A/N: Here it is: the last of high school. JEEGUS that took forever. Thank you to all the lovely new reviewers/favoriters/ followers to this story! I had so many! Again apologies for anyone OOC. I'm trying to make Jonathan a little nicer or more open. Not sure if succeeding.

To answer the question from last chapter, my NOTPs are Aang/Katara and Rose/Doctor (any of them). And then some crack ships. Sorry shippers. I don't want to start a war.

Disclaimer: I don't own a damn thing. Everything belongs to DC Comics, Christopher Nolan, and company.

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

Now he's gone; I don't know why.

Until this day, sometimes I cry.

He didn't even say goodbye.

He didn't take the time to lie.

Bang bang, he shot me down.

Bang bang, I hit the ground.

Bang bang, that awful sound.

Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

~Nancy Sinatra, Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)

This single moment suspended in time and space could turn into either the biggest mistake or the most important moment of my life.

We are going to KISS each other.

My first thought: WHHHHHHY?! Why would I even consider it? It would change so much! Everything we've built would be strewn into a million pieces. Why did I let us get to this point? The most important moment of my life so far, but I'd rather not have it turn into my biggest mistake.

I blink and close my eyes, slowly pulling away. Does Jonathan know what was about to happen?

The searing look in his eyes tells me he did.

I stand up on rubber legs, and the rolling sea in my stomach makes me queasy. "Do you pity me?"

"I do." He hasn't moved.

"For being a girl."

"Yes."

"Why were you expecting me to be any different?" I clench my fists.

No answer, but I sense that he stands up as well.

"What would you have had me do to prevent it?" I don't know what I'm asking him anymore. I shouldn't have let it get this far. If I could take it all back, I would. Don't cry. Do NOT cry.

I like him. I like him so much, and I screwed up.

Jonathan stands right behind me. "I would like to say you should have never interfered in my life. You should have avoided me like everyone else has. Stupid girl, you should have stayed away."

Those words cut me to the bone. I hang my head.

"However, I am grateful for you."

My head snaps back up. "What?" I whisper.

"We shouldn't have gotten involved. Yet, you made my life more bearable with the idiots at school and my grandmother. For that, I thank you."

So now what?

"I don't know what I want in life anymore, Jonathan. You complicated things."

"Ames, I—"

I walk away, continuing our route along the path. Jonathan doesn't. I turn my head slightly to the side and peek back behind me out of my peripherals. He's lowered himself back onto the curb and is staring off into the darkness with a pondering expression. He doesn't even seem remotely upset, unlike me. How can he be so calm? If your best friend who saw you in a previously platonic light suddenly found out you had a strange friend-crush on them, wouldn't they be a little unsettled?

Best friend? Only friend.

I wish Jonathan would rush and catch up to me. He doesn't, and I walk back to my truck through the darkness on my own.

Navigating through the traffic is hard. The tears in my eyes seem to magnify the colorful, bright lights of Gotham tenfold. Prom must be over because everyone's on the road. I'm distraught: angry, sad, and frustrated, mostly with myself. Emotional turbulence doesn't make for safe driving nor do the hundreds of excited and possibly already drunk students driving to parties.

"Be careful. Be. Careful." I'm not sure if I'm wishing this for my benefit or theirs.

I stop at another stoplight. There's a strange buzzing in my ears. Whether it's in my own head or I'm hearing the static of the radio station lost in this part of the city, I don't know. I jaggedly cast my glance out my window, blink away my tears, and happen to spot a black-clothed figure vanish between buildings. "Hang on a sec," I mutter, still staring. "Disappearing acts. Black clothes. Ninjas."

My attention now elsewhere, I pull forward when the green light appears and manage to maneuver into a parking spot shortly after. The hardware shop in front of me is closed. The sky starts to sprinkle the moment I set foot outside my car. I glare up at it before I take off jogging in the direction I saw the ninja disappear. My blouse becomes damp and clings to me uncomfortably.

It's been so long since I've seen one, I ponder as the target buildings draw nearer. The light breeze earlier has changed to a strong wind that whips my hair around and chills me. When I reach the alleyway, I peer down it, and not to my great surprise, see no sign of the figures. Shocker. I'm too slow. I rub the stitch in my side and debate if I should go any further.

