A year passed, which he found almost impossible to believe. The old axiom, 'time flies when you're having fun', was meant for people who were content with their lives. When one was miserable, life was long.

Just one year? It felt like ten…

A year spent standing by helplessly as she pushed him further and further away. She called it setting boundaries; she would accept no money from him, no protection. As far as she was concerned, she and Ava were on their own. They didn't require his presence and she would never ask for help. At her insistence, Jackson waited in the wings, hoping that one day they would need him for something; the fact that they never did hurt even more.

The break up, if that's what it could be called, went better than expected. In a way, they had both known it was coming; just a matter of time.

He had slept late that morning, which also surprised him, but when he woke and walked into the kitchen, watching as Ava ran in circles around the table still wearing her water wings from her Aqua Tots class, he couldn't help but smile. Vanessa, all sixty inches of her, was jumping up and down, trying to reach something on the top shelf to no avail. That scene and all its domesticity made him smile as well. That's where he hid everything, surprise gifts, things she didn't want Ava or him to eat – candy , chips, all the good stuff – pretty much everything, because for her, the world above the second shelf didn't exist.

When she turned, she smiled back, but when she saw his eyes, she knew; she knew it was over. Painful words were almost unnecessary.

Vanessa wouldn't allow him to help as she packed up her things. When he offered to put her up in the hotel of her choosing until she found a more permanent residence, she replied, 'no thanks' – a diplomatic way of saying, 'go to hell' – in a tone that only she could muster. Through it all, she never shed a tear, putting on a happy face as she told Ava they were about to go on a grand adventure.

He felt like an idiot, watching, following as she went from room to room, gathering the necessities and slowly removing all traces of her presence without bothering to look in his direction or speak a single word. She didn't appear sad, angry; nothing…she gave him nothing.

The only time she spoke was right before she left. One sentence said it all. One parting decree to make him feel foolish and small; "I hope your money keeps you warm at night, Jack."

Then Ava came along to kick him while he was down, as Vanessa left; duffel bag in one arm, her child in the other, that beautiful little girl waved to him with eyes as bright as stars.

"Bye-bye, see you soon."

He had no idea where they had stayed, although he suspected her old buddy Bruce had put her up in his guesthouse, and had more than likely paid for the movers that showed up at his apartment the following afternoon. Pretty generous of the billionaire to go so far out of his way to help a friend or maybe he had taken her back now that she had finally worked Jackson Rippner out of her system. He shuddered at the thought but knew he had no right to find fault. At least Bruce could offer her safety and protection, something Jackson had never been able to truly provide.

Months passed before he saw her, or maybe months passed before she caught him following her again would be more accurate? That's when the boundaries went into effect; friendship was allowed, stalking was out of the question. Why she had to constantly remind him that was so important was a mystery to him and his pigheaded ego at first. Ultimately he decided that she was both the stronger and the smarter of the two.

When he did drop by, she was polite, cordial as she always was, even with people he knew she secretly disliked and it bothered him to know that not only might he have been added to that list, but was unable to tell for sure. The only word to describe their meetings was uncomfortable; the disappointment on both sides always shown through, each of them wondering what might have been, should have been, if only he could be different.

Seeing the two of them in a friendly capacity became nothing short of impossible and as a result, he would visit less frequently as time went by. Eventually the day came when he found himself standing outside her apartment building and for the first time, he sighed and kept right on walking because he didn't have the strength for another visit. After that, it became easy and the face to face visits stopped all together. He spoke to her over the phone and that was even worse because there was no way around the uncomfortable silences in their conversation, no polite smiles, a friendly chuckle or background noise to offer distraction. Lulls in their discussions were downright painful and it was only a matter of time before one night, he picked up the phone, wanting to hear her voice, but hung up before he'd even dialed a number. Let her to call for once, he decided, feeling an inkling of misplaced resentment. In the end, he had no one to blame but himself.

