Endgame

Groggily, Dr Crane pulled himself up from the carpet, wincing as his muscles stretched from the cramped position they had just spent a great deal of time in. He pulled at his clothes; miffed at the way they had become so wrinkled. Slowly, his brain began to once again process the previous night’s actions – including his hostile takeover and the mirror…

I am your reflection.

He shook his head slightly, to get his hair back to its native position. It didn’t want to move, so sighing, he placed a hand through it as he headed towards the window which was lit with the midmorning light of Gotham. He lifted his eyes to the towering figure of Wayne Enterprises before turning around and heading towards his desk with the unfinished paperwork on it. He frowned as he picked up the transfer order on Patient M – he then ripped it into shreds and placed it in his trashcan, based on the conversation he had with him earlier in the morning. He stifled a yawn, sitting in his chair, his muscles truly aching. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

You’re weak.

He was hissing again, flaring up unexpectedly.

“Just because I need sleep?” he rolled his eyes, “I’m stronger than you – you have to wait until I’m physically and mentally drained until you try and move in.”

The hissing and other ungrateful noises amplified, making Jonathan wince at the volume. Leaning his elbow on his desk, he began to massage his temple, trying to force the noise out of his head until a timid knock came from his door.

“Yes?” he called, unhappy at the interruption. He frowned immensely as he saw who was standing in his doorway, looking defiant.

Rachel Dawes.

Straightening up, he looked her dead in the eye, “Can I help you, Ms Dawes?” he drawled tonelessly, blinking coldly.

“Yes, Dr Crane, I think you can.” Rachel paused before stepping in, staring at him. “There were two transfers from the prison last night. Both were to Arkham. Both were thugs of Falcone’s.”

“Oh,” Crane interrupted, putting a hand in the air to silence her, “You’re not suggesting that I had anything to do with this, are you?”

“No, but you know who did.”

He slid his cool gaze over her and pursed his lips, trying to think of the right retort. Finally, he stood up, taking all of his effort not to roll his eyes, and grabbed his briefcase, “Yes, it was Dr Mark Masters.”

“You must have authorized it!”

Frowning as he slid his way by her, giving her a fleeting glance, he shook his head, “Dr Masters has enough authorization to initiate transfers, so long as I am told before the patient arrives. Now, if you excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to.”

He quietly began to walk down the hall, knowing he hadn’t seen the rest of Dawes for the day. “Oh, and Ms Dawes, when you’re done – please, shut the door,” he snidely commented before he was completely out of earshot.

You’re not going to take that type of defiance, are you?

“For the moment, yes,” Crane murmured as he decided to take the stairs once again. Dropping down them swiftly, two at a time, he shook his head, “There’s things to be done.”

Delta solution?

Crane scowled at his reaction. “No. Mainly me getting real sleep.”

Jonathan descended the rest of the steps, swinging his briefcase slightly. Putting a hand on the small claw at the end of the banister, he pivoted and directed himself towards the parking garage. He kept his gaze low, trying to distract attention from his sleepless eyes and paler-than-normal skin colouring.

You know nothing of what should be done! Fear, pain, blood, it’s all relative to who we are!

Shaking his head slightly, Crane murmured his reply. “You’re insane."

…I am the Scarecrow, and you call me insane? You are privy to a great becoming, but you recognize nothing!

“I am an ant in the afterbirth,” Jonathan recited, fixing the point of view through clenched teeth, rolling his eyes, “It is my nature to do one thing correctly – before you I rightly tremble,” he almost balked at the line – trembling before him? Yeah right. “And let’s skip the rest – I owe you fear instead of awe. Right?”

He fell silent, but he was fuming. Dr Crane winced as pain echoed around his head

He exited the Arkham gates and collected his scattered thoughts, which, thanks to him were everywhere. He never felt normal anymore, never felt truly all right.

“Dr Crane?”

He looked at his watch – it had been all of, what? 45 seconds before she had come back? That must be a new record, he sarcastically mused.

“Yes, Ms Dawes?” he said, trying to make his tone as tolerant as possible.

“I was curious,” she started, walking beside him, her hands deep in her pockets to avoid the cold wind that blew out from the street, “Are you going to keep convincing judges that Falcone’s thugs are insane?”

He frowned, adjusting his glasses with his free hand, “They are insane, and I believe that I do know more about this than you do.” He paused, before staring at her wildly, “and I also do believe that we’ve had almost this exact same conversation before, so I will terminate this here.”

She shared his look, their eyes locking for the briefest of seconds before he turned away and began walking slightly faster.

She sighed, “What do you think this is?” she paused, glaring at him, “Do you think this is a game?”

“This is our endgame, Ms Dawes,” he spoke lightly, clicking his tongue slightly.

“Endgame?” she called after him, frowning.

“This is the end of a long struggle. This is where all the pieces are off the table. This is stalemate in 30 moves. You have your objectives, I have mine – and unlike you, I tend to want criminals off the street.”

"Dr Crane," she persisted, her eyes blazing, "You don't look well - are you fit to run Arkham?"

This stopped him in his tracks, his bright blue eyes going dark as he narrowed them angrily. "I am perfectly fine, Miss Dawes...you have no need to concern yourself with my personal matters," he sneered, turning around to face his dangerous eyes with her fiery ones.