"That's too stupid, even for me." I still walk in halfway, get goosebumps in return, and back out slowly, casting my glace upward toward the rooftops. Nothing but rain there, glowing in the eerie lights. No, no, no, no. I decided not to. The sky opens and drenches me before I reach Black Jack. I feel heavy gain. It's time to go home. I practically dive into the driver's seat and hope fervently the heater can thaw me out.

As I enter my driveway a bit later, the lights blaring from our kitchen windows alert me to the fact that I hadn't exactly told Mom where I was going. I cringe. She's waiting.

"AMES. IRVETTE. MANSON." Her not-quite-a-screech greets me when I sheepishly step through the front door. "Where the HELL have you been?" Mom's shorter than me in height but truly towers over me when she's pissed. "Do you know how worried I've been?"

"I can imagine," I respond in a very small voice.

Her green eyes crackle. "I thought the Mob had gotten to you! Or any other rapist or sicko on the streets! Have you forgotten how much crime there is in this city?"

"I'm sorry." I'm ashamed. "I really am. I won't do it again." That might be a lie, I think. "I got caught in the rain, so I'm wet and freezing. I get the point. Can I change clothes now?" The light gusts from our air conditioner are causing my teeth to chatter. "I'm going to catch pneumonia." Grumbling, she steps aside, and I dart for the bathroom upstairs.

The shower steam is heavenly, and the water easily washes away my tears.

I'm shaking in my boots when I drive to school Monday. Oh, sweet jeegus.

Avoid him. I should just avoid him all day. Save myself the awkwardness. Save myself the embarrassment. Slamming Black Jack's door strengthens my resolve. "I can do this," I mumble. Less than a month to go.

The majority of the day goes well. I show up to my classes earlier than usual, I dart around the hallways like one of my ninjas because I don't want to be noticed. Hell, I even skip lunch to avoid Jonathan but immediately regret it when my stomach starts growling halfway through my last class. I swear that wasn't a fart, I think as the guy sitting next to me gives me an odd look.

No, the day goes well until the school day ends, and that's when I see it: Jonathan backed up against his locker and practically shooting blue lightning out of his eyes, surrounded by six jocks.

There is no doubt as to what they're doing. They're giving him one last beating before he graduates. One last harassment. I can't stand by and watch this. Still, I waver.

It only takes Jon being thrown into his locker once more and the small crowd of jocks to cheer to blow away any regrets or awkwardness I still had in me from Friday. I ball my fists and sprint down the hallway.

"HEY! Cut it out, morons!" I barrel into the wall of muscle and receive the reaction I was expecting. Snickering. Mocking laughter. My face flames red, but I place my body between Jonathan and the bullies, and I stand my ground. I have no reputation to damage with these turds. I would be his shield 24/7, protect him from a nuclear holocaust if I could.

"Man, look what we have here. It's Scarecrow's squeeze," one of the beefcakes sneers. The rest guffaw stupidly. My IQ is dropping just by looking at them. He's about my height with a face that appears to have been smashed into a brick wall a few too many times. "She's even uglier up close."

Jonathan stiffens. "You will not touch him," I growl.

Something whizzes past my head and clatters against the locker behind me. My left ear rings momentarily as I wildly search for the unseen projectile. It glints at me from the floor, but I can't quite make out what it is. Oh, it's a lock…from a locker. The dial rests on the number 18. My age. How funny. Now imagine if that would have found its target.

"You missed, man," one of the bullies chortles.

"Can't you clear out? Don't you have a football to throw around?" I bark, my knees shaking.

The doofus closest to me raises his hand. "You'd shut your mouth if you knew what's good for you, bitch." Jon is a statue behind me.

Hands on hips, I retort, "What? You gonna hit a girl unprovoked? That'll look great on your record. Good luck playing college sports with that black mark."

He opens his mouth before a male voice from the back of the group cuts him off. "Leave 'em alone, man. Why do they matter so much? It's a waste of time."

