Phobia.

I’ve had many bad ideas in my life.
But this had to take the cake, one too far.

I was in a large room, obviously once a master bedroom. It was still fairly clean, expensive art hung on the walls, the bed covers satin, in disarray but still smelling rather fresh.

But they smelt a little of him, his meagre possessions from prison on the bedside table, his glasses, a bowtie, a couple of books. A small picture of us younger, when I was just a baby, our parents behind their children.

It was wrong that he kept it, either there was a spark of my brother that hadn’t been consumed by the flood of insanity.
Or he did it to fuel it, to push himself further.

I could hear murmuring from the living room, perched awkwardly on the edge of the large bed, my cheek still stinging slightly, my head in my hands, fingers tapping on my temple.

I’d been with my brother just over an hour and already I felt more insane, the madness leaking through gaps in my persona, my bravado.

I was so stupid.

This put everything at risk, I would never say about Gordon, Blake.

But what if they came looking for me, Blake, silly chivalrous loving Blake would.
They would be hurt...killed, his blood on my hands because of my foolishness.

I felt sick, my stomach swirling, throat in a vice, a few gargled sounds that stopped when the door opened and those long legs appeared, only feet visible from my position.

“What are you doing?” I asked lowly, not trusting my voice as he moved past me, closer to the on-suite.

“Right now, or in general?”

I didn’t answer, but I think my pathetic stance pushed an answer, I could imagine the tilt of his head like a intrigued puppy.

“Well, right now I was going to prepare to go back to court later on...and in general, well, I’m a judge I suppose...my resume is becoming rather impressive.”

“You’re not a judge.” I pulled myself to my feet, his eyes brows lifting at the same time.

“Oh, but I think you’ll find I am.”

“No you are not.” I stepped closer, “You’re not Jonathon, you’re a lunatic and you’re just sick.” The last two words were accompanied by shoves against his bony chest, my hands weak, my voice desperate again.

His hands clasped over mine, fingers tight, crushing my own. I tried to keep my face blank, to not let him know how much it hurt, my bones creaking.

“If I’m a lunatic what does that make you?”

I swallowed; the taste in my mouth was acidic. “Predictable.” He almost looked surprised by my answer, my un-tensed body and released my hands, pushing them back into me.

“Extraordinarily so, but you were there sooner than I had anticipated.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” My voice was a monotone, a blur.

“Oh, on the contrary, and the way you leapt in front of that poor little old lady.” His was mocking, each word a knife, a scalpel. “But then, I knew you would have come alone, not wanting to get others involved was always your style wasn’t it?”

“Unlike you.”

“Me? Oh no, I didn’t like others to be involved in my business.” His finger trailed down my cheeks, suddenly alerting me to the wet, the tears I hadn’t realised had escaped.

Another sign of weakness.

“Just unfortunately they always seem to, and in some cases, you have to do things to get what you want.”

“How wise.” I bit, wiping hard at my face, “That’s worked out brilliantly for you hasn’t it? Now, you got to spend nearly a decade in jail and come out and send innocent people to their deaths.”

“Innocent is a point of view.”

“It’s a point of conscience.”

“Interesting theory.”

I sighed, “Oh fuck you.” I went to walk away, where to I had no idea and he let me storm from the room, already his voice was swirling around my thoughts, trying to blacken them.

I didn’t think.

“He wants you, he wants you.”

The front door was locked; I wasn’t surprised, but also not sure as to what exactly Jonathon wanted to do.

“Who’s he?” I froze, blurting out anything but Blake.

“God.”

He laughed, and it almost sounded normal, a laugh I hadn’t heard since childhood, no hint of the coldness, cruelty.

“God?”

“Yup.”

“God wants you?” He chuckled again and I bit my lower lip hard.

“Are you going to keep me here?”

“Debatable.”

“On what?”

“If you tell me what I want to know.”

I turned, meeting his eyes, not having to speak. “I want to know how my darling little sister has been, I want to know everything.”
___________________

Blake woke alone, it was cold, the feeling lingering in the room, his uncovered upper body. He stirred, groggy, yawning as his hand wiped over his eyes, wrenching them open expecting to see Keira there, curled up in the odd little way she did, her hair normally covering her face.

