Willing Victim

A/N: I totally forgot to include a disclaimer in the last chapter. But seriously, if I owned ANYTHING about Batman, I would so have better things to do than write fanfiction :-)

Darcy allowed herself to be pulled down the street quickly. The rain had stopped, but the cold mist remained in the November air. Her boots splashed in the puddle as she struggled to keep up. “Excuse me…” It occurred to her that she had no idea what to call the stranger. Hadn’t he said he was a doctor? “Excuse me… Doctor?”

He stopped short in front of her so quickly that she nearly tumbled into him. “What is it?”

“Can’t we slow down? I’m so tired.”

“We’re nearly there. But we have to get out of the street.” He looked around nervously, jerking his eyes back and forth around the corners. “Hurry up.”

By the time they reached their destination, he was nearly dragging Darcy. She looked around at her surroundings and found them quite familiar. She was in The Narrows, she could tell, if for no other reason than the dank smell of decay. They were in a dark alley. “Where are we?” she asked cautiously.

“My house.” He fumbled with a set of keys and finally hit upon the right one. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and ushered Darcy inside. Though it was dark, she could see that they were in a narrow stairwell. A greenish neon light flickered overhead, giving the doctor a strange glow. “I live on the top floor.”

Darcy sighed quietly. She couldn’t face having to walk anymore, much less up several flights of stairs. The day had taken its toll on her and she was almost faint with fatigue. “I… I can’t…” she whispered, sliding down the wall and collapsing on the floor. Tears of exhaustion and grief still poured in a constant stream down her face and her strange friend finally softened. Taking pity on her, he pocketed his keys and went to her, only struggling slightly as he gathered her into his arms. Her body went limp and she was nearly asleep as they reached the top of the stairs and he kicked the unlocked door open.

He dropped her unceremoniously onto the overstuffed leather couch that occupied most of the space in the room. Darcy looked around sleepily at the smallish loft apartment. Furniture was obviously not high on his list of priorities, as the couch and a chair were the only things she could see. Peering through a doorway off to the right, she saw the edge of a comforter dragging the floor, which she assumed was a sign that there was in fact a bed. She could hear him opening and closing cabinets, but he hadn’t said a word since right outside the cemetery. His silence was unnerving her a bit, adding to his freakishly calm demeanor. He re-entered the room, carrying a bright white towel neatly folded in his hands and offered it to her. “You should dry off. I’m sorry I don’t have any dry clothes, but you’re welcome to the robe hanging in the bathroom.”

“I’m fine,” she lied, wiping her face and hair with the towel. “Do I know you?”

“It’s possible. But I’ve been away from Gotham for a while.” He turned his back to her and used a small zippo lighter to light the corner of an old newspaper. He watched it burn in his hands momentarily then knelt down to ignite the logs in the fireplace.

“Wow, a real fireplace. You don’t see those much anymore.” Darcy thought that if perhaps she could make conversation, that the feeling of unease would pass. It didn’t.

“This building is old. No heat or air conditioning. The furnace was broken years ago. But the fireplace heats the room up pretty quickly.” Tossing the papers into the fire, he turned back to her, “Who was Erik Drago?”

Darcy looked up at him in disbelief. People had been avoiding saying his name to her since the accident. As if they were afraid that she would fall apart or go nuts or something. Part of her was angry that he would remind her of him so gruffly. Another part was glad that someone had finally said it. She looked away, trying to keep him from seeing her tears yet again. “He was my boyfriend.”

“You loved him?” His voice rose with the question, as if disbelieving of the entire concept.

She looked at him strangely, her eyes searching his face for a sign of his meaning. “Yes. I did.”

“What happened to him? Drugs? Car accident?” He stepped closer to her with each theory. “Suicide?”

“He was murdered!” She snapped at him and turned away. She was shocked at his indifference to her pain… his fucking insensitivity.

“Hmm.. Common cause of death here in Gotham.” He sat down on the other end of the couch and stared at her intently, as if studying her response to his questions. “Ooohhh… I know.. He was the one that fell from the top floor of Wayne Tower.”