After some uncomfortable shifting, the bullies snort and disperse, shoving each other and punching arms. "Yeah, you're not so tough!" I call after them. I deflate and sink into a crouch. That could've been a lot worse. I wipe sweat from my forehead.

"I don't need you to protect me," Jonathan snarls.

I nearly fall back onto my rump in shock. I forgot he was back there. "I'm sorry but that's bullshit and you know it."

He steps around me and almost knocks me to the floor on his own. "You do nothing for my reputation."

Deciding my crouch is fairly dangerous especially with students spilling out from classes, I finally rise. "I'm sure your reputation can't get much worse. You never fight back, regardless if I'm there or not."

"It's not my style." I almost lose Jonathan in the crowd but manage to stay on his heels. It's increasingly difficult. I step on more than a few toes.

"Are you trying to ditch me?" I huff loudly as he power walks through the front doors. He better not be pissed about Friday. That worries me. No grudges. I would like it better if the topic was never brought up, to be honest.

The sun outside glints off his glasses as Jon scowls. "I believe you were the one avoiding me today." His expression is sour. He's thoroughly annoyed. With me.

This is it. This is where my life ends.

"Can I ask why?"

Is it just me or does he look a little pained? Is he pretending that last Friday never happened? Fine by me. "Oh, you know. Just thought I would give you space." I scratch the back of my head nervously..

"What made you think I want distance?" he questions sullenly. Jon seems genuinely unhappy.

Sooo, are we not talking about my confession or… I'm relieved but uneasy about glossing over the issue. To answer his question: "Well, sometimes you act like you don't want me around," I admit. We stop next to his rusty station wagon. It's not like him to act so cold and then act so warm. Warm. He never does that, especially toward me, his biggest annoyance. What's happening?

"Your presence isn't as irritating as you think," Jon responds. He slides into the driver's seat. "Goodbye, Ames. I'll see you tomorrow."

Despite the backwards compliment, I grin like a fool while he drives away. I see him the next day and the day after that and the day after that. Just like I predicted, we pretend prom night never happened. He doesn't question the spillage of feelings. Eventually, our book exchanges stop. With so little time left for school, it no longer becomes worth it to us.

Every day, I'm happy to observe that he still wears my dad's watch. I'm fully intending on letting him keep it, in hope that he won't forget me once he starts his life.

I lean back against the tree trunk, Jonathan on the other side. We've been spending a lot more time at the grove lately. I breathe in the fresh, dusty air. I'm so glad it's spring; I'm a chickenshit when it comes to cold weather. We enjoy each other's company, and I have a question to ask him, but I don't want to shatter the still air. It's not completely still; birdsongs are present.

Jonathan sighs. "I know you want to say something, Ames. Say it."

I blush. "Well, ask."

He waits.

"Once again, Jonathan, where is your grandmother? I know she's gone; that's pretty obvious."

"Tell me what you've observed."

He's being entirely cynical now. Regardless, I start to tick off my fingers. "First off, I haven't heard the crows. Second, no bruises, cuts, or scratches on you. Third, this freedom you have to be out and about. And fourth, her car doesn't leave your house on Sunday mornings. Heaven knows she wouldn't skip Mass."

"Very good," Jonathan commends me. "You're more aware than I give you credit for."

"So yes, she's obviously gone. Where is she?"

A light sigh from behind me. "Do you want to know so badly?"

"Yes. I do."

"I disposed of her."

There it is. My suspicions are confirmed. I'm glad he can't see me because my eyes are widened in shock. Jonathan. My Jonathan. A… I can't even think it, but I should not be this surprised. "Disposed? Disposed how?" Actually killed? Only got rid of the body?

Jonathan scoffs at me. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Not if it makes me look any stupider, I think. "No, I understand." I act as if the information doesn't faze me. "I'm going to assume you won't get caught." I casually shred a blade of grass. Here we are, discussing murder like we're talking about the weather.

In my peripherals, I see Jonathan twist halfway in my direction. "Have some faith. It's untraceable."

"Getting away with murder," I mutter disbelievingly.

