Three weeks had gone by since Holly's father was stationed to work at the reopened asylum, and while the days were long and Jim didn't return to the apartment until the later night hours or even a few days, Holly did her best to make the most out of the cruddy situation. Selina would sneak in occasional visits, and they'd split sandwiches and glasses of milk. While the late-night visits did give Holly quite the jumpscare at first, she soon grew used to them, and she and Selina were getting along. They weren't necessarily best friends but close acquaintances.

But the street girl wasn't the only one occupying the empty apartment. Cara frequently came over after school, and they even held a few sleepovers. Even with the company of her two friends, nothing could replace the loneliness of having neither of Holly's parents around. As the midnight rain pitter-pattered against her window, she kept staring off into space, just waiting to hear the front door open and her mother announcing she was home. Did she just abandon us? Holly wondered. She turned onto her side and tried to sleep, but her eyelids were glued wide open.

Three weeks away from home was a long time for somebody to pull themselves together. Unless that wasn't what her mother was doing at all! No normal parent could bear to be away from their kid for that long. The conversation between her mother and Montoya replayed in her mind. Is she with Montoya? How could she pack up and throw everything we've been through in the garbage? We're a family, we don't do that! 

Holly didn't want to believe it, but the more the thought echoed in her mind, the longer it haunted her. Her darkened thoughts were interrupted when she heard the sounds of the front door open, and she creaked open her bedroom door, peering out to see who it was. Perhaps she had all wrong. Maybe her mom hadn't abandoned them after all! She ran down the hall, eager to squeeze her with all the strength she had and beg her to never leave like that again. But to her disappointment, it wasn't her mother. It was a familiar redhead.

"Ivy? What are you doing here?" Holly asked. "I could ask you the same question," Ivy sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I invited her over," Holly turned around to see Selina shutting the balcony door behind her, and she strode past Holly to help Ivy inside. "Selina, I don't mind having visitors, but you should've told-" "It was a last-minute thing, okay? Ivy's sick, and she was sleeping out in the rain," Selina interrupted. She helped Ivy onto the couch, and Holly grabbed extra blankets from the closet before placing them over Ivy's shivering body.

"Listen, I know I said Ivy's scary, and she can be sometimes. But she's still my friend, Hols. I have to take care of her. You'd do the same if you were in my shoes, wouldn't you?" Selina asked as she and Holly discussed this matter out of Ivy's earshot. "Yeah, I would," Holly nodded. "How long do you plan on staying?" "As soon as Ivy gets better, we'll be out of your hair, okay?" Selina held out her hand. "Alright, you can stay. Just please don't make a huge mess," Holly agreed. "No messes," Selina repeated.

It didn't take long for Ivy to fall asleep on the sofa, and Holly had to admit, she looked rather cozy sleeping there. Poor thing, who knows how long it's been since she slept in a decent bed. Holly shook her head before she met with Selina in the kitchen for the usual sandwiches and milk. "Your dad still working at Arkham?" Selina asked. "Yep, still holding on," Holly sighed. "Why is he doing this? I would've thought he'd quit by now. I know I would've!" Selina replied. "I know, Sel. But he's not one to cave into pressure," Holly sighed before taking a sip. "Besides, he still has to take care of me. I'm all he has left,"

"So... your mom's not coming back?" Selina inquired. "At this point, I'd be surprised if she did. Who just up and leaves their kid without saying goodbye?" Holly answered. Selina's face fell the second she said that, and Holly immediately took notice of her prolonged silence. "I'm sorry, did I?" Holly trod cautiously, recalling the outburst at Wayne Manor with Bruce's constant questions. "No, it's fine," Selina said flatly. But Holly could still see the hurt in her eyes. She didn't need an explanation to know what Selina was thinking, she saw the image as clear as day.

"Have you found anything new to snatch?" Holly changed the subject. "Duh, of course!" Selina reached into her pocket and laid out a bunch of jewelry ranging from ruby bracelets to sapphire brooches. Holly's eyes widened at the sparkling mound, wondering if Selina just got back from robbing a jewelry store. "The rich are stupid to keep their jewels in plain sight walking downtown. Makes them an easy target," Selina smirked. "How do you..." Holly trailed off. "Pretty easy. Since most of them are on their phones lecturing and yelling," the delinquent explained. "It also helps when they're out late at night,"

While Holly didn't condone the addiction to thievery, she had to admit Selina never failed to surprise her. She wasn't the perfect thief, but the fact Selina managed to get away with stealing such high-value items while others were quickly caught and thrown in jail spoke volumes of how thorough and planned out she was. "That's crazy, Selina," Holly responded. "Still Ms. Goody Goody, I see," Selina raised a brow. "Far from that, I almost bit off that guy's fingers, remember? And I'd happily do it again!" The Gordon scoffed.

