I didn't know if to place this in Batman Begins or the comics, but I put it here even though it is set before Batman would be around he's here anyway!. My Jonathan Crane works at Arkham and the University and this is set about 3 years before anything too disastrous occurs in his life. His back story will follow that which is well loved and known about his Great-Granny and the Aviary.

This is my first, I am a newbie to the writing. Even though I wrote this about a year or two ago (Meaning it won't chronologically fit to our current time).

Need I note I own nothing Batman, only my way overpriced merchandise.

/-^1^-\

I'm Not Your Friend.

"Good morning Dr. M..ack-lee-odd?"

"Macleod," she said.

Ma-cloud, not Mack-lee-odd. She held her smile in place. She had yet to encounter one of these people who could say her damn name properly. She really didn't want anything to put her off in her life over here, but that just somehow irritated her. Alison was something of a prodigy. And if she'd have worked damn harder she'd probably have been acknowledged in that way too. However, she did get her thesis in within a year and a half just because she could. So she was only 22. Everyone had been fairly surprised. She pursued something a little grander than the typical fresh post-graduate student. Arkham Asylum in Gotham City. Oh, of course. This was going to be too much fun for her.

"I apologise. My name is Dr. Penrose."

"I do remember you," smiled Alison curiously. It was a little unnerving but Dr. Penrose didn't look properly enough to notice. Almost ... mocking.

"That's very good! I'm glad you do. You'd think I'd remember how to say your name a bit better then, wouldn't you?" he giggled. Behind him, Alison raised a sly brow of disapproval. "Right this way, I'll introduce you to the staff and then go find whoever I placed you under."

"I'm under someone?"

"Yes, dearie-" Don't call me dearie "-we have a very specific way of running things and until I have written up your schedule I cannot have you doing things your own way in spite of your excellent achievements."

"Okay," she said, pissed at the lack of independence, "so who am I with?"

"It's slipped my mind. I'll be sure to check whilst you get to know a few faces," he said, opening the door, "everyone. This is Dr. Alison Ma...Mac-Lee..."

"MacLeod," she hummed, finding it harder to maintain a smile this time. Was this man really competent enough to be running the place?

"Oh, yes. Sorry," he nodded, "well, I'd like you to all make her feel very welcome as she will be joining us here at Arkham. I'll just go find out who I put you with." With that, he pottered out. A young nurse turned to Alison.

"Can I get you a coffee?"

"No thank you."

"Oh my God, you're Scottish!"

"From Inverness," shrugged Alison. How many more people would do that? She found her accent to be rather damped down from her time in London.

Her lack of conversation had brought silence down on all of the room. Some people continued staring at her, but some people turned away and shared a look of hesitancy with a fellow co-worker. For at least 5 years, give or take at few months, the staff at Arkham hadn't changed besides one exception. But he was a conceited little child compared to the others and in their eyes he just got lucky. She wasn't going to last long at Arkham. She'd be ridiculed for everything possible.

There was something about her no one could quite put their finger on. There were many things such as her clothing, how little she spoke, how frail and awkward she looked, how geeky she looked! The most noticeable things were youth and timidity. Or was it timidity? Dr. Max Penrose re-entered, his grey hair swept back from the apparent jog he had taken to retrieve the information and his glasses sliding down his nose due to the sweat he had broken out.

"I remember! The second I stepped into my office, annoyingly enough. I put you with Dr. Crane!" he said.

That meant naff all to Alison. She raised a brow questioningly. "Follow me!" chirped the vivacious psychiatrist, tanking out of the door. He did have some stamina really, to say he was 58 and still bombed around like a 3 year old. Between the other doctors, an awkward glance was passed around like light bouncing off a mirror. Not him! She was positively strange - why did she have to be put with him? He'd either shrug her away coldly and they didn't want to see her angry or only fuel how odd she was.

Dr. Penrose tapped lightly at the door.

"Come in."

Dr. Crane was the freshest face and the only who closest to her age. Probably intellectually matched as well. It had only made sense to put her with him. But he didn't make it a habit to be friendly with others and though Dr. Penrose knew this, he really couldn't see anyone else appreciating Alison. Everyone else would probably be jealous - they'd had to put in nearly a decade of work and she cut it down to 4.

"She's here," sang Dr. Penrose with a delighted tone.

Jonathan Crane's eyes briefly swept up to observe the doorway and flickered back down again. Then shot right back up to Alison. She was here. She looked about 18 at a push, hardly early 20's. But that was her skin; it was perfect. She dressed for someone in their mid-20's.