It seemed as though his life always hinged on a phone call and if they spoke again, candidly, the way they used to; if she asked him one more time to leave his job, run away with them, he would have done it. How could he not?

But the phone never rang.

He went on with his life feeling frustrated and malcontent because he was the worst kind of fool; stagnant. Waiting for someone else to act, waiting for her to call when, if he'd really had the gumption to do so, he could have taken matters into his own hands.

On the quiet evenings – and there were plenty of them – he would lie awake and his thoughts would often drift, not to Vanessa, but to Lisa; the start of it all. When he'd had his little awakening and that pesky little conscience of his had made a comeback. Sometimes he cursed her and the things she had done; causing him to think twice before acting, making him feel compassion in a field where sympathy got you killed, but mostly he remembered her fondly. Still, he wondered where he would be right now if he'd never met her or Vanessa, if he had never known the pain that oftentimes accompanied love, for he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jonathan Crane had never been kept awake at night wondering, hoping that Vanessa still loved him. The good doctor was free of those concerns; in many ways, it was easier to be a monster.

The control he had over his subordinates ended there; it was a slap in the face when he sat back and realized he wasn't in control of a damn thing, not even his own life. His comings and goings, who he dated, who he could love; that was decided by his employers, always had been, and he still had to show up everyday with a spring in his step and a smile on his face because there was no way out.

Six months had passed since he had contact with Vanessa and Ava- tortuous phone calls a thing of the past and even their features, the sounds of their voices, were becoming more and more difficult to recall – and as he hurried along the dark alleyways of the Gotham Docklands, rushing because, for once in his life, he was late, Jackson had never felt so cold, so empty. His mind and his surroundings both twisted places where the sun never shined. No way out, indeed.

It was unusually cold that evening. Fog rolled off the surface of the water and onto the lonely streets in waves and it wasn't long before Jackson could barely see five feet in front of him and he stepped gingerly, worried that, with one careless footfall, he would walk right off the edge of the pier and then the rest of the world would see what a fool he really was.

When he arrived at his destination, safe and dry, he found it equally vacant, but in this case, that was surprising. Abandoned trucks, boxes strewn about, but no people to handle the shipment as there should have been. Inclement weather put most people off and kept them indoors, but for people like him, being alone and concealed by Mother Nature was beyond perfect. To find the Docklands actually deserted filled him with dread.

Full blown raids don't end this way. There's a mess, reporters, there's something other than the eerie silence that filled this place.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath.

Immediately suspicious of who was more than likely still here, lurking, waiting for him in particular, he began to back away, fully prepared to turn tail and run until the sound of boards creaking behind him stopped him in his tracks. He spun around seeing nothing but the occasional streetlight burning through the heavy fog and hearing little more than the sounds of boats rocking back and forth on the choppy waters.

"Damn film noir crap," he thought, laughing to himself fool heartedly at the setting, while simultaneously hoping against hope that all was well. Just a sudden change of plans and he hadn't been notified. That was all. Heavy fog, intrigue, mystery; all he needed now was a trench coat and trademark cigarette to make it good. It was too corny to be real.

"To hell with this…"

Jackson took one step back, all five senses on red alert, and ran into what he thought might be a wall. When he turned, he was enveloped by a cloak of darkness.

Little did he know the events that followed would bring him, beaten and bloody, right back into the arms of the woman he'd been trying to so hard to leave behind and that he had Jonathan Crane to thank for his continued well being; for if he hadn't known the identity of his attacker, he'd be in prison right now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He had almost gone, so disturbed by the sight of Vanessa in that hospital bed, lost to him; he had almost turned and left in his debilitating grief. The thought rattled him, always would rattle him for as long as he lived. As time went on, despite his best efforts, Jackson couldn't help but think about what might have happened if Crane had been given an additional ten or even five minutes with his daughter while he stood by the bedside of his greatest love and best friend, grief-stricken and unmoving.

