Miriam

We end up sitting in a small café near Wayne Towers. I can see it from the window, large and forbidding. It doesn’t really bother me. The food here is better than I’ve had in a long time. The place is pleasant, quiet and comfortable. I make a mental note to return here on a day off. There are not many people, and it almost feels like a date. Crane sits across from me at the small table, our knees brushing occasionally.
He smiles to himself, wrapping long fingers around his coffee cup. It softens him for a moment, takes the hunger away. I can’t help wonder if I look like Crane sometimes. Probably. People like us usually end up with that desperate expression. I’m pulled from my thoughts when he speaks.
“Are you a tea person, Ms. Webster?” I look down at my cup of Earl Grey and nod. “That’s uncommon, in a country obsessed with coffee,” he points out, smiling.
“I grew up in England. Tea’s the national drink there.”
Interest sparks in his eyes as he leans forward.
“Is that true?”
“Er, yes,” I say, confused. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
He sits back, shrugging.
“Much of your job requires hiding your identity. I was wondering how many places you’re supposedly from.”
I smile at him.
“I’m not a spy, sir. My childhood isn’t classified. And I truly am from England.” I inch a little closer to him, opening up. I can understand why he was so good in Arkham, because those eyes make me want to reveal everything. “My name really is Miriam, by the way.”
I don’t usually tell people that, but it’ll do no harm and I like the light that appears in Crane’s eyes. I take a bite of croissant, waiting for him to speak. I’m not expecting Scarecrow to come out.
“Tell me more. Tell me everything,” he hisses, echoing my previous thoughts.
I sit back, not wanting him to lose control in public.
“Sir.”
My voice is flat, and I can see Scarecrow fade as Crane shakes his head.
“I apologize.”
He looks uncomfortable, so I smile reassuringly.
“You came back quickly. It’s fine.” I sip my tea, waggling my eyebrows at him til he grins. When we’re like this, being playful and relaxed, it’s hard for me to remember that he’s my boss. This isn’t bad, though. I haven’t gone too far. “So, I told you a few of my secrets. Your turn.”
He swallows, tugging at the collar of his shirt.
“Uh...”
I nudge his ankle with my foot.
“C’mon. Spill.”
He laughs at me, saying,
“Sometimes it’s easy to forget that you can kill a person in hundreds of different ways.” He pushes my foot back. “Especially when you act like a teenage girl.”
I shrug. “This is sort of like being off duty, sir.”
He spreads his hands out on the table, taking a breath.
“Well...I was raised by my grandmother,” he says softly.
His eyes darken and I wonder, for the first time, what made him Scarecrow. I have a feeling his childhood had a hand in it.
“Okay. What else?”
“I utterly loathe the Joker, but I’m almost fond of Croc.”
That surprises a laugh from me, which makes him grin smugly.
“You work with the Joker all the time,” I hiss, leaning closer. “How can you possibly hate him?”
“Don’t you?” Crane asks, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, you’re kind of supposed to. The man has done more damage to Gotham than any of us.”
I pause to think.
“I don’t hate him. He’s never done anything to me. In my business, emotions come last.”
“Hmm.”
He nods seriously.
“Why do you hate him, then?”
“He’s vile. The things he comes up with...” Crane’s lips tighten as he looks away. “The rest of us have our own evils, but none like him. I am nothing like him. He’s not human.”
A low chill runs through me, so I push thoughts of the Joker away.
“You said you were fond of Killer Croc?”
He brightens.
“Yes. He’s interesting. Aloof. Not an animal like the papers say. He’s very wise. I think he mostly wants to be left alone in his sewers. The whole eating people thing is seriously over exaggerated.”
“You know a lot about the super criminals of Gotham, don’t you?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Of course I do. I’m one of them, firstly. I am also still a psychologist at heart. An observer of people.”
“And you hang out with some interesting people, sir.”
Crane gives me a bit of an odd look.
“You don’t have to call me sir, you know. I don’t expect anyone living with me to be so formal.”
“I’ve been calling you Crane in my head, actually.”
This gets a grin from him.
“You’re allowed to call me by my first name.”
“Jon,” I say, trying out the sound of it on my tongue. It sounds okay, but I have the feeling he’ll always be Crane in my mind. “You may call me Miriam, then.”
“Miriam,” he says, making a face.
I chuckle.
“I know, I know, it’s an old woman’s name. You could try Miri.”
I don’t tell him that only four people, including my mother, have ever been allowed to call me that.
“Miri it is, then.”
We grin at each other and clink cups.

