front of him was a woman who looked struggling to keep herself calm, when actually the nervousness streamed out of her. She was the absolute opposite of Rachel Dawes. Instead of self-assurance and confidence, the woman that entered his office showed unmistakable signs of shyness. She was clutching some folders in front of her, like a protective wall from an unnamed social threat, her other hand was squeezing the handle of her business bag in some unrealized rhythm, making her knuckles turn white and pink repeatedly. The collar of her creamy-colored shirt was lifted slightly around the pulse of her neck, showing her labored breathing. Jonathan was sure her heart beat was also increased, but he couldn't examine it physically for obvious reasons, although he wouldn't mind feeling a fear-racing heart against his hand. At that though his own steady heart beat was disrupted, but just for a brief second. For a moment he was absorbed in analyzing every physical and mental sign he could discern on her face and body. So the woman was suffering from a mild panic attack, maybe due to social anxiety. That intrigued him to say the least.

Finally, she said with a little hesitation in her voice. "Dr. Crane, I'm Anna Daniels from the DA's office."

She was trying to hold his piercing blue gaze, but eventually failed, looking down quickly, then lifting her eyes to meet his again. He smiled inwardly at that simple display of weakness, which she obviously didn't realize she was showing. It would be much easier to deal with this one.

"I've been expecting you, or rather, I was expecting Ms. Dawes. Please, have a sit." Jonathan said calmly, and gestured to one of the chairs.

Anna placed the folders on the desk, and her bag at the side of the chair then sat carefully down, trying to avoid Jonathan's eyes. "Ms. Dawes couldn't come today, because of an unexpected appointment. I am working on the case of George Swale and I am familiar with the specifics. I'm sorry if this causes you any inconvenience."

Jonathan observed her as she gathered the courage to deliver the words without stuttering. Her insecurity and nervousness was really amusing and he didn't want to admit it, but he found her behavior fascinating. After all, these signs were bordering with fear, from which they were separated just by a thin line that could easily be erased. Right now he could feel the temptation to erase the line, but knew well enough that he couldn't. At least for now. The temptation could be elating just as much as the action itself.

Jonathan replied in his most professional tone, "Ms Daniels, for me it doesn't matter with whom exactly I would discuss my case. The details of my report would be unaffected by such a change, so I wouldn't call this an inconvenience."

Anna smiled with uneasiness. "I am glad that the absence of Miss Dawes isn't going to cause any problems in working with you, Dr. Crane."

He noticed how her hand came to her ear, twirling with a strand of her hair in an absent minded way. Like a nervous tic of which she was unaware. Her brown hair was lifted in a bun, which wasn't perfect, but was charming in its imperfection. Little strands were straying and were framing her face. For a brief moment, she reminded Jonathan of those kinds of classic paintings in which a girl is turning slightly aside, exposing her ivory neck, with a hand running from the back of her head following the lovely curve. Or maybe a beautiful black and white photograph. He found interesting the associations one's mind is capable of producing sometimes. Anna's movements weren't that ethereal or graceful; they were nervous and a little awkward, but the resemblance was very clear in that moment. Maybe it was the softness she radiated, the softness in her movements, in her eyes. She had deep brown eyes that reminded him of impenetrable wall of darkness, while she looked at him as if from a distance.

Anna realized her unconscious gesture and removed her hand from her hair. With that the moment was gone. Either way, he wouldn't allow himself to be distracted, not by such a means. Yet he couldn't deny he enjoyed her small reactions that gave away her insecurity. Maybe this meeting wasn't going to be so unpleasant after all.

"One shouldn't let personal matters interfere with one's professional relations or his work," Jonathan said with cold politeness. "Now, if you don't mind, I suggest we move on to the actual reason for this meeting."

Jonathan tilted his head slightly, as if observing her, and a faint smile graced his lips but not his eyes. They remained cold like ice. The smile seemed to make her even more uncomfortable than his stare.

Anna responded with uneasy smile. "Of course, Dr. Crane. I wouldn't want to be interrupting your work for too long."

"There are always matters to be attended in such an institution Ms. Daniels." Jonathan said with his most condescending tone. "But I think I can afford to spend some time to discuss an important matter, such as the case of George Swale. After all, it is part of my job obligations."

Red waves flushed her cheeks, either from humiliation from the way he responded or from the pressure of his gaze, or maybe both. It didn't matter. He was the one leading the conversation and keeping the situation under control. He was almost certain that this was one of her first actual meetings, if not the first meeting, on a case. Part of Jonathan felt a little pang of regret at how easy it was to shatter the little comfort she had left, while she was struggling to overcome her rush of anxiety.

While her face was still burning from the blush, something sparked in her eyes and a faint shadow went across her face. He could sense a certain bitterness and realization in her eyes at his display of arrogance. The blood began to withdraw from her cheeks as she lifted her chin, still watching him as if from somewhere distant. Obviously, the anxiety attack was subsiding and she managed to regain some of her self control.

She continued ignoring his stern words. "Our investigation discovered new information about the case and revealed some of Swale's connections with the criminal underground." She opened the folder and turned over a few pages. "We were able to obtain his medical records, and there was nothing out of the ordinary."

"A man working for the mob has a legitimate medical history?" Jonathan asked with the same condescending tone, placing his hands on the desk while leaning forward. He knew everything about George Swale, since Falcone has supplied him with the information. This wasn't impeding his confidence at playing unaware.

Anna mirrored his movement, but in the opposite way. She leaned back and slouched her shoulders a little. Another submissive subconscious gesture. At least her subconscious was sending her the correct signals, but Jonathan knew that people ignored their instincts—which were far more correct most of the time then their reasonable conclusions—until it was too late. He didn't mind that in the least.