Instead there was nothing, no Keira. He stretched, suddenly remembering she was on a ridiculously early patrol, following the route of another Tumbler and its’ guards.

He stretched, arms upright, revelling the popping in his knees as he glanced up at the clock, almost eight am.

But he wouldn’t sleep anymore, not even as he tugged the cover up to his neck, moved the pillows. He couldn’t sleep now, he’d become too accustomed to her, the bed seemed colder by himself.

God, how pathetic did he sound? He sniggered, yawning once again and pulling himself up, the air hitting him hard, making goose-bumps erupt over his skin.

Kicking the covers down he swung his feet onto the ground, the carpet thick, soft.
That was when he saw the note, and instantly knew something was wrong.

With Keira...in truth there always would be, her childhood, Jonathon, it was something she was never going to get over.
But she was getting better...because of him.

Maybe that was vain, but he felt that way, she claimed it lots of the time, and each time those words passed her plump lips he felt warm inside, proud.

But it was more than that.

He was drawn back to the note again and the swell of his heart at the thought of her dropped, his fingers clasping around the thin paper.

I had to see him...I...I don’t know why.
I’m sorry.

The writing was messy, not resting on the lines.

It was obvious she was nervous when she wrote it, uneasy. His mind drifted for a second before it burst into action.

She had gone after Crane.

He had hoped she hadn’t known, made others promise not to tell her.

Fuck.

He moved quicker than he thought possible, tearing his trousers up his legs, sticking his tensed arms through the sleeves, jacket on top.

“Gordon!” He half yelled, rapping hard on the Commissioners’ bedroom door, he heard a mumble, going to explain but knowing it wouldn’t sink in unless the older man was properly awake.

He broke protocol, he burst in. The panic in his stance awoke Gordon instantly, shoving his glasses over his tired eyes.

“Keira’s gone to see Crane,” Blake almost spat, the anger at her stupidity finally hitting him.

Putting herself at risk.

“I shouldn’t have let her do the fucking rounds, she attracts trouble but how could she be so...”

“Because he is her brother.” Gordon said with a sigh, his health restored as he pelted from his bed, dressing swiftly, “And she hopes she can get through to him.”

Blake snorted harshly, his legs were aching with adrenalin, ready to go, run to that damn stock exchange.

“You can’t go bursting in there, they’re hunting police down.”

“Well how else are we supposed to get her?!” He bit, his temper no longer controllable, “How could she be so stupid as to just fucking go to him, he could kill her Gordon,”

He didn’t feel the panic of the shorter man was enough, legit. “Why aren’t you getting this?!”

“I am getting this detective Blake.” He used the term, Blake’s promotion to make a point, state their rank. Blake frowned, “But Jonathon Crane has had many opportunities to harm his sister and never taken them...I don’t believe he will hurt her. But you’re right, we need to find out where she is.”

“You don’t believe he will hurt her? You are aware what he tried to do, what he did?”

“Yes, of course I am.” He could tell Gordon was growing exasperated, but he was past caring, the older man snapped. “I have dealt with Crane before and I have dealt with Keira for as many years...I...They don’t have a normal relationship.”

Blake rolled his eyes, waiting to storm from the apartment, run to whoever was on watch and had let her slip away.
It was Foley, fucking Foley, he felt his fists clench.

“I honestly believe he won’t hurt her.” The power in Gordon’s voice made Blake turn, forcing himself to take several deeps breaths, “We will find her but it can’t be all guns blazing, we can’t compromise everyone...one person doesn’t...”

“One person?” He scoffed again, “I thought you cared about her!”

“I do...and I know the last thing she would want is us getting hurt.” The conviction was back.

“But then...” Blake’s voice fell a little, the hand rubbing over his forehead, deep with lines, “Why would she do it?”

“Because...” He trailed off, no proper answer present.

Blake slipped a gun into the waistband of his jeans.

She was going to be the death of him.
____________________________

“You want some more?” This whole situation was ridiculous, like some odd old film.

“No thank-you.” A part of me was still worried there was more than champagne in my glass, and I didn’t even like it.

He took a large sip, seeming to sense my apprehension, waiting until I let some of my own slide down my throat. “I hate champagne.”

“Of course you do.” He mused, crossing his legs.

