The Chalk Girl

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Batman or the Dark Knight trilogy. I only own my OC, Eleanor Chalk and the other OC, Pastel, modeled after an awesome friend.

A/N: I would like to thank you readers, reviewers and my friends for supporting this fic. For those unsure of how to vote, simply click on my author name link CMXC and select "Vote Now!" to access the poll. Once again, here are the poll results so far:

Neither = 3 vote (Unregistered Readers: 0)

Both = 9 votes (Unregistered Readers: 2)

Bane = 37 votes (Unregistered Readers: 8)

Crane = 47 votes (Unregistered Readers: 4)

If you have any questions you have for the characters or the story, feel free to PM or review. I will do my best to give you my best answer.

WARNING: Flames will not be tolerated and certain chapters of the story may contain swearing, along with disturbing, violent and sexual content. You have been warned.

Anyways enjoy the story! :D

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PREVIOUSLY ON THE CHALK GIRL...

"I know you are awake, young one. There's no need to play dead."

"Where are my parents?"

"We were lucky that avalanche took care of the evidence."

"To think that she had survived all this while. This just makes her more valuable to the plan."

"Understood."

RAAWWWWWRRRRR

"AAAH!"

WHAM!

"A-A-Are you… g-g-going to k-k-kill me?"

"No."

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Chapter Thirteen: Motive

Gotham City Hall was no luxury hotel. It had limited space to house Bane's men. New recruits were usually paired off in their own bunks on the first floor. However, because I was a last-minute addition, Bane assigned me to one of the rooms on the second floor. Inside, there was a small bed, a wooden closet, a desk, a chair and a cramped restroom. Considering the circumstances, it was a luxury, except for the fact that there were only five rooms on the second floor. And out of the five rooms, mine had to be right next to Bane's quarters. Fantastic.

Due to the lack of bathing facilities, the residential buildings in the area were cleared out and became the Merc's communal bathhouses. With all the testosterone going around, such buildings for women were scarce. Imagine going around the night hunting for a shower in the goddamn snow.

Though I guess that would have been better than what happened today.

It was only a small task – pass a report to Crane and head back to base. Unfortunately, he was neither in the Courthouse or his office, leaving me at the last place I wanted to be in. His apartment.

So here I am. Standing outside his door, contemplating in silence. Frankly, I wasn't keen on entering the Scarecrow's humble abode. Our last encounter has left me with a rather… unpleasant memory. Shaking off the snow from my coat, I clenched my fingers and rapped at the door.

"Come in." A faint voice came from inside. Begrudgingly, I complied.

It was rather disturbing. In contrast to the destroyed homes, Crane's apartment managed to attain its homely appearance. The walls were bleached white. A couch accompanied the glass coffee table in the center of the room. Books filled the shelves and an ironing board was connected to the nearest socket on the left wall. Shirts were on hangers on the cupboard door. The familiar sight left an uneasy churn in my stomach.

"Crane?" I called.

Damp skin embraced me from behind. My heart stopped when his breath tickled my ear. "Took you long enough."

I focused my gaze at the table. Water trickled down from his naked chest onto my back, merging with the woolen fabric. The aroma of shampoo and body-wash wafted in the air.

"Let me go," I growled.

"And what if I don't?"

He leaned his lips closer to my cheek. My fist clenched onto the folder tightly. He chuckled, deciding to instead sink his nose into my hair. He took a deep breath and sighed. His grip around my shoulders loosened, much to my surprise. "You need a shower," He mused.

I wrenched myself out of his embrace, slamming the folder on the coffee table. My cheeks reddened hotly. The Scarecrow stood before me in half-naked glory, raising his hands in mock surrender. Water glistened across his slender, muscular body, dripping down to the towel wrapped around his hips. A wry smile formed on his lips. "Like what you see?"

"Stop playing games with me Crane. Bane needs me back at base. Just pass your report to one of Bane's men back at court once you're done."

I marched towards the exit.

"Why do you care so much about what Bane wants?"

My hand hesitated above the knob. Crane walked over to me, his gaze burning at the back of my skull. "Knowing you, you're probably using him to fulfill your own ends. Are you so naïve as to believe you can save Gotham on your own? Without the Bat?"

I turned to face Crane's stupid smirking face. A part of me actually thought about punching the Scarecrow so hard. But then the calmer half stopped myself. Why the heck should I give him the satisfaction of an explosive reaction?

Returning a cold poker face, I simply replied, "At least I'm not so desperate as to use sex as a leverage."

A hand slammed against the door on my left. Crane loomed over me with a solemn, dark expression. His other arm went behind his back, fiddling with his towel. I gave him a questioning look. "It seems you need a little attitude adjustment," He said.

The Doctor whipped out a syringe of cloudy white liquid. I backed up against the door, watching Scarecrow crack a thin, sinister smile.

"I always keep one close just in case."

Shit.

I twisted the doorknob. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the foyer. I yelped at the impact of wood against my back. Scarecrow had me pinned on the floor. Fear crept inside. It was a repeat of the kidnapping. I thrashed underneath him, throwing curses at his face. He had the syringe aimed at my exposed neck after pulling my coat collar down. Yet, his arm did not take the plunge. It was as if Scarecrow was in a trance. His piercing blue eyes met my confounded stare.

