Cold. It was unbearably cold. Even with the itchy blanket, Barbara couldn't stop her teeth from chattering. Trembling, she curled into herself as much as she could, desperate to preserve what body heat remained. Yet, the freezing temperature of the room was nothing compared to the shiver that ran along her spine when she heard her name.

"Good morning, Barbara," a soft voice cooed from somewhere in the dark.

As soon as the elongated fingers brushed against her shoulder, Barbara startled upright. That proved to be a huge mistake, one she instantly regretted as a wave of pain washed over her. With a groan, she squinted up at the lanky shadow standing in front of her.

"It's time to wake up," it replied from its place in the corner. Though its voice was hushed, she recognized the distinguished accent. There were only so many Brits that lived in Gotham.

"Dr. Crane," she tried to say, but not having had an ounce of water in over twelve hours, it came out as more of a rasp.

"How are you feeling? I imagine a little dizzy. A little disoriented." He tilted his head and chuckled. "Don't worry, you're not hungover. It's just the aftereffects from the sedative. They're quite normal, really. In fact, you seemed to have reacted better than most."

Rapping his knuckles on the door, Dr. Crane called to someone outside. "Frank, she's awake."

Immediately, the door swung open and bright, fluorescent light poured into the dark, cramped space. Another figure lumbered inside, one much bulkier and broad-shouldered than the gangling shadow beside the bed.

Shrinking into the lumpy mattress, Barbara winced as the figure known as Frank gathered her into his massive arms. As he carried her over to the wheelchair, she felt as if she were floating through the air. Oh, God. Just what the hell had been in that sedative? It was a struggle to even hold her head up, much less form a coherent sentence. The orderly must've noticed she was about to slump over since he quickly strapped her inside after placing her down.

"Wh-What?" Her head lolled to the side in a pathetic attempt to look at Dr. Crane. "What are you-?"

Luckily, Barbara didn't have to look far into the dark for the aforementioned doctor. The sharp, angular features of the man immediately came into view as he stepped into the beam of light seeping through the crack in the door.

"You'll see." Something wicked twinkled in his eye, something that only made the chill in the air grow colder. "Take her to my office."

Frank grabbed the handlebars with a grunt and spun her around, pushing her out of the dark and hellish abyss known as Confined Cell 66.

Blinking as a wave of artificial light engulfed her, Barbara was wheeled past a blur of steel doors and empty halls towards the elevator. She must've gotten on at one point since the next thing she knew they were on another floor, one much busier than the last. Nurses in white dresses bustled by, barely glancing at her as they hurried off towards their neurotic patients. Burly guards trudged past her, their hands lingering dangerously close to the guns at their side. And even the occasional patient would pass by, either on their own two feet or restrained to a wheelchair, looking like what she imagined she did.

Although her memories might be out of whack, Barbara knew Arkham wasn't this active yesterday. The place had practically been dead. But now, it was as if it had received an overnight delivery that consisted of half the city.

The noise was doing nothing for her throbbing forehead, which she figured must've been one of the aftereffects Dr. Crane had mentioned. Of all days, why did today, when her skull felt like it was going to crack, have to be so hectic?

She closed her eyes, hoping wherever she was going would be filled with nothing but the sweet sound of silence.

When that wish came much sooner than expected, Barbara couldn't help but peer at the room in front of her. She blinked, wondering if she had been transported to an entirely different building during the few minutes she had her eyes shut. This office resembled more of a traditional study with its carved bookshelves and warm colors. It was clean, well-organized, and most importantly, not creepy like the rest of Arkham.

"We have much to discuss today, Barbara." Dr. Crane's voice cut through the silence.

Barbara glowered at the doctor as he crossed in front of her towards his desk. "Can I at least have something to eat? Or is feeding your patients out of Arkham's budget?"

The corner of Dr. Crane's lip twitched. Whether that was because he wanted to laugh or sneer, Barbara wasn't sure.