"This is Dr. Alison M... Mac... Oh bother..."

"Macleod?" offered Jonathan. Alison choked on her words literally, emitting a little strangled gasp of surprise which caused both Dr. Crane and Dr. Penrose to glance over at her.

"Are you alright my dear?" asked Dr. Penrose. Alison wanted to smack him.

"I'm fine thank you," she said, trying to sound relaxed, "just swallowed some air by accident."

"Ah," he nodded, turning back to Jonathan who had his eyes fixed on Alison, "As I was saying. Dr. Alison Macleod. I'm sure you remember me telling you about this?"

"Of course."

"Right. I should have her schedule in a week but you'll have her for three so she can assist you and learn the ropes. I'll leave you be for a little introduction to each other. Oh! Dr. MacLeod," he said hesitantly, "this is Dr. Jonathan Crane."

"Hi..." murmured Jonathan.

/-^1^-\ 6 weeks ago. Tuesday. /-^1^-\

Jonathan locked his apartment door and crept down the stairs. The hallways made an awful echo at this time when the activity upon them were only that of ghosts and sometimes a pet. Hardly ever a living soul beyond 11pm at night. Except for him, of course. But he had his reasons. He pocketed his keys when he was out in the open and set off. Tonight though would be no illicit do; he just wanted to stretch his legs after an exhaustive day behind a desk doing multiple clinical assessments. He thought he'd forgotten how to walk until he stood at home time.

I'm alive.

The streets were empty where he was, but he had made sure that it would be quiet as he just couldn't do his work in the midst of chaos. It wasn't an area totally free from distruption (no place in Gotham bar Wayne Manor possibly was) but it was better than most.

Of all the noises he could actually hear, there was one very striking sound. A soft murmur or moan from somewhere. He slowed his pace and glanced along the edge of the sidewalk, over onto the area below as he identified this as the location of the source of the was a young woman curled up on the floor by the stairs, who appeared to be hiding. Her clothes were far too nice for her to be a tramp and Jonathan actually seldom saw the homeless in tears. She was clutching something to her chest and glancing out onto the sea, her shoulders shaking no thanks to the force of her crying.

He had no idea she was fine though and the way she was laid was disdainful. He assumed anyway something was wrong but surprisingly wanted to know she wasn't hurt. He wandered to the stairs and glanced over.

"Excuse me, miss?" he asked. The woman gasped, her doe eyes coming onto him like a spot-light. He moved away from the railings. "Are you alright?"

"I-I... yes," she lied, blinking furiously to eliminate her tears. If only she knew she had a ton of make-up down her face. Jonathan nodded. Her accent wasn't American. Maybe she was a lost tourist.

"Anyone who cries has a reason. You don't look happy."

"I'm not happy. But I'm alright."

"You're not hurt?"

"...No."

"Are you lying?"

"Yes. I just tripped on some glass, that isn't why I'm crying."

"Can I see? I'm not a medical professional but I know first aid?" he offered.

"It's fine," she whispered, "thanks."

"Erm... sure you're okay? Just, I don't want to walk away from someone who might need help so if you do you should just say."

"I'm not hurt; I'm not in pain. I don't ... think I need anything else."

"Cheering up?" he shrugged. She laughed.

"I think I just got cheered up," she smiled. He pursed his lips and pulled a mousey look at her.

"Good to know I could help in some way."

"You made my day," she nodded, smiling a little awkwardly, "I'll... be fine. Well, fine once you tell me the time."

"1:20am."

"Christ. Well, I've outwelcomed my stay here in this little spot. Aren't saying that to get away it's just I need my sleep."

"Sure. Need a lift? I don't mean that in a weird way, sorry. Just think you should be safe."

"No. No thanks. I'll make my own way."

"Alright. Goodbye."

"Bye. Err... Thanks."

"No, thank you," he nodded. You've just shown me that I do have humanity. Just.

/-^1^-\

Jonathan swept his hand to the chair opposite his desk when Dr. Penrose left them alone. He tried to quickly analyse her but there was something completely unreadable about her demeanour. Was she embarrassed? Alison stalked over and pulled it out, sitting down on the chair.

"Nice to meet you too... properly," she replied, extending her hand. Jonathan extended his slowly, as if he thought she'd pull away and stick her tongue out just before he took her hand. But no - he got to shake her hand.

"You're looking... a lot better."

"Thanks. Got my cut sorted."