It damn well could have been that way. Thoughts of Ava had momentarily gone by the wayside until he caught site of that bloodly, discarded article of clothing and all that it implied. It affected a startling change in him. Fear, grief; they disappeared. Strangely enough, he found a quiet calm, became cold because that's what he needed to be. If he gave into his emotions, he would lose, and for the first time in his life, he successfully put them on the back burner. If he stayed detached enough to realize that help literally surrounded him at all angles, he could focus and do what was right. His well timed disconnection gave him the ability, not to run through the building shouting Ava's name like a careless birdbrain, but instead to take the phone from Vanessa's lap and bring a more clever plan into action. He prayed that a man like Crane wouldn't have the patience or would consider it a burden to have to dial to get a line out - rules applying to the rank and file, but certainly not to the good doctor - and when he had his answer, Jackson did all that needed to be done quickly; his niece never far from his thoughts.

After he had quickly dispensed with the necessities, he touched Vanessa's face. He stood there for a moment, feeling as though he were being ripped in two; half of him wanting to stay here, with her, to do something, wake her somehow, and the other half chomping at the bit to protect that little girl.

Why couldn't he move, he wondered? Could it be that in his heart of hearts he knew there was a very real possibility he might never see Vanessa again and that getting both of them out of here once the chaos ensued would be nigh on impossible with her lying in a bed, hooked up to life support equipment.

But he forced himself to let go, whatever the outcome may be. He leaned forward, kissed her gently and whispered in her ear a sincere promise that he would protect Ava and settle this once and for all, and then he was off.

Crossing the hall, he opened the door nearest to him. What lay behind was a sparsely decorated office. So bare that at first glance he could survey the entire room. He backed out just as quickly as he'd gone in. Ava wasn't in there.

Jackson walked down the hall and towards the lab, picking up on the droplets of blood that dotted the narrow passage. The trail ended there, just disappeared suddenly and again, had he not kept a level head, he might have missed that semi-concealed door located at the back of the room.

He pressed his ear to that door and heard nothing. Not a whimper, not a plea. He grasped the door handle and opened it with care, mindful not to break the silence because, truly, he knew they were in there and he had to be prepared for whatever circumstances lay in wait.

When the door cracked the sounds came to him. Jackson heard the water running and Ava sobbing uncontrollably.

Stealing himself, he opened the door a bit further and peered inside. The smell hit him straight away. Acrid and terrible, he wasn't daft, he knew what it was and in the corner, he saw Ava, naked from the waist up, wiping at her arms and stomach frantically with a strip of cloth. When she looked up unexpectedly, their eyes met.

"I want to go home," she cried, wrapping her arms around herself.

He couldn't resist. With tunnel vision, he entered the room, already removing his jacket, intent on covering her. He passed the bathroom on his way, catching his second glimpse of Crane in the flesh and Jackson marveled at the fact that no matter how often he saw the man, it always made his skin crawl. Currently, he wasn't much of threat. In fact, his foot was in the sink while he balanced at an awkward angle, washing himself for obvious reasons.

Jackson was tempted to go after him right then and there. He wanted to crush him, feel Crane's flesh tear in his eager hands, rip him apart and scatter the pieces to the four winds. Only then would he know that there would be no return visits from this thing. But no, not yet, he had to get Ava out of harms way first.

Then get your ass in gear and stop wasting time…

"Shh," he said, speaking in a voice that was lower than a whisper, words barely audible over the exhalation of his breath. "Put this on, Angel."

Then he saw it; first, the strip of cloth she had been holding – her tights – and when he looked closer, he saw her underwear balled up and twisted inside that garment as if they'd been pulled off together. Worse yet, he saw the stains and he knew. The one thing he had feared the most had come to fruition.

He never should have let her go back in that building.

What kind of man could look at a child, his own daughter and become sexually aroused? What kind of pervert….

Never mind, he told himself. He knew exactly the type of man who would do such a thing. As far as motive was concerned, he wasn't meant to understand. Thank God, he couldn't understand.

