The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

54

I pace across Jonathan's kitchen. Hand pressed to my forehead. Furious, and without the luxury of even a glass of wine to take the edge off.

"I have everything backed up separately, Sienna," Doctor Crane says quietly.

"Thanks, sweetie," I mutter, trying to massage the ache from my head. "I made copies too. I just don't understand... why the hell would anyone care about sabotaging my PhD?"

Jonathan stays silent but I see the tension in his jaw, his shoulders. A flicker through his gaze.

"You know, don't you?" I ask him.

"I have theories."

"What are they?"

He clears his throat softly. "Sienna, you are carrying our child. It's imperative you maintain plausible deniability."

"Fuck your plausible deniability." I stop pacing. "Tell me."

He grabs his car keys and a long coat, pulling it on in one even movement. "I'm taking you home. You need to stay with Harleen tonight."

"Not until you tell me what's going on," I insist.

He looks ready to argue. Ready to shout, even. But then he glances at me again, and he softens.

"I wasn't the only one at the courthouse uninvited today," he says quietly. "Rachel Dawes was there too. And she wasn't happy about the proceedings."

"Give me a fucking break," I mutter. "It's the freaking Joker. He's practically Arkham's mascot. How can she be mad that he's staying there?"

"Because she wants every criminal locked up in prison so her numbers look good," Jonathan says. "Because she doesn't understand mental health, Sienna. Not like we do."

"You think she's behind this?" I ask quietly.

He says, "I think she's been too quiet for too long. I wouldn't be surprised if she's been digging in the meantime. And what better way than to hack into our database?"

"That's illegal," I point out. "She'd be a hypocrite."

"With the might of the DA's office behind her, and a close friendship with the Wayne family? She'd be able to cover her tracks." Jonathan's face twists in disgust. "Come on, Sienna. Let's go."

"What are you going to do?" I ask.

"Speak with some old friends. See what they know."

"I'll come," I say.

"No. I'm not putting you at risk. These are mob bosses, hardened criminals."

"And this is my freaking life," I point out. "I'm not..."

I freeze mid-sentence. I felt... No, I must be imagining it...

"Sweetheart?" Jonathan asks, darting forward at once. "What is it?"

There it is again. A rolling sensation. A sharp jab. A kick, inside of me.

Our baby's kicking.

"He's... He's moving," I say in disbelief, bringing my hands to my bump.

It comes again, a sharp kick, and I feel it in the palm of my hand.

Jonathan sinks slowly to his knees, bringing his hands to join my own. We both wait with held breath.

The baby kicks again, and I feel the pressure against Jonathan's hand. This is the weirdest thing ever.

And the most beautiful.

We stay silent as the baby continues to move and kick, sharing the moment of awe.