Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Harley Quinn

Pairings: Indirect HatterxScarecrow, indirect HarleyxJoker

Chapter Rating: K

Summary: Harley and Jervis play catch-up. This chapter is sheerly expository, you caught me.

Warnings: Brief mention of spork violence

WOO ALRIGHT first chapter. I wonder if I'll actually finish this. I never ever finish fics, especially not these days. Anyhoodle, as I said in the description, I'm running with the Animated Series universe because it's the one I know the best, but I've always found that version of Crane was kind of lacking in the personality department (and the design department. Dude looks like a Picasso that got into a fight with a waffle iron) so my interpretation is kind of in universe purgatory. I do like his haughty pomp and explosive temper though. I'm keeping that, at the very least. Beyond that, he shall be tweaked, I think, to be a little more introverted and dry. Not yet sure how much I'll be playing up his crazies. I hesitate to lean on Sale's full-blown schizophrenic version, but we'll see. And of course he's got to be a bit taller. And Jervis shorter. Just a smidgen. I guess we'll just have to see where it goes. ALSO that "Charmine" jab was of course a reference to One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Not totally sure that I see Crane as much of a movie goer, but he's certainty read the book, and moreover I really couldn't resist. Sorry.

xxxxx

The Rec-Room was uncommonly quiet. Peaceful, even. Perhaps too peaceful. It was bland. Sedate. So much so that, if one were to strain, the first few bars of Charmaine almost seemed to carry faintly under the murmured conversations of the other patients, despite any preexisting knowledge that the communal record player had been long since removed, due to gross misuse of the needle once upon a time.

'That maundering excuse for a song would be right at home here,' Jonathan thought to himself, 'had the asylum staff any sense of humor or leniency.' Still, it was no great loss, and he quickly forgot about his condescending private joke, returning his attention to Finnegan's Wake and shutting out what seemed to be the humble beginnings of an auditory hallucination.

All around the room, the dull buzz of poorly played card games and stale chit-chat not so much reverberated as it did meander. It pervaded. Jonathan did his best to ignore this. He burrowed his nose further into his book, still retrospectively scanning the room from memory despite himself. His mind's eye was keen. It was as though the pages of his book were a window, rather than the figurative and literal wall he'd hoped it would be. Especially filtered through his eternally brooding imagination, the "sight" of his concomitants displeased him. This universal Arkham malaise seemed to develop fairly often, and especially lately it was slowly becoming the norm. This observation was vexing, almost downright offensive. Even the most intelligent of his fellow inmates- and some of them were nothing short of certified geniuses- seemed to be in a vegetative haze. They were all stifled, caged birds here, and their collectively manic willfulness was beginning to falter into passivity. This was true of everyone in the room. Everyone except for two, that is, besides himself. Somehow, that almost made it worse. It would be those two, wouldn't it? Always tittering away, giggling, proudly thumbing at the buckles on their respective straight jackets, and gossiping like plump cheerful hens. Not that they weren't among their ward's best and brightest, no, that, in fact, was the kicker: despite their boastable, shiny Ivy League doctorates and in one of their cases, revolutionary inventions to call upon, both of these remarkable masterminds were parked contentedly on the couch by the picture window, sniggering and cajoling in all of their precocious glory, being generally vapid. It was enough to make one sick. Then again, Crane wondered frankly if he wasn't just a bitter curmudgeon, easily whipped into seething enmity at the mere notion of giddiness. After all, they were the only ones here who seemed to be having any modicum of fun at all. He peered at them again over the top of his book, still irate at the sound of their laughter. Despite this, he reluctantly admitted to himself that he harbored a great fondness for both of them, particularly Jervis. Jon went on to acknowledged that, for whatever reason, he was feeling more affected that day than usual, and most everything was getting under his skin. He was certain that his animosity would later diminish, at least a little.

But not just yet.

Once again, he retreated to his Joycean shelter and brooded quietly, firmly dismissing all outside distractions, such as the haughty inflections of a dry English wit, or the blaring sound of a Staten Islander's laugh.

"...which, might I add, would have cost a small fortune had I paid retail price."