Make her scream. Make her heed your advice and show her what happens when she meddles in things she ought not to have meddled in! Show me her fears.

"On the contrary, I think I do," she shot back, causing him to notice her fists clenching in anger. "If you are yourself...sick of mind, you can no longer admit Falcone's thugs to your asylum!"

Crane hissed underneath his breath, his eyes flipping to show nothing but contempt for Dawes. "I am of perfectly sound mind," he frowned, thinking of him, and at the thought, he began to make even more brutal suggestions, "although I would like to admit you for some...mental evaluations of your own," he sniffed angrily.

The evaluation of her screams will be glorious! Let me through!

She gaped at him, her eyes barely slits, "You'd admit me for not being corrupt?" she hissed back.

He spat in return - he seemed to almost be the middle man. Him and her were becoming too much for him to be able to stay remotely calm. He turned away quickly, seething with a newfound frustration from having to deal with both of them at once. He still looked calm, but rage was churning under the surface.

"The road to Hell is a path paved by good intentions," Jonathan growled uncharacteristically, his tolerance at the breaking point, "Now head for it, Miss Dawes.”

With that, he hopped in his black Lexus and started it up, returning to the cool placidity that he usually exhibited. Rachel didn’t persist, but only glared daggers through the tinted window of the car.

After a short car ride, in which he was silent, Jonathan was once again trudging up the carpeted hall to his apartment, fumbling for his keys, catching his glasses as they slid off his face, and opening his door to the cool rush of air that hadn’t been touched in at least a day.

He never bothered to turn the light on as he shuffled to the bedroom. He didn’t care about anything – he was running on empty and yet he was still thriving. It pained him to live like this, to be split into two different beings, to not function as he wanted to. He wanted to help people, he wanted to hear them scream. He wanted to quietly work, he wanted to cause mayhem.

Mayhem spawns fear. Fear is life.

He frowned as he fell onto his bed, absolutely enamoured with its softness after spending hours on the floor. He kept picturing Rachel’s final glare at him and he scowled. What right did she have, telling him that he was mentally unsound? Maybe if he could test the Delta Solution on her...

This is our endgame…this is our end.

He ignored him and paused in his thoughts, he was thinking like him. He didn’t want to. He clutched his glasses in one hand as he stood up, thoroughly frustrated with himself.

We're more alike than you think.

Jonathan shivered in the sudden coldness of the room, "Go to hell," he spat angrily at the voice that had plagued him for so long.

No.

"Go. To HELL!" Crane yelled, clenching his fists.

If I'm going, I'm dragging you with me!

He laughed again. But this time, he did it through Jonathan's mouth. His voice was Jonathan's voice. Crane fell to his knees with a swift movement and continued laughing, on the borderline of insanely. Only his eyes remained his own, full of surprise, anger, and in the deepest corners of the frightening blue hues, relief.

It was then that Jonathan realized that the battle had been lost. He had won.

Now he would be a part of him - even in Solitude.

---

Author's Note: And THUS the endgame is complete! (See, I told you in more ways than one! Hehe...I'm so sneaky) So that's it. Constantly fighting until the end when he finally (at least mainly) gives in. Kind of a good lead in to the movie, I thought. I know the chapter was kind of short (kind of? Ok, really short), but I didn't want to overdo it. And I really wanted to have more time between his interactions with Rachel but I really couldn't think of anything to put there, so it ended up ok, I suppose.

Um, a small note. There's a line based from the movie Red Dragon (I swear - Hannibal & Crane are just begging for a crossover), which I edited partially (I am the Dragon / And you call me insane. / You are privy to a great becoming, but you recognize nothing. / You are an ant in the afterbirth. / It is your nature to do one thing correctly. / Before me, you rightly tremble. / But, fear is not what you owe me. / You owe me awe.) Now! If anyone knows if it was from a poem or something, can you e-mail me or something? I've been looking frantically all summer for any indication it is - I haven't found anything. But then again, I'm not an expert on poetry.

Skyler McAndrews: Thanks :) You rule And I hope you enjoy the final chapter

Blodeuedd: I'm happy you've had uberfun! Cause so have I! And trust me, I'm just like you (in the aspect of falling on my face & listening to the Goldberg Variations, and also in the aspect of heartage of Crane!) Dark humour was just an...added bonus in Reflection, although it's supposed to be angsty-dark-humour...does that make sense? Hmm...now I feel really odd for not explaining myself! Anyways, this is it, hope you enjoy!

Azina Zelle: Aw, thanks. I was actually going for that - kinda a hero/villian situation (although kinda a "fallen hero") but inside one man's head.

Note: For the past little while, I've been writing basically, a soundtrack for this. Random songs that I was listening to and /or random songs that just popped into my head would scream out the relationship between Scarecrow & Jonathan...(and the classical pieces I mention...yay for Beethoven, Chopin and Bach!) - I dunno if it's against the terms here or whatnot, but I'd be willing to put it up so people could see/hear (if they want to) what I mean - what do you guys think?

Thanks for the ride, it's been great. :) Now let's give Dr Crane a huge big angsty hug before the DVD...Ok? (hehehe. I'm such a stupid fangirl :D)

-Bethany