Anna took a breath and continued. "Before he got into the criminal circles, he obviously had a medical file. Nothing out of the ordinary for a teenager." She hurried to explain. "At that time his mob career began." Anna flipped a few more pages. "He had drug dependency problem and was admitted with an overdose at sixteen. He also had aggressive tendencies, but I guess that is typical for most teenagers."

"I wouldn't suggest you to make any conclusions for which you are not qualified, Ms. Daniels." Jonathan's voice was like velvet on ice and Anna had to cover up a shiver by tucking another strand of hair behind her ear. "I wouldn't be so bold about my opinion considering the professional field in which I am not knowledgeable."

"I didn't mean to offend you or your abilities as a professional, Dr. Crane." There was bitterness in her voice, but not enough for it to sound sardonic. "I thought that information would be important for your evaluation, since there is no police file on Swale before his involvement with the mob. And I am sure the current information about his crimes is far from complete."

Anna closed the folder. "This copy is for you." She handled him the file and in the moment her arm stretched over the top of the desk, the sleeve of her shirt was pulled a little up revealing the wrist of her left hand. As he was taking the file from her his eyes darted to the exposed skin and discerned something that only a professional psychiatrist would recognize. There were a few hair-thin straight lines across the base of her wrist, which would be almost invisible if not for the exertion of her arm that left them whiter than the surrounding skin for a second. This, however, was enough for Jonathan to see them and he immediately knew what they were. They weren't caused by an accident. She had to make them, but they were almost faded, so it must have been long ago. Years at least.

Jonathan took the folder and placed it in front of him. "I will look into his file, although I don't think there is anything inside that I haven't revealed in my sessions with Mr. Swale." He was watching her with new interest, but his voice remained arrogant and cold.

Anna tried to gain some confidence. "Our department will be expecting your evaluation report by the end of the week." It didn't work out the way she wanted it. It sounded weak and out of place, but it was too late.

Jonathan eyes lit up with cold fury, but his face remained emotionless. The blush on Anna's face returned even redder, her breathing increasing its pace yet again. Obviously another anxiety attack. How lovely.

"I am well aware when I have to submit my report, Ms. Daniels. It is not your concern." His eyes were boring into her own. She barely resisted the urge to look away. "I don't think you have the authority to make such remarks or demands, since it's very obvious that you are the one with the least professional experience."

Somewhere along their conversation the room had grown darker and grayer, if the latter was possible. The clouds outside were blocking almost all the sunlight and muting the scarce colors in the room. Jonathan's eyes were glimmering in the dimly lit room, as if the descending shadows couldn't affect the force of his blue stare. Thunder resounded with a low roar somewhere in the distance and Anna couldn't help the little startled jump she made in her seat.

After she regained her far from perfect posture, and then crossed her legs with minimum movements, she said, "Dr. Crane, I don't want this meeting to end with a wrong first impression. I respect you as a professional and my intention was far from implying that I am more competent than you." She bit her bottom lip in a nervous manner and held her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. Jonathan could see her efforts to keep her breathing calm and not hyperventilate. "The only reason I mentioned it is because I thought that you may have reached some conclusions which you would want to share with us, or maybe you had already prepared the report." It took her all willpower for her voice not to break and he could see the desire in her to flee out of the room. The anxiety was taking the best out of her and she was on the verge of breaking apart.

"I can assure you, Ms. Daniels, that when I am ready with my evaluation I will submit it to the DA's office without further delay. I wasn't expecting my work with Swale to progress in the way it did, so I required a few more sessions than the initially appointed." He regarded her for a moment, her breathing wasn't calming down and one of her hands was clutching the arm-rest of the chair in a manner that seemed almost painful. Jonathan took a breath and exhaled patiently. "Are you feeling alright, Ms. Daniels?"

Her eyes flickered down for a moment, and she let go the arm-rest, touching her hair again. "Yes, I am alright. It seems that a storm is coming." She looked outside the window, then her gaze returned to his eyes and she flinched.

"You don't look alright." Jonathan stated matter-of-factly.

He was enjoying her responses to his questions. They were predictable and yet amusing in their underlying sincerity.

"I am perfectly fine." The tone with which Anna said the words did not support their meaning at the least. She forced a smile on her lips. "Dr. Crane, I don't want to take any more of your time." She stood up, taking her bag in her hand. "Our department will get in touch with you at the end of the week."

Jonathan nodded. "As expected."

"Have a nice day, Dr. Crane." Anna looked at him one last time, something in her eyes darkening. Then she hurried to leave the office. Another thunder sounded outside, but there was no rain. The tension in the air was even thicker and more concentrated than before. But the rain wasn't coming. Jonathan was feeling it while he followed the retreating figure of Anna while she slipped out through the door. He could imagine her stopping in the hall to catch her breath and close her eyes, so she could compose herself enough to prevent staggering while leaving the building.

He couldn't deny that he found her interesting, and that he enjoyed the way the conversation was making her nervous. Still, he wasn't willing to press her too much, at least for now. Jonathan was just probing her reactions and behavior, and he found the results intriguing.

She was perfect. Those scars on her left wrist instigated his curiosity. Jonathan was tempted to reveal what story they were hiding. What trauma had made her to hurt herself? That would be valuable knowledge. Who would have thought that there was someone so insecure and shy working in the DA's office? She couldn't last long though, not with that behavior. But maybe long enough so he could take advantage of the situation. The opportunity was perfect and inviting. It wasn't necessary to use her, but it was certainly an option. It never hurt to have a backup plan. Yes, Anna Daniels was perfect.


End file.