Selina tried to hold back her laughter as much as she could for Ivy's sake, but her laughter filled the entire kitchen, and Holly soon joined her. "Oh god. Just because you bite someone, it doesn't mean you're not a goody-goody anymore. It just means you've got a pair of sharp teeth," Selina said. "But A for effort though!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Working as a security guard at Arkham was one of the most boring and stressful jobs in Jim's life. Fights between unstable patients would break out every so often and as much as Jim tried to pull the patients off each other, one would always get beaten so bad they'd have to be sent to the medical wing. And every single time without fail, the director of the facility, Dr. Lang, would chew him out and threaten his job. But despite the hardships and the constant yelling, Jim tried to power through not only for his sake but for Holly's.

One night, the patients gathered in the common area, watching the retelling of The Tempest. Jim had never been a big fan of old English plays, he didn't know why. But there was always something that made it hard to get through. Maybe it was the fancy and unclear translation, or maybe the story wasn't convincing enough for him to listen to, at least willingly. He wouldn't say it out loud, but watching this knock-off play was more torture than someone pinning him down and yanking out his wisdom teeth. Not only was he uncomfortable watching this, but so were the majority of the patients, as many of them covered their ears, blocking out the loud booming voices.

"Full fathom five, my father lies. Of his bones are coral made, those are pearls that were his eyes. Nothing of him that doth fade. But doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange," One of the patients named Royston, sang his lines on the tiny stage. Eventually, another patient named Frogman Jones had enough of the singing and charged toward Royston, knocking him to the ground, and started beating on him. Some patients started screaming as the nearby nurses tried to get everyone under control while Jim tried to break them up.

He grabbed Frogman by the back of his torn white shirt and threw him onto the ground as he and another aide restrained him. Dorothy, one of the nurses who had been directing the play behind the curtains, jumped off the stage, and rushed to the alarm, the loud screeching filling every hall in the asylum and riled the patients up further. A stretcher was wheeled into the room, and Jim and the other medical professionals placed Royston onto it before rushing him to the medical wing.

"This is the fourth inmate outburst in as many weeks as you've been stationed here!" Dr. Lang yelled. "I understand this is punishment duty for you, but I expect professional standards, nonetheless. This is unacceptable, Gordon. Unacceptable!" "It's my fault, Mr. Lang. The play was too upsetting. We'll stick to comedies from now on, I think," Dorothy bowed her head in shame. "Thank you, Nurse Duncan. It's "Director" or "Dr. Lang," as you prefer," The director reminded.

"Recreational activities are not pertinent to this conversation. Officer Gordon is responsible for security on this wing, a task which he seems unable to manage. What have you to say about this, Gordon?" Jim's face remained stone cold and emotionless as he met the director's unforgiving eyes, bluntly telling him their man needed medical attention. "I'd see to him myself, but there are rules," Dorothy explained. "I dispense meds, not treatment. He needs a doctor," 

"Very well, I'll send one in," Dr. Lang nodded. "Any more incidents, Gordon, and I'll have you placed on the remedial duty roster. Think you can't fall any farther? Think again," Mr. Lang and Dorothy left the wing, leaving Jim and the unconscious patient to sit and wait. Jim sat down in a nearby chair pressed against the wall. He must've been awake for three days straight because as soon as he was finally able to sit and take a rest, he allowed his eyes to rest for just a moment. 

A few minutes later, he heard the sounds of heels clicking into the room, and he opened his eyes to see a young woman with a white doctor's coat and short, curled black hair walk in and examine her patient. "How is he?" Jim asked. The doctor lightly slapped Royston's cheek, causing him to groan and shift in the bed. "He's fine, will be," She answered, writing an examination note on her clipboard. "And you?" "I'm good, just a few bruises," Jim answered. The doctor paused midway through her note, and looked up at him and squinted as if she couldn't see him from across the room.