"Your unhappiness?"

"Oh yeah. Forgot about that. Not unhappy anymore."

"So, Dr. MacLeod. What brings you all the way over to Gotham?" he asked, trying to act normal. He couldn't get his head around the idea she was here in Arkham, to work. The wrecked woman he met on the beach in a time that seemed more distant than it was.

"The level of insanity harboured in this place. It's all so intriguing."

"Surely there is insanity in Scotland."

"Oh yeah, but it's a different type of insanity. Intriguing in the sense it's beyond average, much like this whole city. Where I am from it isn't quite the same-it's just a pride conflict. Hardly any real sociopaths, just people who wanted a person off 'their turf'. The only real madness was rather more eccentricity. The people who truly had something to shine for had it broken out of them and they were squashed to average society too afraid to ... act..." she said quietly, realising she'd gone on too much, "I've seen some odd things," she added, "Eccentricity isn't bad. It's what happens to it that turns it sour," she said.

Jonathan had suspected she didn't exactly mean that people got carried away with outlandish behaviour, but that sometimes the pure genius in people lived within their often incoherent thoughts. Or conversely it rages out uncontrollably into thoughts too rational and well thought to breed something deadly.

"You know," he sighed, taking his glasses off, "I really agree with you."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Anyway, what experience do you have in psychology?"

"I assisted teaching psychology for two years, and I also worked for a year and a half studying criminal profiles, and helping out in court cases. But I have just graduated."

"Ah. No wonder you look so young."

"You don't exactly look old yourself Dr. Crane."

"I'm getting on, perhaps. But I've years left before I consider youth completely extinct. Say, Dr. MacLeod ... how old are you actually?"

"I'm 22."

"You're that young?" he questioned, seeming surprised and raising a brow, "you're younger than I expected."

"What were you expecting?"

Jonathan didn't want to be conversational. He'd already dropped his mask by getting curious over her, again. He dropped the attitude quickly and sat up straight.

"I'm not quite sure to be honest. Come on. You can shadow me in my routine," he said, standing up.

/-^l^-\ Following Evening. Thursday. /-^l^-\

Jonathan quickly walked into his office, avoiding people. He pulled the blind up which had direct view over all of Gotham and searched the skies. No light he thought to himself and set back out of his office, thinking about how peculiar Alison was.

No denying, she was. There was both confidence and shyness. It was contrasting. She cast a glare which seemed challenging. Bloodthirsty for control, which seemed justified because it was humble and whatever respect she demanded she deserved. Not that she got it from the bunch of corpses working in this place.

She stood up for herself too. Well opinionated. Something he'd failed at. Jonathan was curious as to whether all British people were this way, he'd been to England, but not Scotland. In England... they seemed snobby; or plain arrogant. Not Alison. She really was unique, Jonathan felt. Or maybe that was Scotland...

He walked slowly down the corridor, checking around and finally, he glanced at a security guard and furtively nodded, and walked off out of sight of security cameras.

/-^l^-\ Following Week. Tuesday. /-^l^-\

That morning, Alison wasn't happy. She'd complained to Jonathan about too little hours, after he sent her home at 5pm sharp for the three days she'd worked last week. He'd been almost nasty and told her she could go at 10pm then... and at first she'd been fine about this. But Alison had annoying habits, breeding from her days at university, that she hadn't grown out of 4 years on.

Alison's alarm clock started singing for her to get up. For once, she didn't feel like pink fluffy objects. So, she picked it up and lobbed it-to no avail. She pulled herself up out of bed and stood on a chocolate wrapper. She blinked and picked it up, heading for the alarm at the same time.

A late night movie, a glass of red wine or a cocktail and chocolates. That's how it was. This was her annoying habit. She put the film on at 10:30pm when she reached home after hailing a taxi and pulled out all the chocolate she'd hidden... from herself. A little wicked delight, it's only a one off, she'd insisted in her head. She'd lobbed her heels at the table and stumbled upstairs, not yet feeling the tiredness.

Chocolate hadn't been a good agent to call, because at 12:20am when he film had finished, she was licking the chocolate wrapper with little self control. And at 1am she dropped off. She didn't believe the alarm clock was telling the truth now at 6:40am.

She brushed her teeth and slowly, still in her nightwear, stumbled to her wardrobe. She clumsily rifled through the clothes she owned several times before realising she'd not even chosen what to wear yet, even though she'd thrown her hand back towards the bed like she had selected something to put on. Baffled by herself, she walked back to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Water oozed out the showerhead and she turned the dial to the coldest setting.

