Phobia.

“The most ridiculous fucking thing anyone has ever done, he broke your fucking hand, he could have killed you! Do you even understand that? Keira seriously, I...what the hell is wrong with you?”

The ice on my hand had caused it to hurt more at first, a cold burn over my skin. Now it was numb, the swelling going down to reveal dark purple bruising. The hospital wasn’t open, they had tried at first but had been broken into several times, narcotics stolen.

All we had were aspirin, Gordon had promised to look for a proper doctor, but Richard, a medic had looked, strapped three of my fingers together, the other able to move so we had assumed it wasn’t broken.

Blake had been silent, seething, not approaching me as we had gotten back. His cheeks flushed red, hair a mess, deeps crevices by both eyes. It wasn’t until we had gotten back to the apartment, the two deciding it was best to move as soon as possible, since Jonathon knew I was still in Gotham.

I’d been forced to repeat every word I could recall, letting them debate as Blake walked me home, still in silence, shrugging off my attempts to talk to him, pulling away from my hand.

It hurt.
It hurt more because I knew I deserved it, and more.

I got more when we were back and the door was closed, after he had continued to storm, shoving things into a bag, he spoke, his questions short, “Do you want this jumper? Shall we leave stuff that isn’t wintery behind.”

He still ignored the obvious, turned away as I spoke tearfully, practically begging.

It was when he picked up the charred picture of my family, the one he had rescued from my burnt apartment that he flipped suddenly, flinging the new frame across the wall, glass chiming as it fell to the floor.

I just let his anger wash over me, I deserved it, every word, every small insult.

“How could you be so stupid?! What exactly did you think was going to happen? And I know you have this ridiculous fucking idea that he’s suddenly going to turn around and be normal, but he isn’t. He tried to kill everyone, he is a psychopath. What has to be physically wrong with you to keep trying to reach out for him! He is a fucking dead end, a lunatic, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you, didn’t get it out of you about all of us. This could have put Gordon at risk, the whole resistance because of your selfish fucking need to see the fucking scarecrow.”

“I’m sorry.” Was all I could manage to say, again and again every time he took a breath. I waited until the rant was over.

“I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Oh fantastic! You didn’t say anything but now he knows that his little courthouse isn’t secret, and he knows you worked with police...he’s going to put two and two together, tell Bane, tell the fucking mob now running the city and they will be hunting us down twice as hard. You’ve risked everything.”

I whimpered the two words once again, tears burning my cold face, the ice had practically melted now, unlike his rage.

“Sorry doesn’t take it back, you’re so lucky he didn’t do more to you, he could have killed you easily and we wouldn’t have known. I wouldn’t have known.” He sat on the edge of the bed, the force making me rock, the bowl spilling to the floor, water seeping into the carpet and darkening it.

“I...” I closed my mouth, it was dry, an acidic burn. The two words were meaningless, they couldn’t take it back. “I need to think that part of my brother is still there.”

“Why?” His voice was soft now, almost illegible.

“Because that means that he isn’t completely crazy...and...that means that I’m not going to go completely crazy.”

His breathing halted, “Is that what you think it means, if he’s insane so are you?”

“Mental issues are hereditary.” I said stiffly, something Jonathon preached at me whenever I uttered an insult at him. He sighed, exhaling for a long time.

“That’s why you’re so desperate...because...” He was working it out as he spoke and I closed my eyes, tears no longer falling, but the acid in my stomach boiling, “You think if you fix him you can fix yourself.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a realisation, the truth I would never admit.

“Think how much better you’ve gotten in the last month alone.” He paused, “That has nothing to do with him, you’ve let him rule your life from behind bars for years.”

“It wasn’t just Jonathon, Harvey and...”

“Also had nothing to do with you, you were just sadly in the wrong place.” His hands ran over his face, mine was hurting again, resting on my legs, the other trying to tidy my face.

“Why do you blame yourself for everything?”

I scoffed a little, barely a squeak, trying to change the subject, “I didn’t realise you were a psychiatrist.”

“I didn’t realise how much you were hiding. I told you, weeks ago by my cruiser that when people are bad, when bad stuff happens, it doesn’t make you bad. Keira.” I tore my eyes from my hands, meeting his finally.

“Jonathon doesn’t deserve a second of your time, or your mental state for that matter.” He forced a small smile, trying to make it a joke. “Promise me you won’t try and see him again, please.”

“I promise.” I meant it. He nodded, standing up and starting to pack again like nothing had happened. “John.” He turned, I never used his first name, it was too close to Jonathon, I couldn’t relate Blake to him in any way.

I couldn’t think about the Scarecrow anymore.

“I am sorry.”

“I know.”

Nothing else was said about it, we packed, Gordon reappeared, looking stressed but landing a gentle hand on my shoulder, no words needed.

“We’re ready to go, so as soon you are.”

“Right, Foley knows of a place, he’s waiting down the block, head down now, less suspicious.”

I nodded mutely, Blake wordlessly helping me to slip my coat on, carrying the holdall, everything else in a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“See you soon.”

I muttered a ‘bye’ and we left the Commissioner trailing out into the cold, a thick grey cloud overhead waiting to burst. I wanted to say something, to try and explain but he wouldn’t allow it. When Foley dropped us off he hung around for a moment, the flat above an old store which had been vandalised.

It was smaller than before, dingier.

Safer.
I felt guilty again.

“Tomorrow, everyone’s meeting to do a general scout in pairs, check on places and people. You two together?” I went to open my mouth but Blake beat me to it.

“Keira won’t be doing patrol anymore.” I let my mouth shut, well aware any argument against that statement was pointless. Foley sighed, meeting my eyes, waiting until I nodded slightly.

“Alright, well what...”

“I want to check on the home and a couple of people, I’ll do it alone, be fine. Where and when are we meeting?”

“Nine am, normal place.” Blake nodded and he left, the silence descending again.

It hung around all evening, Gordon staying on the couch with a fold out bed at his own demand. Any conversation was stilted, the food bland, easy and quick but not filling.

I went to bed hungry, long before Blake dragged himself in, their low conversation had been hard to hear properly, and I caught odd words, phrases.

Gordon was arguing on my side, it was sweet, but clearly it was a waste of effort.

Blake came in, I was dressed in my usual night-time attire of an oversized jumper.

I expected him to avoid me, lay on the other side of the bed but instead he pulled me to him, leaning on his elbows to hover over me, careful not to put weight on my damaged hand as his lips attacked mine.

I gasped into them, letting them dominate my own, letting him have all control. He moved up onto his knees, freeing his hands enough for them to lift my jumper up to my neck, exposing my breasts which he quickly took in hand, replacing those after a few seconds with his mouth, making me moan lightly.
Enjoying myself too much to question it.

His hands took advantage of my hips lifting, slipping my underwear off and quickly ripping off his own and forcing himself into me, my stilted moan causing him to pick up speed, his head now next to mine, my healthy hand running through his hair, up my back as I hitched my legs up, wrapping them around his waist and pulling him as close as possible, each thrust deeper, hitting a more pleasurable stop.

Only the skin of his shoulder against my mouth stopping me from making noises that were sure to alert Gordon.

Without warning he moved away from me, spinning me around so my face was pressed against the pillow, back arched as he slammed into me again.

There was no romance, just passion, lust, his hands digging into my hips. It wasn’t gentle, and at the time I craved that, it was an acceptance of the day, an acceptance of my forgiveness, the animal act that didn’t require more awkward conversation.
_______________

A week later I was sure it had just been a way to get me out of his system, one last time so he could distance himself from me.

The distance hurt more than words ever could.