Alternate title "Two Cheshire Cats in The Yard" because my writing playlist for this was comprised of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's 'Our House' and a whole host of goofy retro production numbers. Nothing but quality tunes here folks.

Hoo boy. I am so sorry, because this is so stupid. I had a hankerin' for some lame domestic goodness. The arc angels of fluff were beckoning. I didn't want it to be complete fluff though, so I felt it necessary to leave in the crimey bits. Actually, that aspect of this AU was probably the most fun to develop. If this fic garners any sort of positive reaction, I might write an equally fluffy prequel about the office party and/or a conversely dark sequel where something goes awry. Hell, I'll probably do it anyway. But some attention would still be nice.

xxxxxx

Tickticktickticktickticktick…

Nimble fingers landed rapidly on the keys of a typewriter, old fashioned as it was. The digital clock mounted on the stove blinked angrily. 'It's five AM, Jonathan,' it implored him. Five AM, otherwise known as "go time." Truly, he loved his job at the University, almost as much as he loved his (ahem) side projects, but all of this drudge work would really be the death of him. A grant this time. Yet another confounded grant. It was barely Autumn, and he had already run out of classroom supplies. He needed to buy new beakers, more chemicals, and lined paper in bulk. With what money? Hopefully, with grant money. The blank pages had seemed to jeer up at him 'You'll never write me, Jonathan' only an hour ago. But who was laughing now? This nearly completed grant? Professor Crane thought not. He didn't need the cover page's teasing, or the clock's alarmism (ha), or his fifth cup of coffee's pity. No, he had it all under control now. No sooner had the bedraggled academic put the finishing touches on his labor of love (or loathing, alternately) when the sound of a door flying open startled him into an upright position. He slammed his left hand down on the counter top reflexively. A pen leapt from the table and skittered across the floor in turn, and a chipper voice "Hallo!"ed from the other end of the apartment. The sound of a door creaking shut and a bag hitting the floor followed.

"In the kitchen!" Jonathan responded, chewing on the cap of his newly retrieved pen. Within seconds, the ever up-beat Jervis Tetch strode into the room, absentmindedly leaving a trail of Mad Hatter garmentry behind him. A top hat, a blue overcoat, a set of spats, a masquerade mask, and a ridiculously oversized bowtie all lay in his wake. In a few minutes, his persnicketies would kick in, and he'd be utterly aghast at the mess he'd made, but until that time, he was only glad to lighten the weight on his shoulders. "Good morning, March," he'd said, planting a kiss on Jonathan's cheek. Jervis had started to tug his white silk gloves off when he was suddenly struck with a realization. "Christ, have you been up all night again?"

The man behind the typewriter nodded slowly, sipping his coffee and noting the odd tingling sensation that seemed to be settling in the back of his eyeballs. Sweet fatigue, his mistress.

"Mmmm," he grunted into his cup.

"Honestly darling, that's a nasty habit you're grooming. I can't understand why you don't just take what you need for work when you steal the fixings for your toxin."

Crane set his mug down and fiddled absently with his spectacles. "Oh, you know I can't do that. We mustn't give our friends at the GCPD cause to link Jonathan Crane to The Scarecrow. I've got to keep a low profile. And so do you," he continued, waggling his pen in Tetch's direction, "by the by."

"I'm aware," he hummed, wandering off and reaching for a frying pan. "Eggs?"

"Braised." He took another gulp of coffee, tacking on a "please" as an afterthought.

"And speaking of thievery," the professor went on to ask, "How was your haul?"

"Oh, serviceable," the Hatter said, fetching some condiments from the spice rack. "Is it my turn again tonight?"

"Mine," Jonathan corrected. It was a shame that they couldn't orchestrate heists together anymore, especially since their first meeting had been a costumed one, but since Crane and Tetch were openly intertwined, any alliance between Scarecrow and The Mad Hatter had to be buried, for safety's sake. The criminal pair took many precautions, and despite the shorter man's constant pouting over the matter, Jonathan knew that he took their circumstances seriously.

