Phobia.

The sirens were echoing down the streets, the shooting frantic and random. Ryan had pulled me back, worried not only about the gunfire but the presence of police.

After all, he had been passing thousands of dollars of stolen good a week.

“What the fuck is going on?!” He hissed, fingers digging into my upper arm, dragging me into the doorway of one of the bars, some tenants peeking out whilst others, whilst the ones with things to hide slunk off down the dark alleyways.

“I don’t know!” I scoffed, glaring into the darkness, lightly flaring. But I wanted to find out.

No for once logic struck in, sounding surprisingly like Blake. Don’t do anything stupid Keira I sighed, resting back on the balls of my feet. “I’m gunna go.” I said, carefully unlocking his fingers from around his wrist, “And If I were you I’d do the same.” He nodded, scurrying off into the darkness instantly, his body becoming a shadow and all too soon completely lost to me.

He'd left me alone close to 2 in the morning. Chivalry at its up-most.

Whatever was happening would have scared any dealers away, and my plan so far of asking anyone I could think of was stupid, definitely would raise attention. There was also no way I could think of dropping ‘jobs in the sewer’ into conversation. I’d have to bring it up with Gordon.

Once he was done with whatever was happening down the street.

I felt a flicker of worry I wasn’t used too, I never worried about Gordon, God, he’d been through enough. He had a sense of being indestructible, although I knew it was just a childish fancy of mine.

I was worried about Blake. He'd been nice to me twice, but the first time only after stalking me to work out my former crimes. I truly was fucking pathetic.

Jonathon would have a field day if he could hear me right now.

I flicked the news on when I reached my apartment, the cold felt like it was beginning to seep into every little element. I frowned, changing quickly into some lounging clothes and sitting at the foot of my bed, channel in hand. Nothing useful yet, reports of gunfire, apparently they had found the congressman.

It had to be bigger than that; he hadn’t been kidnapped, held for ransom. Something else was happening.

I instantly regretted listening to the young police officer.

Was it all linked to Jonathon, the compound? Jobs in the sewer... Surely not another attempt to poison the water, no. That was too simple, not dramatic enough. Not Jonathon but yet the drug addict in the alley way, his slip of using the past tense to describe his time in Blackgate.

I pulled myself up, walking slowly over to the pile of boxes and moving the top few until I found the one I was looking for, the one with the picture albums.

His file on me from Arkham...evidence of what he had done, stolen files, plans. All hidden away in a simple cardboard box. It was a box I usually avoided and had several times been tempted to destroy. I'd stolen it anyway, straight from under Gordon and the latest DA's nose. It made no difference to my brother's crimes, or the knowledge of them, there was no re-writing history, any of it. For some reason I had just had to have them.

I took a shaky breath, carrying it and dumping in on the small coffee table by the coach, I wasn’t tired, although I was never one for spending multiple hours in the bliss of sleep. No, instead I liked to obsess over everything, run around every bad decision I had ever made. Doubt myself.

I still didn’t know how much of that was truly me, or how much had been planted in my head by my brother. Brother, the word put a sour taste in my mouth. When you look at the definition, the implications of what an elder brother should be, what he should do when you lose your parents so early, when the only way you can remember what your mother looked like is the very pictures you hide away.

I know what he looked like. My father. He was the mirror image of Jonathon, perhaps a bit rounder in the face. But I don’t remember their voices, how they moved, what they smelt like.

Everything I know, believe about them is from Jonathon. They had few friends, didn't move in the usual social circle, but they knew a rich couple who wanted to further my fathers’ scientific research in renewable energy. When my parents died they made sure Jonathon and myself would have enough money to survive, to put him through college, to get his doctorate.

The Wayne’s.

But then, they died a couple of years after our parents had, leaving Bruce alone. And by alone I mean with a doting butler and billions of dollars.

But leaving me and Jonathon scraping by. Him barely a teenager and me only just learning to read and write.

I suppose in those times he fit the description of a brother, I was nine when he finished high school, and I remember my younger years being alone most evenings as he struggled to pay for our shitty apartment through a mix of government handouts and evening shifts. Apparently our parents did not get along with their own families and somehow Jonathon had avoided getting either of us put in care.

I don't think he wanted us split up. I don't think he wanted to lose me, he still didn't.

I realised he liked it that way. He already knew what he was good at, what he wanted to do. I had always been the perfect test experiment, I had adored him once, hated him when he would test how long he could ignore me before I would flip.

He was more me than I ever was. He had years to get inside my head, he could predict my every movement before I had even thought of it. That hadn’t seemed to lessened even with the eight years since he had been locked away, since I had mostly been free of him.