She jerked her head to the side, glaring at him, “Do you find that this approach works with distraught women? How can you be so cold and insensitive?”

“I’m sorry that you find my questions insensitive, Darcy. Human response to emotion fascinates me.” He slid closer to her on the couch and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I do apologize. I’m not used to much company.”

His hand on her shoulder sent chills surging through her body, but the feeling wasn’t all that unpleasant. Secretly, she was just glad to have contact with another person. “No, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have snapped. You were just asking a question… but I’m just so tired…” She leaned her head back to rest on the back of the couch. “This whole thing has been just so painful.” She felt the tears well up in the corners of her eyes and tumble over her reddened cheeks again. She choked out another desperate sob and covered her face, “I just wish I could stop crying. I keep thinking that at some point I’ll run out of tears and I’ll just stop. But it just goes on and on. I wish I could just be numb.” Wiping her eyes she looked up and saw him staring down at her with that strange calm.

“Do you mean that?” His blue eyes narrowed questioningly.

“Yes. I just want to forget about Erik and that party and my life. I dream about him falling every night. And I feel so guilty…”

“Why on Earth would you feel guilty?” He reached out and stroked his fingertips through the stray hairs that fell over her face, the movement was foreign and mechanical. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“The man that killed him. The one in the mask. I found myself… when he held me…I…”

“You liked it? The adrenaline rush. The danger at feeling the cold steel of that gun at your throat. The warmth of his breath on your neck. It aroused you?”

Darcy didn’t answer but nodded and hid her face in her lap, shaking with a new wave of sobbing. “I didn’t want to. I wanted to make it stop. But I couldn’t.. I just didn’t have any control…” Almost involuntarily, she allowed herself to fall over, head resting in the Doctor’s lap. His body tensed and he pulled back slightly, but he couldn’t bear to shove her off. Instead, he tangled his fingertips in her messy, black mane and petted her uncertainly as if she were some kind of defenseless animal… and he supposed she was. “You see, when I dream about the party, I dream about that man.”

“We can’t control what we dream.”

“I know. But if I could just sleep without dreaming. I’m afraid to go to sleep now.” She sat up and looked into his eyes intensely. “In the cemetery, you said… you said you could take the pain away.” He said nothing, but blinked his eyes in response. She grabbed his shoulders fiercely. “Please. I’ll do anything you say, just make it all stop. Just for tonight.”

“Why don’t you lie down and I’ll get you something for sleep.” He pushed her backward gently, arranging a pillow behind her head. She watched him go into another room beyond the kitchen area and close the door behind him. Sitting up slightly, she pulled her jacket from around her shoulders, folded it neatly and threw it over the back of the couch. A moment of realization at her position suddenly made her slightly nervous. She had no idea who this man was or what he wanted with her. If she’d been thinking clearly at the cemetery, she’d have declined his invitation and bolted. Any intelligent woman would have. But he held some kind of strange attraction for her. Something about his cold eyes and sharp features. They were so bizarre, yet so familiar. His expressionless voice teetered on the edge between infuriating rationality and madness. Hell, even if he was an axe murderer, at least her pain and grieving would come to an end.

He came back with a glass of what appeared to be red wine and a small rectangular case. She sat up on her elbows and took the glass when he offered it. “Drink this. It will relax you.”

“What is it?” she asked, sipping cautiously.

“Wine, silly.” He sat down beside her on the edge of the couch and opened the small case. She could see two glass vials and a syringe inside and she cringed back fearfully. “What is it? You aren’t afraid of needles are you?”

“A little.”

“Nothing to worry about. It’s just a sedative. You said you wanted to sleep without dreaming. But if you’d rather not--”

“No…no I want to. I just… I should go home. I don’t even know your name. We’re complete strangers.”

