Summery: This is a continuation of sorts of my previous fic Batman Ends?. It's not necessary to read it to understand this one but it explains a part in the first chapter where Jonathon is thinking about the events. Anyways, this story is just a pet project of mine.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was hired to make Gotham safe for crime once more. In the process he disposes of both Batman and Rachel Dawes. Now he's left with keeping the cops out of the picture. Being the evil super genius he is he has already kidnapped several children of police officers for collateral, one of which is OC Christine Fellmen, a sixteen-year-old girl with a sad story and a determination for good. What will happen when the two butt heads as Crane finds himself going more insane? Read on!

A.N. Is it just me or could they not have found a better person than Cillian Murphy to play Jonathan Crane? And yeah, I know, another Jonathan Crane fic, but come on. Be honest. You know you read them all!

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She sat idly braiding her long black hair into many long strands. At the bottom of each she placed a small rubber band to hold it in place. Finishing all her hair she glanced up at the children in the room. They were asleep now, far away dreaming of ponies and rainbows, things far beyond the reality of their situation. She wished she could be as content as they were, as carefree. Unfortunately she knew too much to sleep peacefully where she was.

Arkham Asylum was what this hellhole was called. She found it funny how asylum could mean a safe place when Arkham was far from safe for any of its inhabitants. Sighing she realized that tonight would be sleepless, as had the last 5 days been. She hadn't eaten in at least that long either, not trusting a man such as Jonathan Crane to keep the food sanitary.

Jonathan Crane. The thought of his name brought an involuntary shudder of fear to her. Quietly standing she made her way to the bathroom so she wouldn't have to sit in the near dark of the room.

She stood in front of a sink and looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror. For lack of better word she looked like crap. Her eyes where baggy and her expression pained. At least her clothes were clean and her hair was brushed. Dr. Crane had been kind enough to allow their parents to send them any essentials. I suppose that would make him a humanist in the eyes of Gotham, she thought bitterly.

She turned on the water and let it run until it was warm. Cupping her hands she splashed the water on her face rubbing her eyes vigorously. Then she grabbed a paper towel from the counter and dried her face. Looking in the mirror she was startled to see another reflection there.

"Greg," she said quietly to the little boy there, turning around, "why aren't you in bed?"

The 8-year-old looked sleepily up at her and whispered, "I had a bad dream, Christine." His voice was full of fear so she knelt down and pulled him into a hug.

"Don't worry," she told him. "It was just a dream. It wasn't real." She pulled him back to look at his face.

"But it scared me," he whimpered back. A lone tear spilled from his eyes and trickled down his cheek.

"Everything will be fine," Christine said, laughing inside cynically at her words. She sat down and Greg sat on her lap. "Tell me about it." Her arms were around him holding him close.

"I was walking and then there was this field and I walked through it and then this scarecrow jumped out and started chasing me," he told her. "I tried to run away but I fell and then I woke up." Christine was silent at his story but after he was done she resumed calming him down.

"It's ok," she soothed. "If you get scared again come and get me but for now I think you can be brave enough to go back to sleep." She stood and carried the small boy.

"Will you sit with me?" he whispered.

She thought a moment before replying, "Of course." They were quiet as Christine picked her way over to Greg's cot near the door. Laying him down she sat next to him on the side of the door and waited for him to fall asleep. It wasn't long before she heard the telltale deep, rhythmic breaths that told her he was out cold. She stayed sitting by his side, refusing to fall asleep.

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Jonathan Crane also sat awake, but for far different reasons than Christine. He was settled comfortably in a chair in front of a panel of screens each displaying a different part of Arkham. One in particular caught his attention. Watching he saw Christine carrying Greg back to his bed and watch him fall asleep.

The girl was very interesting. In his plot that had both killed Rachel Dawes and Bruce Wayne Christine had played a vital role. Of course he knew she had helped Rachel escape from their room. In fact he had planned on it. He had even figured out how they would do it before even they knew. Using the medic was the only feasible plan to get her out and like clockwork it happened.

Rachel's timing could not have been more perfect. She had walked into the foyer just as Batman had. It had been a small matter to kill her. She'd always had a talent for getting on his nerves. Then, what a tragedy when Batman, feeling responsible for her death, had taken his own life. And thus Crane's plan had gone off without a hitch.

Pausing his thoughts Jonathan looked back at the screen. Christine was still awake and fighting to stay that way. He had noticed she had not eaten or slept since she arrived. Not surprising for a girl her age. She was sixteen, after all, and was setting her will against his. The match was not a smart one. He had the obvious advantage of being a psychiatrist and knowing as well as understanding how to manipulate people. Jonathan tended to work through people's fears to break them down. This girl would be no different.

He had taken her along with the other children to keep the police in his thrall. Nobody liked it when you kidnapped their youngest child and held them in an institute for the criminally insane. His plans to reopen Arkham would be set into motion soon now that Batman and the annoying Ms. Dawes were out of the way. No one else had proof enough to give reason why he shouldn't be allowed to. What a horrible thing that someone had used Arkham's abandoned basement to dump hallucinogens into the water supply. If only he had known! That was his excuse anyway. He doubted that anyone would question it.

Movement on one of the monitors caught Crane's eye and he leaned in to look. It appeared Christine was trying to shimmy open the window high above the sinks in the bathroom. He grinned at her ingenuity but had thought it would be obvious that even if she succeeded the window was 5 stories up. Apparently desperation had gotten to her after all. That had been too easy. Sighing he stood and proceeded to head up to see just what Christine was aiming at.

