This is part three of a three chapter update.

So, this was originally where Plaything ended. I knew I didn't want to go with the original ending because, for one, it's spoiled a couple times in the reviews, and also, I didn't like it anymore.

- Penny

"How's that...cut...you got earlier?" The corners of Theo's lips twitched when he said the word "cut", like he was fighting a smirk.

"It's fine." Darcy said pointedly, retreating to the kitchen. Might as well make him work a little to give her his scolding.

Theo stepped past her to take a seat at the table, then gestured to the chair across from him without looking.

"Evie."

Darcy bit down on her tongue and didn't respond.

"Please, sit down." He said, resuming the persona of an overly stern kindergarten teacher. For once, it looked like Theo was taking some semblance of consideration for her before speaking. He took off his glasses, setting them on the table between them. He rubbed his temples for a moment, cleared his throat, clasped his hands in front of him - still not talking.

She gave in, and sat down. "Well?" Darcy asked, loudly.

"I think we should...clear the air, so to speak." Finally, he looked up at Darcy, eyes clear and bright. "It's time to move forward."

She had no idea what she was talking about, but there was an unsettling air developing around this talk. Theo smiled again, the sincerity of it showing in his whole face, and reached across the table to hold her hand. He slowly stood, guiding her up with him, and led her out of the room. Up the steps, down the hallway, past their bedroom, before whe

"Why am I here?" That seemed a better, less broad question than "what is this?".

Theo approached her, smiling. "It's my work." He answered, vague as ever. "And, in my opinion, I think it's my best yet. Phil's right, you know, something about the emptiness and the quiet, the fresh air...really improves your mood toward work."

Feeling rooted to the spot, Darcy looked at the table, at Theo, back again.

"Now, onto the bigger reason why we're here: Evie."

"Don't."

"Evie," He began, ignoring her aversion the name once again, "I have always been endlessly fascinated by the human brain, but yours...Honestly, I am just in awe. The way your mind has been working lately - overtime, double-time, triple-time, just mowing over every gap, every pothole, every single unexplained nuance - it has been incredible to witness. You're always reminding me why I love the things that I do, even when you don't realize it. Especially when you don't realize it."

"Then why change things?"

"Even as Darcy I can tell that you don't want to play 'domestic fantasy' with me, and I don't want that either. Easier isn't always better; I miss your contempt for me a thousand times more than I've enjoyed your new, listless personality."

Darcy's eyes narrowed as she summoned all the strength she could in order to speak again. "I could get there."

Theo laughed. It went on for an uncomfortably long period of time. He gripped her wrists tightly. "Not. Even. Close." He whispered hoarsely. "Evie cut off all her hair after I said it looked pretty. She slapped me when I touched her. Consequences be damned, she made sure every step of the way that I knew she found me vile, even in her lowest moments. Darcy may be capable of hatred, but does Darcy have that fire? That level of vitriol, anywhere inside her? No."

His voice made her body shiver and hair bristle.

"Evie," he said, tone almost pleading now, "won't you say something?"

Darcy yanked her wrists out of his grasp. "I just want you...to stop calling me that." She meant for the words to come out as a snarl, but instead it was more of a whimper, as the The Door took up a looming presence over their conversation. Theo looked slightly deflated, but quickly recomposed himself.

"Well I was expecting this to take some effort." He put his hands on her shoulders, guiding her to the nearest chair and pushing her down into it. "She's still in there. " Leaning against the table, Theo took his time cleaning and re-positioning his glasses.

"Tell me, how do you feel when I call you Evie?"

With the pressure mounting behind The Door, Darcy could barely hold focus on his question, let alone begin to describe it.

"It's an...anxious sort of feeling, I guess." Came her lame attempt.

He nodded, and then gently grabbed her arm, pushing up the sleeve. "And where does this fit in?"

Darcy bit down on her tongue.

"That song you played the other day, what was it?"

While she recalled its dramatic melody, the name escaped her. "I - I don't know." Darcy answered, her voice quick and shaky.