"Of course." He nodded at Frank, whose hulking figure practically blocked the narrow doorway. Once the orderly had left, Dr. Crane turned his attention back to Barbara, jutting his chin out at her.

"Barbara," he began. "There are still some things that need to be answered. Some things that will determine what exactly I write on your psychological evaluation."

"I thought I had answered all your questions." Barbara rubbed her pounding forehead, not really in the mood for any more probing questions.

"Well, to start off with, why did you attempt to stab your stepmother?" Dr. Crane's gaze pierced through her as if he knew any answer she tried to come up with was bullshit.

"I... don't want to talk about it." Barbara frowned.

"Why not?" He tilted his head. "Surely, you must realize this could clear up any misunderstanding-"

"Because I don't trust you," Barbara interrupted. "Plus, the last time I trusted someone, it got me sent here."

That same thoughtful smile returned to Dr. Crane's lips. "Bruce Wayne."

Barbara rolled her eyes. Dear God.

"Barbara, you need to understand that I am trying to help you. If you do not tell me the truth, then you can see how badly that looks for you." He finally took a seat at his desk after having stood there like a scarecrow for who knew how long.

She wasn't an idiot. Sure, she might've made some idiotic decisions in the past, but Barbara was not an idiot. She knew the situation she was in didn't look good. But ranting and raving about monsters, witchcraft, and serial killers after nearly stabbing Pamela wouldn't help either.

Before she could even think of opening her mouth, the sound of a commotion outside caught both their attention.

"Ma'am, you can't come this way!"

"Doctor Crane!" A woman stormed into the office, ignoring the protests of a helpless Frank from behind. With a pair of dark sunglasses covering half her face, it took Barbara a second to recognize the woman. It was only when she caught a glimpse of her bare legs did she realize who it was. Only Pamela would want to show some skin in the middle of autumn.

Frank, red-faced and flustered, appeared back in the doorway. "Doctor, I-"

"No need to explain." Dr. Crane stuck his hand out as if to silence him. "Ma'am, this is a private office. If you do not leave-"

"I don't want to be here any more than you want me here, doctor." Snatching off her sunglasses, Pamela marched up to the doctor with all the grace of a woman who knew she was in control. "But when I'm told I can't visit my future stepdaughter, then I have to wonder why not."

Almost instantly, the realization of who the woman in front of him was seemed to dawn across Dr. Crane's twisted features. "Barbara here is undergoing a psychological evaluation, Ms. Isley. If you would just come back in a few hours, then I assure you-"

"Doctor, I assure you this will not take long," she answered in that sickeningly sweet tone of hers. It was scary how quickly Pamela could go from outraged to charming in the blink of an eye. Or in Pamela's case, a flutter of her eyelashes. "I don't see the point in wasting any more time if I'm already here."

However, it seemed Pamela's charms did not faze Dr. Crane in the slightest. With an irritated sigh, he backed off and said, "Fine, you can visit with her. But you don't have all day. Some of us aren't fortunate enough to be waited on hand and foot. Some of us have actual work to do."

Well, at least he had the guts to stand up to her. As much as Barbara detested the man, she had to give credit where credit was due.

Once Dr. Crane and his minion left the room, Barbara turned on Pamela, well aware that she wasn't here out of the goodness of her heart. "Okay, what the hell is going on? What are you doing here?"

Pamela smiled at her. "I told you. I came to visit my future stepdaughter."

"You can stop the charade, Pamela," Barbara sneered. "I'm not into women, so you can stop talking like you're trying to seduce me."

Pamela gave a soft, breathless chuckle. "You're right. It just comes so naturally at this point." Much to Barbara's surprise, she dropped the sultry tone and took on a more casual one instead. "When your survival depends on how charming you have to be, it's easy to forget."

Either that sedative was a lot stronger than she thought, or did Pamela just say survival?

Barbara must've made a face since Pamela raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you okay? You look awful."