"Wait, you're the famous Detective Jim Gordon, aren't you?" She questioned. "That's my name. I'm not sure about "famous," he replied. "Notorious then?" Lee suggested. "Nearer the mark. Who are you?" Jim inquired. The woman held her hand out to him, introducing herself as Dr. Leslie Thompkins. "I haven't seen you on infirmary duty before," Jim mentioned as Lee unwrapped the stethoscope from around her neck. "I work in the female ward. I come over here when they're short-handed,"

She paused their conversation as she listened to the patient's heartbeat, jotting down another note before continuing. "All the girls are talking about you. The Brave detective brought low by fighting City Hall," She smiled. Though he didn't mean to, Jim could feel himself cringe at the thought of other people gossiping about what happened. But when the juicy info gets out, it's bound to spread like wildfire. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make light of your situation," Lee apologized.

"No, it's alright," Jim assured. "Personally, I think what you're doing is admirable," She admitted. "How? I'm guarding lunatics," Dr. Thompkins shook her head, clarifying that she meant he wasn't quitting, even when so many people were trying to make his time there a living hell. "Not yet, anyway," Jim shrugged. "Who are you again?" His tired and aching mind did not have the strength to cooperate at the moment. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to blurt all that out like I did. It's none of my business," Lee apologized again.

"Dr. Thompkins, are you sure this inmate's gonna be okay?" Jim double-checked. "He's fine. He's just sleeping off his meds," Lee assured. But their conversation was ended by a tired groan coming from the bed. "I'm trying... get a room, you guys," Royston grumbled before closing his eyes again. Lee and Jim looked back at each other, subtly smiling as the doctor grabbed her clipboard and pen. "I should get going. It was nice to meet you, Jim," "Likewise," He responded, watching her walk out of the room.

Early the next morning, Jim walked down the seemingly silent cellblock, making his evening rounds and stopping at each cell. For the most part, the inmates inside were asleep or were lying in bed waiting for it to take hold. As Jim approached the next cell, he stopped and looked through the square door window, peering inside to see Frogman Jones sitting in a chair and staring out the barred window into the sunny but cloudy sky. "Jones?" Jim knocked on the door. But the inmate did not respond.

"Jones," Jim called again, but still no reply. Jim reached for the cell keys and unlocked it, and as he slowly approached the patient, he kept a hand on his taser just in case this was going to be another of his violent episodes. But the closer he got to Jones, the more he realized something was off. On both sides of the patient's head, there were two circular burn marks, and he looked at Jones's face, blank and void of any emotion. "Hey, Frogman," Jim tapped his shoulder, hoping that would get his attention. But rather than flinch and acknowledge, Jones fell off the chair and onto the floor.

Every inmate in Arkham had their own cell, so the theory a bunkmate doing this to Jones was debunked. So, who could've done this to him? Jim looked shocked. He locked the cell door behind him before running back down the hall and getting the attention of a few guards. Not even a minute later, that familiar loud alarm rang throughout the building, and as Jim waited in the medical wing for a doctor to describe what might've happened, Lee came back, and as she began her examination, she found something she'd never seen before.

"These are electrode wounds," She pointed to the burn marks. "This man was given a crude, invasive kind of electroshock therapy. Metal needles were inserted into the brain, and electricity was applied to his frontal lobes," "What for?" Jim questioned. "Surgically, it's used to modify aberrant behavior, but in this case, way too much voltage was used, and his brain is completely fried," She answered. "Another under your watch, Gordon? How did this happen?" Dr. Lang sighed and shook his head in disappointment.

"You rushed into the opening, and now you're running this place with a skeleton staff and zero surveillance in an unsafe and unsecured 200-year-old maze," Jim bluntly replied. "Excellent, more excuses. That's the nature of municipal operations. You inherit problems, and you use the resources at hand to do with you can," Dr. Lang lectured. Jim further explained, saying their resources didn't stretch nearly far enough to cover a criminal investigation, and suggested they call the GCPD. "No, this is an in-house medical issue. Is he still breathing?" Dr. Lang looked to where Lee was helping the inmate lay back in bed. "Well, yes, but he's effectively brain dead," She answered.

"He's still breathing, unaided. For all official purposes, well, he's still alive. Keep him comfortable, Doctor," Dr. Lang instructed. "Officer Gordon? I want you to find out which one of our charming inmates did this. I want a report on my desk Friday," As the director left, Lee smiled at him sympathetically. "Another day, another dollar," Jim held back the urge to roll his eyes. "Really? This is rather usual and sinister, isn't it?" Lee inquired. "Yeah. So, who are we looking for? What does it take to pull this off?"

"Some basic knowledge of human anatomy. Um, basic electrical skills, a circuit board, some wiring," Lee ticked off the list. "And the door keys of course," She added. "The door keys, right," Jim repeated as he walked off to begin his investigation on the Arkham staff.