Staying calm was all he was required to do at this moment and that was challenging enough.

"I'm sorry," she kept repeating but he wouldn't accept those misplaced apologies. It didn't matter what she had done, how hard she had fought, if at all, what she had said or not said to get through it. She was not the one at fault. She was not the pedophile.

"I threw up," she said as she struggled to her feet. The sight of her bloody face, the bruises were enough to stoke the fires of rage already burning inside him, but when she turned slightly and he saw it; the red welt nestled between her shoulder blades, shaped curiously like the heel of a man's shoe, he seethed. It was all he could do to hold himself together long enough to make sure she got to safety.

"Really, I hadn't noticed," came an obnoxious reply and when that son of a bitch shut the bathroom lights and stepped into the room, Jackson was ready for him, burying his fist into that smug little face with such fluidity that it felt more like a natural reflex than anything else.

Crane stumbled backward, unable to defend himself against the onslaught and Jackson went after him, kept on him until he was silent and still and Ava begged him to stop.

Now she was safely out of the room and Jackson watched Crane as he lay there, sprawled on the floor about a half inch away from the odorous pool of vomit. Lacking smelling salts, or any other conventional way of bringing the good doctor around, this was the best he could do. He was certain Jonathan would understand.

Sure enough, thirty seconds passed and Crane rolled to his side, recoiling when he saw and smelled the mess and he turned to Jackson for a bewildering moment before looking around the room utterly confused.

"Wondering why you're still alive?" Jackson asked.

"Oh, I know why," he responded, removing a handkerchief from his suit coat and dabbing at his face. "She's lying in that hospital bed. Why else do you think I put her there? Every prudent man carries an insurance policy, Mr. Rippner."

"She's just a child, she's…" he started before the contempt and the uselessness of the words caused him to hold his tongue.

"Naïve," Crane fired back, because she had dared to believe him and Jackson should have known better than start in with a guilt trip. "Spare me the lecture."

"You're right. I don't need the words. I feel better just looking at you now. You're a joke, a sick, twisted joke."

"A joke," Crane began, inching away from that pool of vomit until Jackson's stern expression and raised fists told him to go no further. "You trying to come off as any sort of moral authority…that, my friend, is a joke."

Even now, the pleasantries didn't cease. Polite to the very end; and for the beating he'd received, Jackson noted that Crane had recovered surprisingly fast. Then again, he'd taken more than his fair share of punches and kicks over the years. If he hadn't turned into such a debased psychopath, Jackson might have pitied him but no, Crane had risen about it all, leaving the Narrows far behind and achieving more success by his early thirties than most people do in a life time. But he always had to have more and in his quest for power he'd sunk far lower than the weak minded children who used to taunt him in his youth.

Crane had earned the fate that awaited him and, right or wrong, Jackson was enjoying the moment.

"You're like a one trick pony. Can't you think of something more original than rape?"

"Rape," Crane huffed. "We always have been at odds on this matter, haven't we? Degradation, humiliation, they're tools to be used like any other."

Offended by the comment as Jackson knew he would be, the doctor went on, doing his best to explain his actions as though what had happened in this room needed clarification. "You say I lack originality. Tell me, ten years…fifteen years down the line when she wakes up crying in the night, when the lessons I instilled force her to withdraw, will you still think of my methods as old school? How can you of all people say I lack imagination?"

Jackson laughed right in his face, not what Crane had expected certainly but he was about to find that a lot of things weren't going to go as planned.

"It won't be that way," Jackson said matter-of-factly and before Crane could respond the rumble of engines rang through the air, causing the very building to shake. "And for your sake, I hope your time with her was worth it because you're never going to see her again."

"How dramatic of you, tell me, where's Veronica? Have we seen the last of her as well?"

"You figure it out."

"Oh, that's a shame. She wasn't in our league, Mr. Rippner. Not bad in the true sense of the word; just an impoverished girl with an overly affectionate father. Perhaps you should have been a little more understanding?"

