The Scarecrow's Ragdoll

By: The Glorious Cheshire Cat

Chapter 1: Precious Little Ragdoll

Disclaimer: I own nothing Batman related. I just own Ragdoll and the other characters you don't know. Enjoy.

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Whispers followed her in the streets as she walked home from the small library in the Narrows where she worked.

"Look, it's the Ragdoll." one girl fake-whispered to her friend.

Both girls cackled like it was funny.

A half-drunk man grinned at her in a sexual manner. "Hey you, come over here and I'll play with you like a Ragdoll should be played with."

His friends laughed uproariously.

She paid none of them any mind.

A quick glance at her watch had her hurrying her pace.

She needed to have dinner done and on the table in two hours or there would be hell to pay when her father got home. She let herself into the broken-down apartment building and flew up the stairs to the apartment she lived in.

The place was as clean as she could make it with a drunkard father who left his beer cans, beer bottles, and alcohol containers just lying about.

She tossed her ratty satchel onto her bed as she passed her bedroom door, entered the kitchen, and began to make dinner.

Two hours later, the front door slammed shut.

"All right you little bitch, where's my dinner?" an angry male voice roared from the living room.

She cringed as she picked up the tray that contained a plate of food and a cold beer. She carefully carried it to the living room. "Here you are, Dad." She sat the tray across the lap of the burly man sitting in the armchair before the TV. She handed him the remote before he demanded it.

He looked down at his plate. "What is it?"

She nervously wet her lips. "Cheeseburger casserole. You said you liked it last week and I thought you'd enjoy it."

He looked up at her. "Do I want you to think? Do I want you use what little fucking brains you've got?!"

She cringed back from him an inch. "No, sir."

He grabbed the beer from the tray and pushed the tray to the floor, causing the plate to shatter. "That's right. I don't want you to think you ugly little whore. Now clean this up."

She was instantly on her hands and knees picking up the shattered plate and the food.

Without warning, a booted foot came into contact with her side.

"You're a worthless piece of shit is what you are. You can't do anything right." he told her before taking a large swig from the can.

She quickly finished picking everything up and stood.

He knocked the tray out of her hands and backhanded her. "You little bitch. I'm going to teach you a lesson." He punched her.

Twenty minutes later, he sat passed out in his chair.

She picked herself up off the floor and very quietly picked everything up. She knew he'd be out for the rest of the night, but she didn't want to wake him until after all the dishes were done and everything cleaned up, including her.

Her nose was dripping blood and she was careful to keep it from dripping onto the carpet.

She grabbed some paper towels and applied pressure to stop the bleeding.

Once it was stopped, she set about cleaning.

Dishes were washed, dried, and put away; the spilt food and china shards were swept up. Her bloody shirt was soaked in cold water before being hand washed and hung over her towel rack (she silently thanked her mother for insisting on getting a two bathroom apartment once she'd found out she was pregnant) and she put away the leftovers.

She softly walked over to her passed out father. "Dad, you should go to bed." she stated softly as she gently shook him.

He woke up half-way and looked at her. "My poor baby. You've got quite the shiner starting. Best put some ice on it." he muttered. "You look so much like your mother."

She smiled softly, knowing that she'd not be getting hit until at least tomorrow night. "I will, Daddy. Why don't you go to bed, hmmm? The chair's a horrible place to sleep."

He stood up. "All right pumpkin. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She waited for his door to close before she rushed to her room and reached under the bed.

Out came an old hat box.

She shut and locked her door, clutching the hat box close to her chest. She kept her most prized possession in it along with a home-made costume.

If her father ever found it, particularly in a drunken rage, he'd destroy everything.

She knew she was rather lucky that he'd never broken any of her bones. She knew how to handle bruises and black eyes and pain, but she'd hate to have to go to the hospital to get it fixed. She'd be killed if they arrested him and he got free.

The lid was taken off and she lovingly picked up an outfit made of bits of cloth sewn together. The whole outfit, consisting of a loose pair of pants, a loose shirt with sleeves down to her elbows and a high collar, skin colored arm warmers that went all the way from her wrists to just below her shoulders, a pair of gloves, and a pair of shoes with hardened soles. If one just looked at it, they'd think a demented six year old had sewn it together with thick black thread. But if you looked closely, you could see small, precise stitches done in off-white colored thread that would stand up to even the most rigorous of movements. The crowning part of the outfit was the mask. It was reminiscent of Sally from the movie The Nightmare before Christmas with x's on the smile and bits of the face sewn together. It even had faded red yarn as hair.