Physically, not mentally. Never mentally.

My file was in my hands, the cover rough brown paper. The inside full of complicated phrases, analysis, reasoning behind it. I didn’t need to read it, I had spent hours poured over it in the past, looking at each ailment, each mental deficiency, trying to persuade myself they weren’t true... to push past them.

It never worked.

I think when I realised just how true it all was that I truly tried to separate myself from anyone and anything that mattered. But yet, here I was, almost three in the morning awake, worrying not about myself for once but others. Worrying if a couple of police officers had made it home safely.

It was almost a mockery to everything I had engrained into myself.

I eventually went to bed, my duvet too think to warm me completely, my eyes staring blankly at the bathroom door.

The phone rang suddenly, making me tense and jerk. I scrambled up quickly, able to hear the ringing but unsure where I had put it. The only person that rung me is Gordon, it must be important. Eventually I found it, pressing the green button quickly and waiting for Gordon to start talking.

“Gordon’s in the hospital,” a familiar rushed voice growled, “We got attacked earlier, he went in the sewer. He’s bad, I...there’s people under there..a city it...”

“What hospital?” I asked, my voice sounding much more calm than I was. My brain seemed to be absorbing the information too slowly, like it was a dream.

“Gotham central, I brought him in, they’re stabilised him but...”

“How quickly can you get me or do I need to get a taxi?” It began to hit me, and my throat felt thick.

“Taxi. I don’t wanna leave him.”

I hung up before he could talk any more, rushing to shove some clothes on, cramming everything I thought I would need into a handbag and quickly running out onto the street, calling over the first taxi I could see and barking the destination at him. My heart was racing, flickering in my veins so I could feel it throughout my body. My head spinning, all other thoughts pushed aside but Gordon.

He had to be alive, to make it through.
Without Gordon, it truly was just me and Jonathon.
So much for not caring about people.

“She’s with me she’s fine!” Blake barked, some other unnamed officer letting me through to Gordon’s room. “He’s in surgery to remove the bullets...but, the doctors reckon he’ll be okay.” I didn’t let out a breath of relief, the panic was still pumping through my veins.

I nodded, although specks were appearing in my vision. “I...I think I’m having a panic attack...” I hissed to him, my limbs felt like jelly. He looked me over, leading me into the closest empty hospital room, which I assume was for Gordon and pushing me down on the lone chair.

“Lean forward.” he demanded gently, pulling my arms softly so my head was on my knees. “He’ll be fine.” He said; no conviction in his voice, “He’s tough, he’ll get through this.” I listened to his words, focusing on my breathing as I finally calmed down a good ten minutes later.

I had to focus on something, something to calm me down. That happened to be the way his hand was still holding mine, his slightly rough thumb drawing patterns over my knuckles. He waited until I had relaxed properly, moving from his crouched position in front of me, his knees clicking loudly as he stood, no doubt screaming in protest.

“I’m going to go speak to a doctor quick, okay?” I nodded, hair still hiding my face, only looking up when he left the room, the gentle thud of the door behind him. I wiped the tears that had caught under my eyes, letting out one final long breath as I sniffed lightly sitting upright as he returned, dragging another chair behind him and giving me a small smile.

“She reckons he’ll be in surgery for another couple of hours, doesn’t reckon he’ll be out till about eight.” I nodded, embarrassed by my outburst, embarrassed by my emotions. “What happened?” I asked, a couple of minutes later, the only previous noise int he room the loud clicking of the clock on the wall.

“We were tracking the congressman’s phone, we got a signal followed it to some seedy bar. There was a shootout but he was okay, and suddenly we were ambushed. Gordon and some others followed the guys down into the sewer and there was an explosion.” It seemed to fit with what I had heard, I winced visibly. “Foley wouldn’t send anyone down, but...” he sighed loudly, looking down at his hands rather than at me, “Earlier yesterday, the body I had to see was at one of the sewer outlets, like I told you...but, it was something I recognised from...the children’s home I grew up in.”

He paused for a minute, and I kept quiet, he had just told me something that obviously hardly anyone knew about. “I knew whatever was happening in the sewer was bad and I just had... this feeling that if he got out it would be there, that’s the outlet connected to whatever is happening down there, so I drove there and thank fuck Gordon came floating out. He was rambling, about this army, about..Bane.”

“Bane?” I asked quietly, the name sounded strangely familiar, like I had overheard a conversation. “Who is..?”

“He didn’t say anymore, he couldn’t.. so I brought him here and i panicked and I knew he trusted you so...”

“I’m glad you called me,” I butted in. “Whatever this is sounds..big.”