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Christine stood on a sink using a toy sword to try and pry open the window. She knew she couldn't get out but maybe if she could hang something out the window, like a doll or children's clothing, maybe someone would get suspicious. Just a little more, she thought, using the windowsill to get leverage for the sword.

"You wouldn't be trying to escape, would you?" inquired a cool calculated voice from behind her. The voice inspired fear in Christine's heart and she fought with everything she had not to show it.

"Of course not," she replied. Turning around she jumped down and, straitening up, found herself face to face with Jonathan Crane. "I wouldn't do something that brash."

She was proud of herself for keeping her voice even despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"I would hope not," came an equally smooth voice. His deep blue eyes bored into her chocolate ones. "Come with me." There was no question in the words so Christine followed silently as Crane led her out into the hallway, to the elevator, and into his office.

"Sit," he said taking his own seat on the far side of a highly organized desk. His whole office screamed informed. With a little hesitation Christine sat in the chair opposite of him. "Be honest now," he told her, "why were you trying to open the window?"

"Oh, you know," she said vaguely. "It gets so stuffy in this place and I thought a little ventilation might do us all some good." She met his eyes as though fearless and smiled.

Jonathan nearly laughed. She hid it well, no doubt, but there were small giveaways. The way her hands were folded in her lap, the slight downward tilt of her head, and the look down before into his eyes. All of these spoke of her fear. He contained most of his amusement, though, and settled for a small smile in response. "Very cute, Ms. Fellmen. I suppose it never dawned on you to think of a better lie." He grabbed a yellow legal pad sitting on his desk and a pen and proceeded to take notes. Pausing he looked up. "Why did you decide that it was worth the lives of 7 children to have your freedom?"

"I wasn't going to run away," she insisted. "I'm not stupid. That window was 5 stories up." She glared at a spot on the wall behind him. "And I would never leave anyone to die for me, especially children. They, unlike you, are innocent."

"Are they really?" he asked her. "Would it surprise you to learn that they are perfect informants?"

"I've done nothing worth tattling on, Dr. Crane." Christine was becoming frustrated with his reverse psychology.

"You haven't eaten anything nor slept in five days," he said critically. "I'd say that's something."

"So what if I don't have much of an appetite?" she snapped. Her hands were gripping the armrests now instead of being clasped nicely on her lap. "And not everyone needs as much sleep!" Jonathan grinned at her outburst.

"It's my experience that anger is a very good cover emotion. It can hide anything you want because it consumes." He took his glasses off and set them on the desk between them.

"Just what do you think I would want to hide from you?" she mocked. Deep down she knew, though, what he would say because it was true. She did not want him to know a weakness he could exploit. This didn't mean she wasn't angry. Not in the least.

"Fear, Christine." He looked her strait in the eyes and waited for a response. She hides it well, he thought. Very well.

"I suppose now you will tell me what I'm afraid of?" She tilted her head to the side in a show of defiance and crossed her arms.

"That's very simple," he stated. "Me." They studied each other a moment and Christine was the first to look away.

"I have no reason to fear you," she said staring at the wall.

"Paranoia is a serious illness. The sufferers find themselves so debilitated by their fears that they can't function. They don't eat, they don't sleep." He paused. "Any of this sounding familiar?"

"I'm not paranoid! And I'm not afraid of you," she spat, standing and walking to the door. Finding it locked she turned around and was inches from Jonathan. He looked into her eyes, which now showed hints of fear, and pursed his lips, thinking.

I can feel her fear. The irrational side of his mind was taking over, and he knew it. There was a part of him that loved fear that would do anything to see it. He lovingly called it Scarecrow, the favorite taunt of his childhood tormentors. What to do, what to do, he pondered.

Christine could do nothing but stare into those deep blue eyes trying to guess what he would do next. She watched as his eyes traveled from her face and down her body. Memories flooded her mind, memories she's sworn had been erased or at least buried. In her mind she saw an alley and some guys. In her mind she heard their voices laughing. Stepping back to escape her back met the cool metal of the door and she was trapped.

"We all fear something," he whispered harshly. Grabbing her wrists he pressed his body against hers and enjoyed her squirming to get out.

"Stop it," she cried. "Let me go!" She struggled to free herself from the grip of this psycho but the more she struggled the more he seemed to enjoy it. He was stronger than he looked and it all fed into her memory.

"What do you fear, Christine?" Dr. Crane's voice was harsh and taunting. He pressed his body closer against her and she whimpered. He could feel the rational part of his brain begin to surface once more and Scarecrow fought it as long as he could. Both of them were enjoying this anyway.

"Please," she pleaded. "Stop." Her voice had faded to a dim whisper and twin tears spilled from her dark eyes. He stopped but held her wrists tight.

"Just answer the question," he told her, "and I will let you go to sleep."

Christine's eyes were downcast but her resolve had returned a bit. "I fear nothing. Not death nor life; pain nor tears. Nothing." Her lie was transparent but she didn't care. It was the only way she had to remind him he hadn't won.

He released her wrists but grabbed her chin with one hand forcing her to look into his eyes. With the other he wiped away the tears that had stained her pale cheeks. "Liar," he whispered. "Go back to the children. Doubtlessly they will be wondering where you are." He released her and turned away.

Christine tried the door again and to her relief found it open. Running out she found the elevator and returned to the room full of sleeping children. Laying in her cot all she could think was, Great! Another sleepless night.