A pathetic laugh followed, a distorted cackle that made Jackson wonder what sort of influence the good doctor's business partner truly had over him. Then, for a split second, his brow furrowed, the lines drawing deeper and further along his forehead as he recognized the sound and began to comprehend what was happening.

"Looks like your plans have sprung into action a little sooner than expected, Jon. Either that or your loyal business partner has abandoned you, but how could that happen to a man who runs such a tight ship?"

Crane huffed again and rose to his knees, trying to stand before the pain brought him back down. He languished there, doing and saying nothing, just breathing heavily with pain. When he finally did begin to speak, he refused to look Jackson in the eye.

"It doesn't matter when it happens; none of it matters, really. The end result will be largely the same."

"I suppose you're right, unless, of course, the police were given a heads up. Who knows, they could be on their way here right now. Maybe that's why your cohorts scattered like the roaches they are?"

Crane looked up in shock, "Not possible. They would….," and his mouth hung agape when Jackson held up the cell phone and waved it in the air. The doctor had never looked so surprised; like he could not have closed his mouth even if he'd wanted to, and if he was a man prone to theatrics – a man not unlike his current incredulous roommate – Jackson would have laughed maniacally and said, "My, how the tables have turned."

But instead, he decided to point out the doctor's faults; each and every one.

"There won't be an attack on Gotham. You were so damn busy trying to get into your daughter's pants that you got sloppy. Speaking of which," he began, looking down at that pool of vomit and feeling thankful that it was there; serving as the only thing Ava could have done to stop this monster dead in his tracks, "so did she. Things just aren't going your way."

"Well then, I'll admit it, Mr. Rippner, you do have me stumped. I'll ask the question. Why am I still alive? Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" His tone was mocking, playing along just for fun.

"I wanted you to know what was coming," Jackson said, brandishing the screwdriver that he knew had been meant for him. He had seen it on the nightstand by Vanessa's bed. A leather bound journal standing open next to two vials of unknown fluid. Sketched across the open pages were notes and a drawing concerning an unspeakable act; an act that would have left his body intact and his mind in a shambles. "I thought about you a lot over the years. I replayed our first showdown over and over again in my mind and I thought about what I'd do if I ever saw you again. I always thought it was a waste of time…but I guess not!"

All the while, as he spoke, Jackson never took his eyes off that weapon and he found it funny that Crane didn't either.

"I thought about castrating you. That withered piece of flesh between your legs has done its fair share of damage. But it's just not enough."

"Then I thought maybe prison would be good for you. Let you experience rape first hand, but with my luck you'd manipulate the dullards; have them working for you by the end of the day."

"I asked myself, what does Jonathan Crane fear? What's the one thing that separated him from the rest of the scum living in the Narrows? It's your mind, Jon. Without it, you're nothing."

And as Jackson approached he noted that for the first time ever, Jonathan Crane was terrified. He scurried, crab-like across the floor and away, curling his nose up once when his hand came to rest in Ava's sickness.

"You let her come back with me. You knew and you did nothing to prevent it," Crane said in desperation as he continued his retreat, forced to stop when his back hit the wall. "You know that I've never been able to resist a pretty face, not at Arkham, and certainly not now."

"Now would be the time for begging, not sarcasm, Doc."

"You let her return with me because your true interest lies with Vanessa."

"Where are you going with this?" Jackson asked.

"Little girls need their mothers. Who else will go to her when she wakes up in the night, and you know damn well she will, who will go to her? Who will get her through it….you? We're civilized men, Mr. Rippner. We can settle on terms that will be mutually beneficial for both of us."

And the mere fact that Jackson didn't respond at all egged Crane on, gave him a glimmer of hope. "You really are crazy," was his delayed response.

"Oh, stop being so damned provincial; afraid to make a deal with the devil? You're a logical man; you know how easy it is to hate, how hard it is to truly love another person. But you love Vanessa, that's as plain as the nose on your face. I'll give her to you. I'll let you have both of them and in exchange, I walk out of here a free man."