“Well, I’m Jonathan and you’re Darcy and now we aren’t strangers.” He smiled and clicked a new needle into place on the syringe. “You know, guilt, sadness, anger… they’re all chemical reactions in your brain. Every emotion can be traced back to getting more of one chemical or less of another. Not enough serotonin and you can become extremely depressed, too much turkey at Thanksgiving triggers too much tryptophan and you sleep through the big game. But…” he began tapping gently on the inside of her elbow, raising a tiny blue vein, “if one knows how to manipulate these chemicals, he can make you feel however he wants.” She watched him carefully as he took a swab of alcohol and rubbed it tenderly over the injection site. “Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing, Darcy… to have the power to make yourself or anyone feel or act any way that you wanted?”

“I suppose it depends on your motives in doing so.” She gasped as he pressed the needle into her skin and covered it with the alcohol pad. “Oww… that burns.”

“I’m sorry. But admit it, it feels kind of good, doesn’t it?” He glanced up at her, a playful smirk on his face that made her smile.

“A little pain… it makes you feel alive.”

“Exactly.” He pulled the needle out slowly and pressed his thumb against the tiny pinprick. “You should start to feel it pretty soon. I’m afraid you won’t be able to drive home.”

He continued talking, but his voice seemed to get further and further away. Darcy closed her eyes as a wave of something like peace washed over her. The colors and lines of the good doctor’s apartment blurred together in an amorphous sea of flames. His voice never left her hearing but the words danced and she couldn’t understand. Floating over his couch, then over the building, looking over the Narrows. Then, above Wayne Tower. She giggled, swishing her arms over her head, swimming in the air above. Then suddenly she was falling, faster and faster, past Batman… past Erik… and then through the masked man. As they collided, the world slowed down impossibly and for a second, the two became one floating entity. Then, faster and faster she fell again. She could see the sidewalk rushing up to meet her, but she wasn’t afraid. She spread her arms and welcomed the cold, hard stone.

***************************************

Darcy struggled to open her eyes. Her mouth was dry and her eyes sore from the days of crying incessantly. She looked around, impatient for her eyes to refocus. The room around her was small with stark white walls. No pictures adorned the walls or any surface. There was simply the black ironwork bed in which she sat, piled under blinding white sheets, blankets, and comforter. A wardrobe of wood so dark it was nearly black, stood open to her left and she could see white dress shirts and pants and suit jackets hung neatly, arranged by color. She sat up, swinging her feet around to the floor. The hardwood floors under her feet bore no rugs and it was freezing. Darcy put her hand to her forehead and rubbed her eyes against the heel of her hand. She couldn’t remember much of what had happened the night before. Only a little bruise on the inside of her elbow sparked a memory. But as promised, she’d slept all night without one dark dream. Whatever he’d put in that syringe had made her hallucinate, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Most importantly, she didn’t feel at all guilty and the feeling was lingering.

“Good morning,” Jonathan’s cheerful voice drifted to her ears and she looked up to see him standing over her with a cup of coffee. “Or should I say, afternoon?”

“Sorry,” she replied, taking the coffee from him. “Thanks.”

“No bother.” He looked different today, she noticed. He wasn’t wearing a suit and tie today, but looked almost casual in faded blue jeans and a close fitting black sweater. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. Yes I did…for the first time in ages, it seems. You’ll have to tell me what that was that you gave me. Write me a prescription.”

He laughed genuinely for the first time. “It’s somewhat experimental. You can’t get it anywhere else. But I’ll be glad to provide as much as you like. Assuming that you’ll continue to visit.”

“Of course I will.” Her thoughts raced through her head, knowing that she would do whatever he asked to feel that kind of peace again. “But I’ve inconvenienced you enough for now. I really have to go.”

“Of course. Your clothes are folded on top of the nightstand. I took the liberty of drying them out for you.” Darcy blushed as she looked down and noticed that she was wearing a button-down shirt that was obviously not hers and nothing else. He smiled as he noticed her distress. “Don’t worry. I averted my eyes every step of the way. You weren’t in any position to argue, but I kept my hands to myself.”

“Thank you for everything you did.”

“I hate to see someone as beautiful as you in pain.” He offered a wry smile and winked playfully before walking out of the bedroom and allowing her to dress. By the time she exited, dressed and bathed, he was gone.