"I do." Theo murmured, running the tips of his fingers along her inner forearm. "You played it before, back in Gotham. It's Evie's favorite - your favorite. It means quite a lot to you." He pressed the pad of his thumb against the barely-formed scab, causing Darcy to wince. "You didn't have this before the song. What happened?"

"I can't explain it. Darshed hissed through clenched teeth. "It sounds so weird."

"More odd than me insisting you're living a false life? Come, now."

That was a pretty fair point, actually. "Well..." Her mind felt like it was about to implode on itself, The Door stretching and heaving like something alive. "When you call me 'Evie', when I hear or think about certain things...I picture this door. And I know the explanation is on the other side, but..."

"You hurt yourself to make the door go away." Theo pushed himself up again, and started to pace. "Makes sense, makes sense...Seems pretty straightforward: I keep talking to you about your real life, while keeping you from hurting yourself, and eventually your door will open, Evie will be back... We'll have to suss out what the trigger for Darcy is, but," he paused rather dramatically, "that's a task for later."

The intensity of the moment was broken by a loud thud downstairs.

Assuming it was a knock at the door, Theo let out an exaggerated sigh. "God, these people." He pulled Darcy up from the chair, paused to grab a few bottles of something off a shelf, and led them away. Darcy felt like she was on autopilot, this whole ordeal was so draining, all she could feel was grateful that Theo's bruising grip on her was keeping The Door at bay.

The reached the front door, and he released her momentarily to check the porch through the curtains. Empty.

"Hm." Didn't like that. He opened the door to look down the street for anyone who might have knocked and simply left.

Darcy felt unsettled once again, like she was being watched. Her ears pricked up on a soft rustle of fabric, like wind blowing through curtains. She turned around, instantly spotting the vague figure in the middle of what she could only describe as a bad attempt at an army crawl in front of their couch. It help up one hand, she spotted a gun in the other.

For whatever reason, even though a soft gasp was clearly the more appropriate response, Darcy loudly whispered. "What?"

Crossing the room with a surprising swiftness, Theo tackled whoever was in their living room, but didn't prevent them from squeezing off a shot. It rang loudly throughout the house, the bullet embedding itself in the wooden railing above Darcy, sending a shower of splinters over her head. The intruder kicked and thrashed while Theo attempted to wrestle the firearm away.

"Evie, run!" The stranger suddenly shouted.

Everything stopped. Darcy wondered if this was a joke. Crane wondered how they had possibly been found. The moment cost him, with the intruder seizing the opportunity to wiggle free and gain the upper hand. He stood up, gun drawn, with Crane kneeling on the floor.

"Get the fuck up." Darcy could tell now that it was a boy, younger than Phil, dressed in a teenager's version of "stealth mode": black hoodie, black pants, the cheapest possible black beanie and gloves combo, a mask covering the lower half of his face that looked strait out of Call of Duty. "Sit on the the couch. Keep you hands out."

He complied, slowly rising to his feet and walking toward the couch. He glanced over to Evie – still standing by their doorway with a confused expression on her face. Her eyes widened as she met his stare, and he offered her a calm smile.

The boy addressed her as well. "Evie, I told you to get out."

"What..." Covered in dust, bits of wood in her hair, Darcy stood there, feeling dumbfounded. "Who the hell are you?"

His previously determined expression wavered, then hardened again. He pulled down the mask, with flair. "It's Owen. Owen Woods. I'm here to take you back home."

"Wait," She had seen him before. "I saw you in the village the other day."

"Yeah, and at the Kmart a few weeks back, remember."

This revelation angered Crane slightly. If she had felt their new identities were at risk, she should have said something. However, it did look as though this "Owen" could be useful for the time being. He was comfortable letting this play out, for now.

Owen turned back to Crane. "I didn't think much of you at the store, but I sure as hell recognized you the other day without the struggle beard."

"Ouch." Crane deadpanned.