“Does any of it sound familiar, did Crane?...” he looked sour, “Jonathon say anything that could link to this?” I shook my head, but paused mid- way. “He hinted that he would be out soon, out of Blackgate.” I explained, voice low and cautious, both of our faces serious, both of us deep in thought.

“I need to make a trip,” he said, glancing back at the clock, “When Gordon comes out and it’s a bit later.”

“Where to?” He shrugged, obviously un-eager to indulge me. “Is there someone you trust enough to tell them all of this?”

He nodded. “I hope so.”

“I...I want you to trust me.” I declared, close to a silent hour later. The sun was starting to rise, orange piercing through the thin hospital blinds. He turned to me, he had been dozing but now seemed completely awake. “Only if I get the same privilege. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

He left the room shortly after, someone higher up had come in and he had to explain what had happened, what the Commissioner had said. “It was so much easier when I didn’t care about anyone.” I muttered, pulling myself into a standing position and walking stiffly over to the window, the sound of traffic growing as early risers left for work. I was so tired my eyes felt raw and I rubbed under them carefully, stifling a yawn with my hand.

The door slammed as Blake reappeared, “They’re not doing anything. They’re saying he’s delusional. Won’t do anything until they spoken to him properly.” I frowned.

“He’s going to be disorientated for the rest of the day at least.” He nodded, pulling his jacket back on. “Who are you going to see?” I asked once again, leaning against the wall as he walked over, his own eyes narrowed as he took in the city landscape. He still looked uneasy,

“I... I’m still not su...” he let out a slight breath, crossing his arms and looking down slightly at me.

“I meant what I said,” I urged, "I am sick of sitting in the shadows and just watching people doing bad things.”

“I thought you didn’t care about anyone or anything?” he asked, a slight jaunt in his voice.

“That plan doesn’t seem to be working as well as I had intended.” I said, gesturing to the chairs to remind me of my state just three hours ago. “I want to help, I can’t stand by if something like what Jonathon or Har...” I cut myself off wetting my lips, “The Joker did happened again.” He let my slip of the tongue go, glancing out at the door to the hallway.

“We’ll talk in the car, you might want to go home and change. I’ll take you.” I nodded, smiling slightly that he had decided I could be trusted, that I deserved to come.

The drive through Gotham to my apartment was silent, the police radio crackling ever so often. He followed me silently up the stairs, accepting my offer of coming in. It just seemed like the standard polite offer a person would give.

“There’s coffee and other stuff in the second cupboard to the right,” I said lightly, not even looking in that direction as I went to my wardrobe, grabbing a nice top and a coat. I pulled my shirt off, the chosen blouse on the bed. His movement stopped and I suddenly realised my error, clearing my throat loudly as I put on a bra and the blouse, his movements starting again. His footsteps creaking as he made his way over to the sofa.

I fiddled with the buttons, grabbing my hairbrush from a draw and running it through my tangles, slipping my glasses on, much happier when the world become fully focused. I turned once ready, fluffing my hair again but realising my next error very quickly.

His back was to me, a simple glass of water placed on the table, right next to the box.
The file, listing everything wrong with me was in his hands, I could remember the list easily;

Extreme Paranoia
Traces of OCD
Self neglect in both mental and physical terms
Self harm a reoccurring factor.
Very low confidence...

It went on.

I went to talk, unable to find any word, to persuade him I wasn’t completely insane. He wasn’t going to trust me after reading that, no way. He must have heard I stopped moving as he closed the file slowly, placing it back in the box and closing the lid.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...”

“It’s...alright.” I said quietly, cutting him off as he went to speak by rushing to the small bathroom and quickly brushing my teeth, the bile in my throat rising.

What the fuck would he think now?

I stared at myself in the mirror, my hair was growing lank, I had bags under my eyes and my pale skin was whiter than usual. I grabbed the red lipstick from the shelves next to the mirror, putting it on and remembering something Selina had once said, “Red lipstick can hide any multitude of sins.”

I sprayed a light mist of perfume on, forcing a smile on my mouth, the red stretched wide.
Don’t mention it, see how he reacts and go from there.

See if he still trusts you.
You lunatic.

“Keira...” I opened the door, smiling at him again as I picked up my handbag, “So, where are we going?” I asked, once again stopping his apology in his tracks. He didn’t speak until we were back in the police cruiser.

“We’re going to Wayne manner.” I felt my eyes widen, his own on me. “You know?”

I nodded slowly, “I...I know everything.”

“Tell me on the way there. We need to convince him to help. Tell me about what really happened to Harvey Dent.”