The last thing to be taken from the box was wrapped in a swath of black silk.

She reverently unwrapped it.

Contained in the silk was a little cloth scarecrow her mother had made her when she was six for a fall festival. He was a happy little scarecrow and smiled up at her in joy. His little red shirt was faded and worn and carefully patched, as were his brown pants. His hat sat a little crooked and the twine that represented the straw he was supposed to be made of was a little threadbare.

She smiled back and quickly changed into the outfit.

Her peers had always called her Ragdoll, especially when they had been in middle school because she always wore clothes that were either heavily patched or had so many holes sewn shut that they looked like they'd been made of rags sewn together.

Her mother had been killed during a mugging when she was ten and her father had hit the bottle soon after the funeral. He had barely kept them fed and spent most of the money he made on alcohol, which meant that she rarely, if ever, got new clothes.

She grabbed up the doll, opened her window, slid out onto the fire escape, and went to the roof. She sat down in her favorite spot near the meager little vegetable garden the other tenants had started to try to make their own food.

It produced so very little that she was the only one who still messed with it.

She hugged her doll close and stared up at the couple stars that could be seen through the haze that was Gotham's air, particularly in the Narrows.

Half an hour later, a noise on the roof caught her attention.

A man dressed as a scarecrow climbed onto the roof and began picking what few little vegetables and fruits there were in the garden.

She watched him. "That's not going to feed you very well." she told him.

He spun around to face her. "Who are you?" he questioned sharply, eyes darting around slightly before locking onto her.

She smiled behind her mask, for once actually matching the grin her mask wore. "I'm Ragdoll. If you'll give me a minute or so, I'll get you some actual food."

He studied her closely. "Why would you do that?"

She shrugged. "Why does anyone do anything? I like to help those who need help, even if no one helps me. Part of who I am I guess. How does cheeseburger casserole sound to you?"

"How do I know you're not going to go call the police?"

She laughed. "It's the Narrows. No policeman who knows anything about the Narrows would ever even think of stepping foot here. And I'll give you Randy to hold until I come back." She got down from the small shed-like building that housed the building's nonfunctioning air conditioner. "Anything in particular you'd like to drink? I've cider, milk, juice, and water. I'd offer you a beer, but those are highly prized by my father and he'd notice if one went missing."

"Cider is fine. Who is Randy?"

She walked over to him and offered him her cloth scarecrow. "This is Randy. My mom made him for me when I was little. He's my most prized possession."

He reached out and gently took the stuffed toy from her. He studied it, even as she disappeared down the fire escape with a soft 'be right back.'

She returned in two minutes with a plate heaped with cheeseburger casserole and a large cup of spiced apple cider. She traded him plate and cup for the cloth scarecrow.

They sat down next to each other where she had been sitting before she'd gone to get him food.

He pulled off his mask to show a handsome man in his late-twenties, early-thirties.

She was glad she wore a mask because of the blush that rose in her cheeks. She'd never been in a relationship, had never been kissed.

He looked at her after a moment. "This is good."

"Thank you. At least someone appreciates my cooking."

He put the plate down when he saw the bruised area around her right eye. "What happened to your eye?" he asked as he gently caught hold of her masked chin.

She pulled away and turned her head away enough that her eye couldn't be seen. "It's nothing. Happens all the time."

He could tell she didn't want to talk about it and dropped the subject. "What's your real name?"

"My name is Ragdoll. That's what I get called most of the time. And slut, whore, bitch, worthless piece of shit…I much prefer Ragdoll to those though." she answered.

"What name were you given at birth?" he returned.

"Nadia, Nadia Marie Holmes. And you are?"

"Dr. Jonathan Crane. I prefer Scarecrow." He began eating again. "Who calls you all those horrible names? You don't deserve them."

"People. I'm used to it, been called those names for most of my life." She looked back at the stars.

He took a drink of the cider and moaned at the taste.