"Never," Jackson replied. He could never be given the time, the chance to regroup and strike at them again for any reason. Nothing could be worth such a price. Crane knew as much and he was ready with his words, quickly sowing the seeds of doubt.

"Think about this. Trust your feelings, not your sense of obligation. Without me, Vanessa's life is over. I know I left those vials in plain sight but without my knowledge, you'll never know how to combine them and the wrong dose will be fatal. Let's face it, the only man who ever stood a chance of doing so is Lucius Fox and as we both know, he's been dead for two years now."

"You're right," Jackson said, letting his hands fall to his sides but his grip on the screwdriver stayed firm.

"I know," he responded in a conciliatory fashion. "And I will make things very simple for you. I'll wake Vanessa. When it's done we all go our separate ways. Doesn't that sound fair?" Crane asked as he rose to feet and came closer, stopping when he was little more than two feet from Jackson.

"I…," Jackson began.

"Give me the screwdriver, Mr. Rippner, stop this foolishness."

Crane leaned forward tentatively and Jackson recoiled. They stood there, staring at one another, mirror images, until his arch nemesis felt enough time had passed and made a second grasp at salvation.

"This is the proper choice, Mr. Rippner. Rest assured you are doing the right thing."

Crane's icy fingers brushed against Jackson's hand and he grabbed the doctor, pulling him forward with all his strength. For this act, he needed the momentum.

"I know I am" he said as the screwdriver made contact and Crane fell to the floor clutching his right eye. He may very well be sending Vanessa to her doom, but with Ava hanging in the balance, he knew he had done what she would have wanted, what she would have demanded. Somehow he knew that, like any mother, she would lay down and die for her child without so much as a second thought and it would have been a cold day in hell before he ever swallowed one of Crane's mile long lines of bullshit.

Listening to Crane whimper, Jackson knew that the job wasn't done just yet. He was sprawled across the floor, the screwdriver having gone in at the wrong angle; straight back into the corner of his eye, just beside the tear duct, instead of angled upward as it should have been and as a result Crane had lost an eye, not his mind, not yet.

And what a gruesome sight it was. There was blood, though not as much as Jackson had been expecting. What he mostly saw was fluid, some clear and watery, some of it more gelatinous, slipping between Crane's fingers and down the side of his face. When Crane pulled his hand away, sucking in air and looking as if he were about to faint, Jackson saw that damaged, misshapen eye, resting in its socket like a deflated balloon; taken aback by the sight, only for a moment, he approached, feeling not an ounce of sympathy.

When Crane came to his senses and realized how close Jackson was, he began to fight; reaching up to claw and grab at his face as Jackson easily subdued him, straddling the good doctor and effectively pinning his arms to the floor.

"Goodbye, Dr. Crane," he said, angling the screwdriver upward and driving it in until it would go no further. Crane cried out, and then began to shake uncontrollably as Jackson wiggled the object about. After hearing an audible crack Jackson was certain he'd destroyed the mind that had brought misery to so many others via this intentionally botched trans-orbital lobotomy. It was finally over and now that it was done, Crane lay there so still that Jackson bent down, intent on checking for a pulse.

"Don't move!" yelled a voice from behind, and Jackson raised his hands in the air when he heard a gun cock. "Stay right where you are, Crane."

Jackson swore he knew that voice.

Author's Note: I wrote something! I actually wrote something! I can't believe so much time has passed and I apologize for my absence.

I must admit, I'm not entirely at ease with this chapter. It's been so long that I can't help but wonder if I've truly captured the emotion of the moment. Still, I had to start somewhere and if nothing else, I'm getting back into the swing of things. How wonderful it feels.

As always, thanks to emptyvoices, though I was so excited I didn't forward this particular chapter over to her…sorry! And thanks to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review.

This story is winding down, but there's still some excitement left. As for Vanessa's fate….stay tuned.