Disclaimer: I do not own the rights "Batman" or any of its characters, including Scarecrow, nor do I own any rights to the comics or the films. I own nothing!

This is just a short one-shot I wanted to write featuring Crane and my OC, Teagan James. I've explored their relationship in great detail in multi-chaptered fics, but sometimes it's nice to just focus on a one-shot. :)

Lovesick

"Do it."

His command is not harsh, nor demanding; his voice is soft, barely above a whisper, yet it still manages to fill the dark, cold cell, his words floating down the abandoned cell block halls, echoing through the basement.

No, it is not cruel, but it is a command all the same.

Teagan looks up at Crane as she cradles the syringe in her hand, holding it with the utmost care and delicacy she can muster.

"I don't know if I can do it," she whispers timidly, her cheeks hot with embarrassment and shame.

He's depending on her. She's the only other person who knows about his plans, the only other person who can help him, and right now she's disappointing him, letting him down in the worst way possible.

He's given her so much, so very much—a new outlook, a new home, a new life. He's enlightened her in ways no one else could possibly began to imagine, showed her things no one else has ever seen, and she can't even do this simple task for him.

A fresh wave of shame washes over her. I'm a failure. I've failed him.

Crane reaches over, his long fingers stroking gently across her wrist, caressing her skin; he hears her catch her breath and he smiles. She'll do what he wants. That won't be a problem.

He straightens the syringe in her hand, wrapping her fingers around the handle with slow precision, before closing his hand around hers.

Crane leans down, pressing his lips to her ear; her hair brushes across his face, and he can smell her shampoo, fragrant in the musty cell. He buries his face in her hair, and with his free hand he reaches up to touch her throat, slowly running his fingers along her neck, leaving behind a lingering trail of sensation.

She's so easy to manipulate. The day he decided she would become his test subject was the day their game began. And when he decided that she would become his, their game only grew into something stronger, something more intimate, more powerful. Her love for him intensifies the rush he feels as he maneuvers her, orchestrating her every move. He's marked her forever, made her eternally his, and their game will continue as long as they live.

He doubts either of them will tire of it.

"You can do it," he murmurs into her ear. She shudders as his lips touch her.

His tightens his grip around her hand; gentle, yet forceful.

"You can do it. I need you too."

She takes a deep breath before giving him a shaky smile.

"I'll do it."

Crane leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead; he can hear her as she lets out a small, muffled giggle underneath him and he smiles again.

So easy.

He reaches up to touch her shoulders, slowly guiding her towards the man strapped to the cell bed. He watches them with scared, pleading eyes, confused and frightened beyond what he thought possible. He struggles against the restraints, screaming into duct tape wrapped tightly across his lips.

Crane reaches down and began to roll the man's sleeves up; the man recoils at his touch, not fully aware of what is going to happen but knowing it will involve the needle in Teagan's hand.

"Are you going to sanitize his arm?" Teagan asks, watching Crane with anticipation.

"That won't be necessary," Crane replies blankly, rising from the patient's side. "He's ready for you now."

Teagan steps forward, her heart pounding, sweat slowly trickling down her face in small beads.

The man's eyes widen as she hovers above him, close enough that her long hair almost grazes the top of his dirty forehead, coated in perspiration.

She gives him a wide smile, white teeth shining in the cell's darkness.

"You may feel some pressure."

A muffled yell as the needle pierces the man's skin; Teagan had plunged it into his arm with more force than necessary, for reasons unknown to herself but obvious to Crane. Whether she knows it or not, whether she denies or fails to realize it, she enjoys this just as much as he does. Her initial hesitance is nothing short of timidness, of ingrained doubt; only during times like these with Crane does she become who she truly is.

Teagan withdraws the needle, placing it onto the tray before discarding her latex gloves next to the syringe; she absentmindedly wipes her chalky hands on her skirt, leaving behind a faint, white residue. She turns to face the man, watching with eager eyes as he thrashes on the bed, his body fighting wildly against the restraints. His continuing screams are a sign of his—their success—and she turns away from the man to face Crane, no longer interested in the nameless person, indifferent to his anguish.

He gives her an approving nod and she brings her hands to her cheeks, curling them into fists with excitement as she grins, her heart bursting with happiness. She rushes forward and wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest, beaming with pride as the silk of his tie caresses her cheek.

He sighs and pats her on the back, resting his chin atop her head. Sometimes he finds her enrapture pathetic, sometimes enduring; often, he finds it is a combination of both.

He closes his eyes as he continues to rub her back reassuringly, rewarding her with the affection she constantly craves.

Sometimes he wonders why he started the game, and why he continues it. He wonder why he continues to allow someone into his life, to share intimacy with him, to see the side of him he shields from everyone else. Sometimes he wonders why he doesn't just end the game; he could rid himself of her at anytime, if he wishes—she has no one to miss her, and he has the skills and ingredients to destroy her.

Yes, sometimes he wonders if he's made a mistake, if he's started a game he won't win, or worse, a game that will bore him.

And then times like these remind him that he will always win. He cannot lose. He will always be one step ahead of her—he knows her too well; he knows her every thought before she thinks it, knows her every move before she makes it.

He will always be in control, because she wants him to be. She's allowed herself to be consumed by him, willingly given herself over, surrendered her entire life to become part of this.

She's as much a participant in the game as he is.

And they wouldn't have it any other way.