"You're not going to tell on me, are you?" I freeze. It's one of the few times I've heard Jonathan use a threatening tone.

I crank my upper body around the tree to glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "Of course not. The old hag had it coming. Plus, we graduate in a week. Why would I ruin your life like that?" The song from Chicago is running through my head now of all things.

He grunts. "Fair."

Also, we graduate in a week. I frown and bite my lip. "I care for you. I'm not going to do anything to hurt you. You've been hurt enough."

A moment of silence. "Thank you."

I'm going to appreciate the time I have left with him. It's not much. "Hey, what's the time?"

"Four twenty."

I stand up and brush off my pants. "I need to get to work. Bye-bye." As I walk past Jonathan, I'm tempted to pat his head or tug his hair to see how he'll respond, but I remove some dirt from underneath my thumbnail instead. It's not worth being skinned alive. I focus so intently on the nail that I stumble when I get to the ditch before the road. Flushing, I hear him choke back laughter. Well, I'm glad I'm so entertaining to you. I'm smiling as I drive away.

People say the last week of your senior year is one of the slowest weeks of your life. In my case, it races by. My last day is spent avoiding the senior prank (a release of mice in the school) and thanking my teachers for a decent high school experience. It's not long before shrieks and yells fill the hallways around noon, the time we're supposed to be let out. I half-heartedly cheer with the rest of the seniors while I hunt for Jonathan among the two hundred or so of us. A couple mice flit past my feet. I hope the poor things don't get trampled. How'd they find so many mice anyway? Last year's prank involved a guy riding a motorcycle naked through the winding hallways, so I suppose this is preferable. Of course, Jon's nowhere to be found. I don't see him for the rest of the day either.

I still wake up the next morning with a smile on my face. It's done. I'm finished with high school, and today, I graduate.

"I'm so proud of you," Mom says as she curls my hair. I manage to sit patiently when she applies light makeup to my face. The last time someone did this, I still worked at the cabaret. Seems like a forever ago. "Very proud," she repeats. "You made it."

For once in your life, you're happy to call me your daughter. "Thank you," is what I say instead. Mom brushes a hair away from my forehead and her eyes shine as I stand up. I'm wearing a nice, burgundy dress with poufy sleeves and black flats. I'm satisfied with my appearance.

I retrieve my gown and cap from the table and slip them on. "Maybe you should pin this down?" I suggest, pointing to the cap.

We arrive at the high school at one o'clock, an hour before the ceremony. It isn't until we've assembled for class pictures that I spot Jonathan toward the end of one of the boys' rows. His height. Of course. He looks nice. Someone whistles and I look at the camera and smile before the flash goes off. We're handed programs and roses, and we stand in line until "Pomp and Circumstance" begins to play. When it's time for me to walk, I pray I don't fall on my face. I'm glad I didn't wear heels. This is going to be a long ceremony.

I sit in my chair and glance at the program.

WHAT.

Jonathan is our valedictorian and has to give a speech about a class he no doubt despises. Even more interesting, in front of people. I've never seen him interact with anyone other than me. I'm scared for him. He hasn't struck me as a much of a public speaker.

When the time comes, to my wonder, he does fine. He leans comfortably into the microphone and his smooth voice spills out. The speech itself is pretty void of emotion, though he does include some amusing moments he's experienced at the expense of others in his psychology classes. There are no snarky remarks, no bashing of his classmates, no insulting of anyone's intelligence.

I feel eyes on me. More than one pair. One is Jonathan's, staring into my soul from the podium. The others are of my classmates and audience members who know me. I'm royally confused.

"Ames. He's talking about you," the girl to my left whispers. She looks freaked out whereas I'm honored and embarrassed as I focus on what he's actually saying.

"…she's awkward, she's ridiculous, and a bit of a drama queen. My American History classmates can attest to that." A few chuckle at the memory of The Crucible. Mr. Matthew Spade's laughter is easily detectable from the teachers' section. I slump down in my seat and bury my crimson face in my hands. "She started as my neighbor, and she eventually became what you call a friend." He moves on with the rest of his speech, but I'm sitting in my chair dumbfounded. Friends. He admitted it. Publicly and without shame. He finishes, and polite applause rewards him.