How exactly we had ended up in the former restaurant of the hotel I wasn’t sure, but it was almost destroyed unlike the rooms, the walls were covered in graffiti, scorch marks up on wall, the chairs and tables in a pile.

Apart from the one we were sitting around, in candlelight like some fucked up kind of romantic date.
I hadn’t told him anything.

But he must have known I wouldn’t...and didn’t seem angry, more amused at my bumbled answers, lies.

I couldn’t hide much around him, but there was no way in hell I would tell him about the resistance, Gordon, Blake.

They must have realised I was gone now, and I could imagine them rushing to the stock exchange, being shot down.

My stomach twisted at the thought, the weak light filtering through the covered window gave Jonathon a ghostly appearance, the torn suit not helping, his hair in disarray.

It was silent, the building seemed empty apart from us. I let it last a few minutes, each of us sipping, the foul taste of the alcohol caught in my mouth.

“Hungry?” I lifted a brow.

“Are you kidding?”

“Not particularly.”

“No, what the fuck are we doing? Why are we sitting here having fucking brunch or whatever?! This is ridiculous, do whatever you’re going to do and stop fucking with me!”

The thick brows arched again, he tapped his hands on the table and stood, grabbing my hair roughly so I could practically hear the follicles being ripped from my scalp. I yelped, struggling slightly against him, raking my nails over his fist to no avail.

He dragged me to the double door, coated in newspaper and cardboard and threw me harshly so my knees scraped against the top step, sending me down a couple, several gasps of pain brushing past my lips.

His smart shoes tapped against the stone, stopping by my hands, one resting lightly over my fingers, adding pressure as he spoke.

“I was hoping you would see sense, stop whatever it is that you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything.” I whined, my fingers beginning to click but I knew enough not to try and pull my hand away.

“You are, you should appreciate how things are now. But nothing ever seems to be good enough for you does it?” His foot lifted up, slamming down so hard I almost scream, hand scooping me up again, his face close to mine, fingers pinching my slightly swollen cheek.

All I could focus on was my burning hand, it was shaking of it’s own accord, twitching, the pain flowing through each finger up my wrist.

His eyes were manic, wide, the blue was almost white. “Go.” He dropped me and I hardly caught myself, almost falling down more stairs.

“What?”

“Go, Bane won’t like it but...” He smirked, “I don’t really like being told what to do...again, unlike you.”

I didn’t spit back the words I wanted too, remaining silent, he was letting me go?

Even by his standards this was insane.

To make such a public show of catching me, and then, to do little, find out nothing and let me go.
What was the reasoning of that?

I nodded, trying to keep the tears behind my eyelashes, the pain had stuck further up my arm, I swore I could feel the bones moving out of place in each digit.

“Go.” He demanded again and I turned, “But where do you go after the accident in your flat I wonder?”

I didn’t answer.

I heard him chuckle.

“I see you again and I won’t be so lenient, I’m starting to lose my patience Keira.” He taunted after me, and my steady steps turned into a frantic run, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible.
My breathing grew hard, stinging my throat and chest, but that was nothing compared to my hand.

I didn’t stop until I was again near the courthouse, a couple of blocks east. At least three of my fingers were broken, and I think several bones in my hand were as well, swelling already.

I kept expecting to turn around and see Jonathon behind me, have masked men grab me, dragged me to the masked man.

Why had Jonathon taken me just to let me go? To stop them killing me? To play with me more?

I glanced a familiar face, pulling my hood up and coat further around me with my undamaged arm as I headed over, seeing the realisation in his arm, “Where the hell did you go?” He bit, “Blake is running around like a fucking madman, wait...”

He glanced behind us, slipping an arm around my shoulder and taking me further down the street, back towards the main Tumbler route, pulling the radio from his pocket.

“I got Keira, someone let Blake know, we’re going to the store.”

The store was a grocery store, the shop closed, but the owners donated tins to us, to others in need. The basement was where the resistance met, planned.

We walked along silently, obviously he wasn’t aware where I had been.

But I prayed he meant that by Blake running around he hadn’t gone into that ‘court.’

He wouldn’t have.

He was far more sensible than me.

He wants you, he wants you.

But would he, with how reckless I was?