Crane and I separate after the café, onto the dark streets. I watch him disappear into the shadows before leaving for the base myself, although it makes me nervous. He’s ordered that I not follow him, grinning playfully as he said he wanted to see who gets home first. It’s one of the few orders I’ve received that I have to disobey.
Gotham’s doubly dangerous at night, when the monsters come out to feed. I know, inside, that Crane is one of those monsters, a strong one, but I’ve had it drilled into me over and over again that the client must be protected. So I follow after him, keeping quiet as possible, watching for his dark hair from the tops of buildings. There are a few moments when I fear he’s caught me, when he pauses and tilts his head as if listening, but we make it home without incident. I wait a bit before going inside, hoping he’ll think it’s just that I’m slower.
As soon as I walk in the door there’s a hand around my throat, solid weight pinning me against a wall. I tense, but it’s just Crane, not someone I want to hurt. His eyes are dark, overtaken by Scarecrow.
“I’m not blind. I could see you following me,” he hisses, lips brushing my ear.
“Sir, I-”
He grabs my bum, pushing my hips against his. He’s hard, and something low in my stomach tightens.
“You disobeyed me, Miri. You didn’t listen.” That he used my name means there’s a bit of Crane here, I think. His hand’s still at my throat, though, just tight enough to be threatening. His other hand slips under my skirt, teasing at the edge of my underwear. Crane hitches my skirt up to smack my bum, grinning when I shudder against him, pushing his fingers higher. “Oughta bend you over, spank you till you scream, beg for it, shove myself inside you and take everything,” he mutters against my neck, teeth pricking my skin.
I moan when he bites down. There’ll be marks there tomorrow but I don’t care right now.
He slips a finger inside me, smirking when I hiss, “Sir!”
“Pretty, so pretty, gonna eat you right up,” he says, getting another finger inside me and crooking until he finds the spot that makes me gasp and clench around him. His glasses have come off and his eyes hold mine, pin me in place as I climb higher and higher. He kisses me when I come, mouth surprisingly soft on mine, sliding his fingers out when I shudder against him, oversensitive. Crane bites at my neck as I jack him off, slams me against the wall for another kiss when I lick the taste of him off my palm. “Good girl.” I’m panting and the room smells like sex, and I’m still enjoying the afterglow. I haven’t felt like this in far too long. Scarecrow fades from Crane’s eyes as he bites his lip, looking nervous but satisfied. “Ms. Webster, I really must apologize...”
I laugh, zip him up, press a kiss to his cheek.
“It’s quite alright. You can do that anytime.”
There’s a good mix of Scarecrow and Crane in his face as he looks at me.

Crane steps away from me, smoothing down the front of his shirt. I reach forward to help him straighten his tie. He accepts the help but swallows, nervous. “It’s alright, sir, truly,” I say, smiling at him.
“I believe I asked you to call me Jon,” he murmurs, long fingers fiddling with the frames of his glasses.
His face is slightly flushed, but he grins at me.
“Of course. I forgot.” I smile again and reach for him, wanting contact. I wrap my fingers in the lapels of his jacket, noting the way his pupils dilate, breath shortening. Touch makes Crane anxious, probably due slightly to his fussy, scientific ways. I pause, giving him the chance to move away, but he doesn’t. I kiss his cheek and step back. “You should sleep now. You’ve got lunch with the Joker and Two-Face tomorrow,” I remind him.
He makes a face, pulling me closer for another kiss.
“Thank you, Miri. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight.”
There’s something gentle in his eyes as he pecks my cheek, something that’s neither Scarecrow nor Crane.