In villainy, they'd first been rivals, then occasional business partners, and then something else entirely. Something less emotionally standoffish. Something horrendous, but all together intriguing and electric. They were what was colloquially referred to as "a thing." Had the complications ended there, the relationship still would have been a handful, but nearly six months into what had tentatively been declared a courtship, the issue had been made all the more tangled.

While the solitary Jonathan Crane worked as a professor and head of the department of psychology at Gotham University, demure Jervis Tetch was one of the many scientists working in the school's impressive neuroscience lab, though not an educator himself. Despite their mutual belonging to the school's "Mind, Brain, & Cognition" wing, the pair had never crossed paths, unwittingly working in the same building for much longer than they'd been criminals, only to finally meet out of costume at an office holiday party. Neither had planned to share his civilian identity with the other, though they had seen each other out of costume many times over the course of that past year. Needless to say, they recognized one another instantly. Even as they had been "official" beforehand, they were never particularly serious about it. However, as a result of their unintentional joint unmasking, the flirtation between the two began to pick up speed, soon developing into a sorely obvious office romance. This, in due time, became a gratuitously domestic, "for keepsies" sort of thing. The arrangement was as delightful as it was shocking, seeing as the professor had long considered himself a confirmed old bachelor and a staunch loner at that, while Jervis never could have imagined settling down with anyone who wasn't a particular blonde secretary. But there they were, perfectly content and seemingly complaisant. Despite being calm and committed as could be, neither of the two was anywhere near ready to retire from criminal activity, not in the slightest. There was still much to be done, many felonies to commit, after all. The men loved their work, both spheres of it. Their double lives seemed to go hand in hand, and it was the compatible nature of their respective interests that was the foundation of their relationship. Jonathan thought it a stroke of luck while his partner fancied it fate.

"There you are love," he said, pushing the scholar's aging typewriter aside and setting a nicely arranged plate of food in its place. They kissed once, and Jervis scurried off to change into his work clothes: the usual black tie and a white lab coat.

How drab.

The now de-hatted Hatter frowned into his closet, already missing his brightly colored coat and aforementioned flamboyant headgear. He set about pushing aside a number of shirts, suits, and a raggedy black outfit in pursuit of career-appropriate attire. When his target was finally sighted, he exchanged his bright, pastel vest and dress shirt for his new, more rigid clothing and drew back into the kitchen, straightening his necktie into a Windsor knot. He moved past his partner, who was still munching on breakfast contentedly, and into the bathroom to comb his wild tufts of hair back into a primmer style. He was known to be a fairly quiet personality at work, and as such, no one ever suspected him of being anyone other than polite and proper Jervis Tetch. That was how it had to be, he knew, but the humble scientist often wished he could take credit for his infamy. It was a silly, irrational pipe dream, but he still couldn't help the twinge of jealousy he felt when "out" criminals like "Harley Quinn" Quinzel or Harvey "Two-Face" Dent got their proper dues in the morning paper. But it was a tradeoff. As it was, Jervis liked his life. He certainly didn't want to be in and out of Arkham like most of his contemporaries. No, he and Jonathan were lucky, like Catwoman or more recently, Edward Nigma. They rarely saw the inside of any institutions, neither jail nor bedlam. The Riddler had recently fled the city to ensure this, but he would be back. Selena Kyle, on the other hand, was just plain tricksy, and on top of that, officially dubbed sane, though Jervis found that hard to believe. Anyone who regularly hopped about on roof tops in a literal cat suit had to have a few screws loose. He mused on this briefly. '"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice. "You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."' He nodded to himself in the mirror, happy with his handiwork. 'Yes,' he thought, 'quite so.'

Stepping back out again, the neuroscientist noticed at last the snail trail of Hatterly articles that he'd left, and at this, he felt a compulsive urge to tidy the mess spark to life in his chest. "Oh, for Heaven's sake…" he mumbled under his breath, bending to gather his things.