She then held the showerhead to her face until she gasped at the freezing cold water. Swallowing some accidently, she ran out of the bathroom coughing, grabbing a towel as she went. She was leant over her bed when she realised there was a knock on the door. She ran to her bedroom door but realised she was the next best thing to naked.

Stumbling down the stairs with a dressing gown she grasped her keys and flung the door back. She scowled at the postman.

"Deliver-"

"I have a post pox," she cried, hidden and dripping wet. The postman looked at the package and back at her and quickly threw it over.

"It's full. Empty it...this... this is ... urgent though... It's from Arkham," he said. Alison observed.

"I'm not a patient. I'm a doctor of psychology, half-wit!" she barked as he backed down the pathway of her house. He shrugged.

"Whatever lady. Even doctors are patients there!" he yelped, getting in the car and driving off as fast as he could.

This was something Alison didn't understand. Everyone who wasn't on the inside of Arkham seemed to be petrified if you just mentioned it. It was a place of fear to them. But to the inmates, and the doctors, it was hardly emotion stirring at all. Some of the inmates held more power over the doctors than the doctors did over them. Shouldn't those inmates have been terrified to even consider Arkham? Shouldn't the doctors be the ones with the key's to trepidation?

Alison wasn't all that fussed. She wasn't scared; she didn't skip down it's corridors delightfully - but she was comfortable there.

She trailed back up after making herself a coffee, and turned the letter in her hands to open it when she was back in her bedroom. She emptied the contents. There was a letter and a badge. Quickly skim reading the letter... it was about the badge; which was a name badge. She rolled her eyes and began to get ready again and this time she actually got something from her wardrobe.

As she walked outside (Fully dressed at last) there was a certain smell to the air which was sweet. The whole street looked very sweet. There were some large houses and then the little ones, like the one she lived in. It ended on a cul-de-sac and there was a large house at the end, which she really liked the look of. Apparently it was too expensive for a lot of people to buy; it was beautiful though. Someone cared for it as well because this is where the sweet smell was coming from.

Alison glanced at the person mowing the lawn, and considered going to ask them if they owned the house but thought otherwise when her watch blared a taunting insult about the time to her. She smacked it heavily and got onto her bike, peddling away quickly to get to Arkham on time.

Not before a tyre on the bike gave up though.

When Alison did arrive at work having had to work out the bus route, she was 1 hour and 10 minutes late and it infuriated her more than anyone. She tapped on the door to Jonathan's office but he wasn't in. He came wandering down the corridor just a moment after her try on the door.

"You're late," he barked.

"Forgive me. I slept in, my tyre burst and I haven't any idea how to get here on the bus but it was my only option and that took some time. Nor do I know any taxi lines."

"Taxi lines? Oh, you mean numbers," he said to himself. He'd thought she meant where they drove for some reason. He unlocked the door and letting her go in first, "well, it doesn't matter. You missed nothing short of a mess which was Poison Ivy seducing every male who approached."

"Why not send in a female?" she asked.

"They're all scared of her," said Jonathan, with pursed lips, "although finally someone did help but not after several whips with a vine."

"Kinky," remarked Alison. Jonathan didn't know if to go ballistic or laugh at her sarcastic remark. He cast her a glance but didn't really respond. Alison glanced at his wrist which was looking red and sore. "Shouldn't you get something cold for that? It looks pretty vicious."

"I challenge you to get her under control next time," he scoffed. The worst part was how lightly he'd said it. Where was the venom? It had faded from him there. He tried his best not to be conversational with Alison but somehow she drew him in. He took a deep breath in and just let that occasion slide.

"I'll accept your challenge when I'm allowed to gain a bit of freedom here."

"Who do you reckon you'll be stuffed in an office with?" he smirked.

She hated being closed in with others. She was a little OCD maybe. He'd first noticed when she slipped a book back into place on his shelf and had fiddled until it was perfect. And the spaces, he'd observed when he'd asked her to get a box out of the cupboard and a nurse had shuffled by. He could almost see the shiver than ran down her spine.

"As long as it isn't Dr. Mare or Dr. Brigshaw I don't care," she said, hesitantly though. Truth was, if she didn't have some space she'd go crazy. Furthermore, if the people she was put with were disorganised, she wouldn't be able to stop the needy, controlling aspect of her personality from saying something about it. I'm not your friend... thought Jonathan, trying to mentally distance himself.

Review. Then; Onwards!