"Yeah, at first I thought you had your reasons, but realizing you were with Jonathan Crane? I mean, no way. You're a wild one, Eve, but you're not demented."

Darcy opened her mouth, but Crane interrupted her. "What's you're plan here, boy? Is there a reward for me, or is it just about the girl?"

"Maybe?" Owen shrugged. "They think you're dead. A bunch of people are claiming you were shot and thrown in the river...I'm thinking there's probably no harm in proving to everyone that you're dead for sure."

That piqued his interest. There was shortlist of Arkham and Blackgate's escapees considered still at large, but at present, it was only being shared among police within the state, plus one rumored Federal task force. Crane had not dared to dig too deep into it - it felt too big a risk to their freedom.

A freedom that was turning out to be both broader and more precarious than he had thought, as Owen told him of his famed death back in Gotham while holding a gun to his face.

Owen walked backward toward her. "Come on, Evie." He kept his voice calm and arms steady. "Come on, let's go home."

"Can you just...stop it!" Evie shrieked, backing away. " I didn't ask for your help! I just want to be Darcy! Why can't I just be Darcy?"

"There's no time for this." Owen, losing control and becoming flustered, looked at Crane again. "What's wrong with her?"

"It's called a dissociative identity." He kept his voice cool and his eyes locked on Evie.

"Jesus Christ..." Owen lowered the weapon slightly, as Evie prepared to yell at them some more.

Fun as all this was, Crane wasn't about to waste this lapse in vigilance - the boy certainly hadn't wasted his shot. Quickly, he pulled the tubes he grabbed earlier out of his pocket, throwing them hard on the ground between Evie and her apparent acquaintance. He darted toward the stairs as they shattered, engulfing the two in thick, purple smoke.

Darcy watched as Owen fall to the floor, writhing as though in agony, his mouth agape in a silent scream. She braced herself for a similar fate, as the chemicals blew over her face and swirled around them.

Nothing.

She looked for Theo, and then she saw his face. His face. In newspapers and television specials, on blogs and posters and in textbooks. She had seen his likeness a thousand times, before she had been unfortunate enough to cross his path in that snowy alleyway.

Jonathan Crane: The Scarecrow.

The Door wasn't rattling anymore - it was blown wide open, and Darcy's short-lived existence seemed to crumble away. In sauntered Evie, with all the cavalier attitude Crane desired, and the nightmares of assault, torture, and death she didn't.

Evie sank to the floor with Owen, and began stroking his hair while he continued to convulse. The smoke began to dissipate, and Crane made his reappearance.

"Sorry." He crouched down next to them. "Evie..."

She looked up at him. "Yeah."

Looking relieved, he reached for her hand, but she moved it away. "Not now." Owen seemed to be calming down somewhat. She remembered him now: they swapped notes in chemistry, and he briefly dated her friend, Harmony, last year. "What an idiot." She mumbled. To think he could just come in, wave around a gun for few minutes, and they could get away, just like that?

Masking his dejection, Crane got back up. He forgot about the gun. There was so much else on his mind.

The gun, still gripped in Owen's hand, that Evie was taking from him at that moment. The handle was slick with his sweat, and it was heavy for such a dainty purse pistol. For a moment, the thought of ending it all, right here and now, flashed across her mind. How would it feel, to press its cold muzzle to the side of her head, and pull the trigger? Would it feel as freeing as she wanted it to be?

Perhaps, but the result would ultimately amount to a hidden grave in the forest., halfway across the world from home. Unknown, and unfinished. She closed her eyes, took a deep, calming breath in through her nose, and slid the gun across the floor, where it stopped perfectly in front of Crane's feet.

Stunned, Crane bent over to retrieve it, regarding Evie with a ludicrous expression.

"We should move him to the attic." She stated firmly. "Till we figure out what to do with him. We shouldn't make this a bigger mess than it already is."

"I...agree."

Evie looked carefully at Owen one more time. His face was flushed, his breathing heavy, whispering frantically at terrors she could neither see, nor dispel.

Pathetic.