"Sorry, Pamela. Not everyone can look as perfect as you." Barbara glared.

A grim expression came over Pamela's face. But unlike previous times where she was clearly angry or upset, this time she looked almost worried. "What happened?"

This false concern was really starting to piss Barbara off now, especially because Pamela was the root cause of it all. "Oh, why do you care? You're the one who got me sent here!"

"Yes, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been drugged. I didn't think... not in today's age... God... this place hasn't changed." She pursed her lips together. "Anyway, I hope you've learned your lesson. I have no qualms about locking you up here if you try something like that again."

Barbara had no doubt about that. But what she did doubt was Pamela's concern about her. If she apparently cared so much, why did she have her committed, much less threaten to keep her here? More importantly, why was Pamela here in the first place? Whatever the reason, Barbara knew it wasn't out of any concern for her.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Why are you here, Pamela?"

Hearing nothing but the heater blowing above them, Barbara opened her eyes and saw Pamela fiddling with her sunhat. She had taken it off and tied the green lace around it into an intricate bow. "Your father couldn't come. He got caught up with a shootout downtown, so he sent me instead."

"Oh. I see." Barbara shifted in her seat, unsure of what to say next. A part of her wanted Pamela to go away already. But another part of her wanted to ask the question that had been gnawing at her since she first met the woman. In the cell's darkness, alone with nothing but her thoughts, it was the only thing that kept her distracted from the fact she was in a mental hospital. "My dad," she said out after a long minute of silence. "Why him?"

Pamela finally glanced up. "I'm not sure what you mean-"

"Yes, you do!" Barbara slammed her fist against her wheelchair. "Enough of the bullshit, Pamela! You might be some gold-digging whore, but I don't believe it! Not anymore! Why do you have to marry my dad when you're going to get your money? Why are you going to kill him?" Hot tears ran down her cheeks and down over her trembling lip. She didn't even realize she had been crying until she felt the liquid splash against her hands. "Of all men... Why?"

"It's true," Pamela sighed. "I don't need your dad for his money. I have plenty of-Or I will have plenty of that. But what I do need from your father is something only he can give. The other night proved as much."

Despite the blur of tears in her eyes, Barbara steeled her gaze and blinked them away. "Power."

"Protection," Pamela corrected, her eyes fixed into that familiar cold, unblinking stare.

This was definitely not the answer Barbara had been expecting. "From what?"

Pamela's lip twitched as if she wanted to smile. "Oh, come on, Barbara. You're smarter than that. Who do you think? I'm afraid I must go now, but I have a very busy day." She placed her hat on her head. "You wouldn't believe how time-consuming it is to shop for a wedding dress, even if it is just a simple one."

Barbara blinked. "Wedding... dress?"

"Oh, I must've forgotten to mention it." Pamela tapped her cheek, her voice changing back into that familiarly sweet tone. "But your father and I are getting married on the first of November. It's a little last minute, I know. But I'm not a fan of big, elaborate weddings. So to save some money, we're getting married at the courthouse."

About a million insults ran through Barbara's mind, none escaping her mouth as she gaped at Pamela, who only smiled in return.

"You can come in now, doctor!" Pamela called out.

Not a second later, Dr. Crane came rushing inside. But before he could get past the doorway, Pamela stopped him in his tracks.

"I knew Arkham was an outdated place, but I didn't think its methods were still stuck in the prehistoric age." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you lay a hand on this girl again, you hear me? Because if I find out you are drugging her and doing who knows what else, I won't just have your credentials revoked."

At a complete loss for words, Dr. Crane was reduced to a stuttering mess, unable to do anything as Pamela pushed past him as if he were nothing but trash on the street.

"Oh, and Dr. Crane?" Pamela paused in the hallway and slid on her sunglasses with a smirk. "You can drop that phony accent of yours. We all know you're from some podunk town in Georgia."

If Barbara didn't feel like throwing up, she might've actually laughed.