I kneed him in the gut, pushing his weight off me. Bolting out of the door, I didn't stop running until I reached the snowy streets outside. Paranoia persuaded me to occasionally sneak a glance behind my shoulders. It was only after walking down a block, that I confirmed the Scarecrow had no intentions of chasing his prey.

The hell was that all about? I wondered. I hugged my chest, trying to repress the horrible shivers freezing my veins. My fingers itched to draw. The OCD was kicking in again. Be it on the wall or my clothes, they are fine as long as it kept my mind off the nasty past.

One thing weighed on my mind: What stopped him at the last minute?

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He couldn't do it.

Crane emptied the contents of the syringe into the sink, letting the water wash it down the drain. He couldn't bring it upon himself to take her. He left the syringe in the sink, tending to his own thoughts. Where did it all go wrong? Was it the guilt? The lack of excitement?

Crane stared at the tub of water. His reflection stared back emotionlessly.

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"Isn't this nice?"

Eleanor remained silent, awkwardly pressing her legs together. Crane adjusting himself in the tub, making room for her to lean her back against his torso. He pulled her in a tender embrace from behind, taking in the sight of soapy foam cascading down her thigh. He traced a line down her glistening, soft skin. "You're so sinful," He huskily whispered into her ear.

Eleanor squirmed in embarrassment. Her cheeks reddened. "D-Do we have to do this?"

"Of course. We are a couple. Its natural to take baths together."

"But this tub is too small!"

Crane smirked. "That's the point."

Eleanor shuddered. "P-Please, I can wash myself."

"Absolutely not. With my work, we rarely get a chance like this. Let's enjoy it while we can, hm?"

A gasp escaped her lips as he moved the sponge from her shoulders to her back. He hummed, scrubbing up and down her spine. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut. She never felt so vulnerable in her life. But what could she do? She didn't want to be subjected to Scarecrow's experiments again. Since their first night together, Eleanor had done everything she could to avoid another sexual entanglement. The last time she ignored him however, left her screaming for two hours before Crane offered the antidote to the Fear Toxin injected into her system.

Eleanor snapped out of her thoughts when the sponge came into contact with her breasts. She shrieked and backed up to the other end of the tub, covering her chest protectively. Crane innocently asked, "What's wrong?"

"P-Please don't do this," Eleanor's lips quivered.

Crane's eyes softened. He dropped the sponge to the floor and reached out to her. She squirmed even further away from his hand. Her terrified eyes pleaded with him. "Don't."

"Eleanor."

"No, plea-"

A pair of lips interrupted her protest. She struggled only to be silenced by Crane deepening the kiss. He pulled her back onto his lap, immersing himself into the contact of lips intertwined.

"Don't hide your body," He rasped in between kisses. "You're beautiful."

"Mmph!"

Crane's tongue invaded her mouth, stroking her palate. A soft moan escaped her throat. He brought their bodies closer. Her tender breasts pressed against his chest. At that moment, the doctor could careless about condoms or draining the water. He wanted to be inside her. Crane possessively gripped her hips and spread them apart. The contact of something hard poking her folds snapped Eleanor out of her daze.

"N-No, Crane stop!"

In a blink of an eye, he shoved himself inside her. Eleanor cried out in shock. Crane grunted, pulling himself out and slamming into her. It was impossible to hold back the moans. Ecstasy squeezed his pulsing member, sending waves of pleasure throughout his body.

"E… Eleanor…"

Eleanor screamed. Her body was torn between the pain and pleasure. She wanted it to end, but her voice was too hoarse to protest any further. Her strength had weakened from the last two nights. She whimpered, biting back her moans. The very image of vulnerability she exposed left Crane craving for more. The fear was exhilarating, but the expressions and voices were the most divine. He quickened his pace, bucking his hips against Eleanor. With the coil forming in his stomach, Crane slammed hard and moaned her name.

White ribbons of ecstasy flashed before his vision. Eleanor cried out. Seed and juices dripped from her folds. Crane closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of filling her womb. But when he opened his eyes once more, all he could see was shame and sorrow in the blue eyes he loved so much.

"Why?" Her voice cracked.

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That day, Crane replied that it was because he loved her. Yet in truth, even after she collapsed into his arms, Crane was at a loss. He had always believed his motive was because of love. The idea of possessing this one innocent flower was what had driven him for many years. But what did he plan to do after his wish was granted?

The idea of marriage crossed his mind once. But leading a life away from crime and raising children told him otherwise. Subjecting her to experiments or persuading her to join the Scarecrow's mad spree naturally met with rejection. For the first time, Crane felt worried. The truth dawned on him ominously. He had no idea how to love her.

Of course he won't. The only love he received was in the form of violence and spite. He wasn't lucky like those normal high school teens. He never had a clumsy first kiss or the twist of awkward sex.

Eleanor was his first - the only girl who looked his way or appreciated him. She loved him and he forced her into the same twisted love he was given.