"Good ol' five fingah' discount!" Harley interjected, swinging her legs energetically. All too quickly though, her smile fell and her brows arched downward in scrutiny. "That whatcha got done for?" Jervis shook his head. "Certainly not. What sort of clod do you take me for? Jobs like that are absolute child's play-"

"Well yeah, but then-"

"-in the week that followed, one of my cards fell subject to some malfunctions. A minor defect, but enough to arrest its signal indefinitely. It's corresponding host, of course, snapped to her senses and led the police right to my front door within the day." The Hatter sniffed effetely, lamenting his failure. "A terrible pity. Not to mention unseemly." He ran a hand absently through his hair in a smooth sweep, as if to recover some of his long lost dignity. Harley's face scrunched up sympathetically. "Yeah, no kiddin'. What were ya workin' on t'need so many henchmen anyway? Don't two or three usually do the trick?"

Her companion tented his fingers and furrowed his brow. "Generally yes, but this was something of a special case. I was juggling a number of projects, some of which were not necessarily for my own benefit." His voice trailed off slightly as he searched for the right words to describe his most recent smattering of jobs in better detail, simultaneously hoping to keep the details vague and general. Of course, Harley posed the question that he hoped she would but prayed she wouldn't.

"Then who for? You ain't pickin' up commissions now, are ya?"

"No, it isn't that."

"Didja owe a favah?"

His voice climbed an octave or two. "Mmmmmmno, not particularly…" He glanced over his shoulder in faux-coyness. Harley followed his line of vision and smirked knowingly when they aligned. "Oooohh I get it! A'lil sugar for yah sweetheart, eh? That's real cute, Hat." She elbowed him joshingly in the shoulder. "Of sorts," he replied, turning slightly red at her lack of finesse or volume control. "Merely an unbirthday present. Something nice waiting for him when he got back."

"Hm?"

"Were I successful, my next order of business would have been to break him out." Tetch sighed. "Poor Marchy has been cooped up here for months."

"Y'got that right," Quinn said, eyeing Professor Crane conspicuously from across the room. If he noticed her stare or loud commentary, he didn't let on. "Too bad it didn't pan out."

Jervis slouched. "Truly."

Hence followed a beat of silence. Harley settled back into her seat, stretching her legs out of the coffee table before them. She exhaled loudly. "Y'know, it's been ages since puddin's tried t'bust me outa the joint. Good on you Hat, that's a real romantic gesture."

"But it didn't come to pass."

"Yeah well, it's the thought that counts." She clasped his shoulder sociably.

"I suppose," he frowned, unhappy to note that, despite their luck of being placed in neighboring cells, he and Jonathan had been suffering from a definite dry spell. The lanky, scowling professor seemed even gloomier and surlier than usual. 'He's been trapped here too long,' Jervis attested to himself with an internal sigh. 'He's restless.' The Hatter felt his good mood diminish. His companion must have noticed this, because her arm found its way around his shoulders, friendly as ever. "Hey, don't sweat it, Jerv. You've only been back a week, you'll think'a somethin'." Her smile extended slightly, she was all but beaming down at him now. He didn't smile back, but the crease in his brow lightened. His expression softened to one of thought. "Jack, is he on the outside?"

Harley looked slightly puzzled at the subject change, or perhaps her confusion stemmed from hearing her beau's little-used given name for the first time in ages. Always formal, that Mr. Tetch.

"Mista J? Nah, he's in solitary confinement. They fit 'im in a straight fer stabbin' a lunch aid in the eye with a spork." Her voice took on a dreamy quality, and she placed a wistful hand over her heart. Jervis's brow quirked slightly. "Charming." He suddenly found himself longing for his pipe.

Harley disregarded his sarcasm. "So what's it to ya anyway?" She asked, still smiling. "You wanna try and pull a breakout or somethin'?"

Tetch tapped his chin. "It's distinctly possible that I do," he replied, staring straight ahead.

Both inmates made a conscious effort to lower their voices, keeping an instinctive eye out for eavesdropping guards.

"So what's the plan?"

"Not sure yet," he said. "I'll need some time."