He was usually like this in the morning. Briskly bouncing from room to room, tidying here, leaving bits of debris there, muttering to himself and chiding his beau for any bad habits he might have detected. Criminally insane or not, the man was a born domestic. He glanced up from his sprucing, arms bundled with a heap of accessories, and called out into the other room: "Be a dear and put the kettle on, would you Jonathan?" Jervis received an affirmative response and with that, set off to deposit his gear into the hamper. By his second or third re-entrance into the kitchen, the blond happily noted that his partner had already finished his food and dealt with the dishes, thus returning to his seat to proof-read his belabored grant yet again. Jervis might have been borderline neurotic in his neatness, but Jonathan was fixated with grammatical correctness to an equally staunch degree. They understood each other, but conversely, they did not have many other friends.

The Hatter rested his chin on the top of Crane's head and put a hand on either of his shoulders, skimming the document he was fussing over.

"No pictures or conversation?" he tisked, "How very typical of you, Jonathan."

Fixing his gaze upwards, the professor squinted and smiled crookedly. "Desperate pleas for money tend to be no-frills," he said.

Tetch scrunched up his nose and gave a teasing grin. "You poor, ragged urchin." He ran a hand through Jon's hair fondly before stepping away to retrieve the kettle, which had commenced to shriek for attention. "Take some more tea," he quoted, sifting through a nearby cupboard for mugs. "Do you suppose you'll have time to rest a little before work? I hate to think you'll be up all night twice in a row without some sleep in between." He passed his love a cup of Darjeeling, which was accepted gratefully.

"Doubtful," he replied, stirring a glob of raw honey into his drink.

"After classes then?"

He sampled the tea cautiously. "I don't think that would be advisable either."

At this, Jervis pursed his lips, looking into his porcelain cup thoughtfully, still hovering by his respective chair. He looked back up. "Then perhaps you ought to take the night off, pet."

Crane stiffened, not wanting to entertain that notion. "Mmm, I don't know about that," he said tightly, brushing his bangs out of his face with a light bat of the hand. "I've been planning to apprehend that shipment of-"

"Then why don't you let me go?" Jervis pushed, gesticulating absently with his saucer. He didn't really care what he would have to retrieve to keep his sleep-deprived consort off the streets. "I could do it."

"Then you'd be doubling up on all-nighters."

"Well, what's good for the gander is good for his mate," came a retortive musing.

"I thought you were arguing that doubling up was a bad thing."

The Hatter chuckled lightly, swirling his beverage. "Semantics," he said.

Jonathan smirked again. "You obviously never studied them in college." He downed the last of his tea and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose with a slight air of pedantry about him. Despite his better judgment, Jervis found this arrogance quite attractive, in a funny sort of way. He quirked a brow, displaying his buck teeth in a wry grin. "Say what you like 'Professor Genius.' My mind's made up."

Crane failed to conceal his bemused smile. "Jervis-"

"Shall we take in a movie, or would you prefer something else?"

His tone of voice was composed and inviting, flirtatious even, but something about it communicated that this was the end of the discussion. There would be no crime tonight. They were going to watch a movie, and if they managed not to pass out in front of TV before it ended, there might be other entertaining activities to follow. The professor sighed inwardly. He found himself relenting over such trivialities so easily these days.

"So what's it going to be, Jonathan?" he asked, drying his recently drained and rinsed teacup with a nearby dishtowel. The bespectacled educator ruminated briefly before responding. "The Invisible Man?" he suggested offhandedly. Jonathan had always fancied himself something of a Jack Griffin type.

"Consider it done," his partner announced in cool response, pecking him on the cheek for the second time. "Now go get dressed. You can't very well deliver your lectures in a robe. I'll meet you outside." And with that, he turned and left the room to trot down the stairs and start the car.