His Darling Assistant

Part 14: The Batman

In the 24 hours that passed since you found out what Scarecrow had done, you obsessed over every bit of information you could find; every "sighting" that was reported on the news, even if the men in the photos never shared the deep blue eyes as your Dr. Crane. You told yourself you weren't obsessed. That it was perfectly normal behavior, especially since he was the same man who tied you up in a warehouse for twelve hours. It was perfectly normal of you to be afraid.

But even still, you couldn't completely ignore the strange, stabbing feeling that pierced your gut every time Summer Gleeson mentioned his name, like you've been launched from a cliff. The feeling that terrified you more than the man himself ever could.

Your friend called, and you brushed her off, hurriedly ending the call so you could scour the news, glued to your sofa. Of course, she saw right through your bullshit and told you she was driving over the next day, and there was no stopping it. Sometimes, having a great best friend was less than ideal when you wanted to stalk the man you were stalling to tell her about. At least it gave you an excuse to get up and tidy your house a bit, shoving all of the gifts and trinkets that he had given you to the abyss in the back of your closet.

When she arrived the next morning, you practically melted into her hug, holding on for dear life.

"Jeez, girl, you really needed me, huh," she teased you and you nodded into her neck, causing her to chuckle lightly.

"I brought wine."

"I love you."

"I know."

When you finally brought yourself to let go, you helped her with her bags and the two of you slumped onto the couch, wine glasses in hand.

"So," she started, looking at you with a raised brow.

"So?"

"So, what's going on?"

You stared at her, and shrugged, putting your all into not breaking down with the weight of all that had happened, and failing as you felt a tear escape from the corner of your eye.

"Oh," she said and took your free hand with hers, "oh, honey, tell me everything."

You did.

It was surprisingly easy, letting the words flow out of your mouth like a heavy cloud finally able to release its rain. She listened well, pouring more wine until the both of you were a mess, you sobbing into her shoulder as she stroked your hair and sobbed with you. You told her about meeting Dr. Crane, about your short-lived promise to never fall for him, about Joseph coming to town and him saving you, how he took it too far and it all made you sick to your stomach until you found yourself locked in an abandoned warehouse while the rest of Gotham rampaged, chock full of fear.

You talked and talked and talked until there was nothing left to say, and the only thing to do was cry in her arms, feeling the burden on your shoulders lighten as she sat in silence, digesting.

Finally, she let out a soft hum of amusement, and you pulled away, staring at her.

"You really can't catch a break," she said, wiping a tear. You smiled against your will.

"I really can't."

"Well," she said, leaning forward to grab your wine and put both glasses on the coffee table, taking both your hands in hers, "it's a damn good thing I know what you need."

"What's that?"

"We're going dancing."

+++

She was right, of course. The long night of loud music and drinks was exactly what you needed.