Graduation is supposed to be an emotional time, but I never shed a tear. I come close when I go to hug my mother and give her the rose; I'm more elated than anything else. It's weird to see the families of my classmates though. In the back of my mind, I'm expecting Jonathan to pull some prank and scare the shit out of us with bats or mice or dumping blood on someone. Exacting revenge on the bullies or what have you, but nothing happens. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or relieved. Everything proceeds like it normally would. Then again, why would he want to ruin his future? Jon remains in his seat during the exchanges; he doesn't have a family member to give his rose to.

It takes some time, but the ceremony ends. I toss my cap in the air with the rest of the class and watch, entertained, as it nails someone in the head two rows up from me. I giggle and scramble to collect it before it gets lost in the growing pile. Jonathan keeps his cap firmly on his head but he instead tips it in a slight salute. I smile and fight my former classmates as I rush over to him, invading his personal space.

Without warning, I look him straight in the eyes and let him know there's no escaping this. I throw my arms around his torso and squeeze tight, giving Jonathan one hell of a hug. He doesn't reciprocate but at least he doesn't try to take my head off. I release him and beam at him brightly. He gazes at me calmly in return.

"I'll see you around," I assure him lightly. Jon doesn't flinch. Slowly, so slowly, he extends his arm and offers me the rose that he couldn't give to anyone else. I gape at it, cheeks pink.

"For me?"

"Yes," he says quietly. My heart swells in my chest as I accept it with a trembling hand, being mindful of the thorns. I've got butterflies in my stomach. Jonathan vanishes in the crowd and leaves me staring after him. I hold the rose as if it's the most precious thing in the world. I can't believe this. It's uncharacteristically and unintentionally romantic. Not taking my eyes off it, I join the rest of the class of 1994 outside the gymnasium to shake hands with well-wishers. I briefly spy Jonathan sneaking out the front doors without a second look in our direction. I clutch the rose to my chest when I get an awful sinking feeling in my stomach.

He's sure in a rush. It's like he's running away.

When Mom and I return home, I shakily check our mailbox. My mouth is dry, more parched than the Sahara. Oh god. It's there. Dad's watch is there. I wanted him to keep it. Tears prick my eyeballs as I withdraw the folded piece of paper the watch rests on. A note from him. I unfold it.

A drawn out goodbye would make things more difficult for you.
There is nothing for me in Gotham. I hope to see you in the future.
JC

I feel like I'm going to throw up. I crumple the note in my fist, allowing my tears to flow free. He's gone. He left. I've been abandoned. There wasn't a chance for a proper goodbye. Even if he hopes to see me again, there are no guarantees. I feel hallowed out and yet weighted down at the same time. I should've known Jon didn't care. Was the rose given out of pity for my impending discovery? I'm so unbelievably angry.

He's gone and I might not ever see him again. I thought Jonathan could be cruel before. That wasn't cruel. This. THIS is cruel.

I watch his house for the next week. His car never reappears in the driveway, the lights of the house stay off, and the doors remain locked. I check every day. I'm also forced to throw the rose away as it withers and rots away, brilliant red to dull brown. The loss of Jonathan rivals the loss of Dad. I wear the watch every day, as if wearing it will allow me to feel any essence of Jonathan's skin that once pressed against it.

Mom notices my unusual silence and depressed demeanor. She imagines the reason herself. One thing's for sure: I certainly become an adult.

A/N: Ugh. I feel like I'm getting super repetitive these days. With content, I mean. Like I said last chapter, in the next one, I'm probably going to summarize the college/work years a little bit. Crane and Ames will meet again. I'm not going to delve directly in the waters of Batman Begins. They'll meet again a couple years beforehand. I want their relationship to be tumultuous once Scarecrow comes into existence. I'll try to make that a quicker process than high school was.

For those of you who watch Doctor Who, what do you think of Peter Capaldi? I ADORE him.

Criticism is welcome; flamers are not.

Question of the Day: In accordance with this chapter, what was your high school experience like? You don't have disclose anything personal. Keep what you'd like to yourself.