His whole world fell into shambles.

Crane gripped his head, supporting himself with a hand on the edge of the tub. The water finally drained, flowing into the little holes of darkness.

Eleanor.

Eleanor. Eleanor. Eleanor.

Eight years. He had waited for her for eight damn years. To make those distant dreams become a blissful reality, to return to the days of sweet love. But what was the point of loving someone, when you can't hold her in your arms?

For the first time in his life, the Scarecrow finally broke down.

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Blake leaned against the alley between two grey apartments. He glanced at his watch, noticing no sign of his friend. He was about to enter the building on his own when a hand tapped his shoulder. Blake whipped around, handgun cocked and aimed at the surprised girl in black.

"Whoa, whoa! Watch where you point that!"

The Detective's shoulders slackened. He holstered his gun. "I was wondering when you would show up."

Pastel rolled her eyes. "Had a run-in with one of Joker's thugs. He was stealing rations."

"What did you do?"

"I finished him."

Blake gave an incredulous look. Pastel smirked. "With a taser. Left him knocked out in his boxers on the street. He was alone, so we're safe."

Blake chuckled.

"Is this the place?"

"Yeah. One of Gordon's men said he spotted him here."

The building before was one of the few surviving refugee homes. Pastel had grown worried about how Mr. Chalk was dealing with the situation. Unlike her usual targets, Mr. Chalk was careful about covering his tracks. He wasn't Eleanor's father for nothing.

"You don't have to follow me, you know," Pastel said. "What about your job?"

"Its alright. I have to check on the refugees around the area anyway. Besides I could be your back-up."

A bemused grin appeared on Pastel lips. "You are a weird guy."

A few knocks on the door garnered the sound of approaching footsteps. A hatch slid open from behind, revealing a suspicious stare. "What do you want?" The voice questioned.

Blake flashed the badge. "My name is Detective John Blake. We are looking for a man named, Robert Chalk. Is he around?"

"What's he to you?"

"He's my best friend's Dad. She passed away recently," Pastel pursed her lips. "We just wanted to check on him. See if he's ok."

The eyes stared warily at the pair before the hatch slid shut. Seconds later, the chain was undone from the inside and the door creaked open. A bald man with an unshaven chin greeted them. "He's on the third floor. Room 308."

Pastel and Blake thanked the man and made their way up. Everywhere they went, vigilant eyes watched their every move. Pastel couldn't help but feel unsettled, hurrying down the hallway. Blake knocked on the door.

"Mr. Chalk?" He called.

Replied with silence, Blake tried again. "Mr. Chalk, it's me, Detective Blake."

"Let me try." Pastel went up to the door and knocked. "Mr. Chalk, it's me, Kelsey. Are you in there?"

Again, there was no answer. Pastel tried the knob, only to turn it and push the door with ease. "It's… open?"

Exchanging worried glances, the pair hurried in. Pastel went ahead to check the other rooms, leaving Blake to survey the living room. There were a few crushed paper balls lying on the floor. Books were stacked in towering piles around the furniture. On the table between the sofa and the TV an empty coffee mug and a cassette tape. Picking up the object, Blake peered at the label.

Arkham Asylum Security Footage: Penitentiary, Cell Block C. November 12, 2012. 10pm.

That was the day Scarecrow broke out of Arkham. Blake thought. What the heck is he doing with this?

Pastel closed the door behind her. "He's not here," She reported.

"Don't worry. He probably went to get some food."

"I checked his office. The desk was cleaned and his briefcase was gone."

"What?"

"The bookshelf and drawers were a mess. Like he was in a rush. But I did find this."

Settling on the sofa, Pastel revealed an envelope and a brown leather book.

"What's that?" Blake asked.

Flipping the pages, Pastel's eyes widened in shock. Photos of Eleanor were glue to the yellow pages, alongside clipped articles regarding the avalanche and her kidnapping. Dates were scribbled in fine black ink next to each photo.

"The first one was after her disappearance during the avalanche."

"Blake." Pastel turned to Blake with a disturbed look of worry. "This isn't Mr. Chalk's handwriting."

"How do you know?"

"I caught a glimpse his notes while cleaning up. This one is too clean."

The fact convinced them that something was definitely off. Looking through the pictures, Blake noticed they were taken from odd angles, almost as if the cameraman was trying to remain unseen by his subject.

"Someone is stalking her," He said.

Turning to the second last page, a sole photo caught Pastel's eye. It was a blurry shot of a woman running down an alley.

"Blake." Pastel pointed at the date written next to the picture. Her calm demeanor evaporated. "This was taken today."

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Bane was reading through a report in his quarters when a knock came from the door.

"Come in."

The door creaked opened, revealing a woman in a brown coat. The clacking of heels echoed across the room. Bane placed the papers on the dresser and turned to face his visitor. The woman smiled.

"Hello, old friend."

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That's all for Chapter 13. After that steamy scene, I don't think I will be able to sleep for awhile. Did I forget to mention this is my first time writing a love-making scene? (Nervously laughs) Anyways, thank you readers for the support! Leave a review or fave if you enjoy it. :D