She couldn't help but laugh. "I take it you like the cider. I made it myself."

He looked at her. "It's absolutely delicious. How old are you anyway?"

"I'll be nineteen January twenty-second, old enough to get my own place." She closed her eyes and happily dreamed of that day.

"Don't you go to college?"

She shook her head. "No. I did graduate at the top of my class though. Pissed everyone off. They weren't happy that 'the Ragdoll' got top spot and was offered all sorts of scholarships."

"Why didn't you take them?"

"I did. I just have it arranged that I'll take a year off."

He seemed very interested in her. "What will you major in?"

"Thought about chemistry. I like to make things with chemicals. The school doesn't know it, nor does anyone else, but I created a paralytic gas first semester of senior year. I've only used it once. What do you have a degree in?"

"Psychology with a specialization in psychopharmacology. I'm fascinated with phobias and the brain's reaction to fear."

"That's right; you use a toxin that makes people live their worst fear. You created it by yourself, right?" She turned her whole body to face him.

"That's right. You don't seem too afraid to sit here with me." he stated.

She shrugged. "I feel comfortable with you. I don't usually talk to many people."

"Why don't you take off your mask then? I'm sure it would be more comfortable if you did. That cloth must be a bit sweaty." He smiled at her.

Her blush, which had subsided awhile ago, returned with a vengeance and she knew her whole face was flushed a slight pink.

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

"Why ever not?"

She wrapped her arms around her legs after drawing them up to her chest. "I'm not pretty. I'm ugly. You feel like someone I can trust, can turn to when things get bad. I don't want to lose a possible friend. I don't have any others, not anymore."

He knew how she felt. "Very well. Why don't you tell me all about your paralytic gas?"

"Only if you do the same about your fear toxin."

He chuckled. "Agreed."

They spent most of the next couple hours talking about their creations.

Nadia yawned.

He smiled at her. "Go get some sleep. I'll be back tomorrow and we can talk some more."

She smiled at him, even though he couldn't see it. "Same time tomorrow?"

"The exact same time." he replied.

She stood up, dishes in hand. "You have a place to stay, don't you?"

He stood up as well. "Yes."

"Do you have a good blanket?"

He shrugged. "I have a blanket. I wouldn't call it good, but it will do."

She rolled her eyes. "Stay here. I'll be right back." She left Randy the Scarecrow sitting next to him and disappeared with the dishes down the fire escape.

He picked up the doll. "You, my fine fellow straw man, are lucky. You're well taken care of by such a precious little ragdoll like Nadia."

Randy just smiled at him, looking (to Jonathan anyway) like he knew something Jonathan did not.

Nadia appeared once more, this time with a thick quilt. She held it out to him. "Here. Take this with you. It'll keep you warm."

He took it after putting on his mask. He studied the stitching.

She shyly rubbed the toe of one shoe against the roof. "I made it a couple years ago. No one uses it, so someone should get some use out of it."

"Thank you. I will use it. And here is Randy. Get some sleep Ragdoll." He handed her the doll.

She took it and hugged it close. "I'll see you tomorrow, Scarecrow." She yawned and went down the fire escape to her room as Jonathan left. She wrapped Randy back up in the black silk, put him and the outfit in the hat box, hid it under her bed, dressed in pajamas, quickly did the dishes, and went to bed. She dreamed of scarecrows and freedom.

*~*~*~*

Jonathan stared at the intricately stitched picture of a fall scene that was on the quilt.

It was made of thick, yet soft cloth in the colors of fall. It was obvious that Nadia had spent a long time on the quilt.

He silently vowed to take very good care of it. He folded it back up and strolled through the abandoned apartment that was his new hideout.

In one of the rooms, in what appeared to be a young girl's room, he stumbled across a Raggedy Ann doll in the middle of the floor.

He picked it up and studied it.

The smiling ragdoll hung limply from his hand.

He frowned at it thoughtfully. "Perhaps, just perhaps, this is a sign." he muttered as his thoughts turned to Nadia. He smiled as he gently ran his thumb over the doll's face before gently placing it on the bed like it was going to sleep and drew the blankets up to its chin. He looked back at it from the doorway. "Sleep well my precious little ragdoll."

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