disclaimer: I do not own Jonathan Crane, or anything Batman related. I hope we all understand that.

a/n: I remember that somewhere I read Jonathan made people commit suicide by talking them into it- so this is played off of that idea. But not as morbid, I'm afraid. The concept of him being able to talk people into killing themselves, leads people (or just me) that he can get people to talk. To spill there guts about anything. To be well, honest with themselves. Consequently, all that Jonathan says has a potential to be true.

Keep that in mind as you read this story. Keep it in mind.

Enjoy. -bows-

"Third Times a Charm"

Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake, - Napoleon Bonaparte.

He smiled slyly at the person across from the table, who in turn stared with a rising panic. The blond man ran his fingers over the cool metal of a double-sided coin, clearly discerned by the fact that a wanted man sat across from him. A crazy man who delighted in fear. So carefully, the blond man, the DA of Gotham, gestured towards a chair for Jonathan Crane to sit down in. Excepting the gesture, the twig-thin man (probably older than he) sat down in a chair, and placed his hands on the table with his fingers spread. Then as if deciding that wasn't comfortable, he pulled his hands up, and rested his head on them.

Still smiling, he started off in a slow, almost warm voice, "So, you're Harvey Dent, right? No, don't answer that. I know who you are. What I want to know- is why start getting involved in the law?"

Firmly, Harvey replied, "I don't have to tell you."

"But I think you do. You don't really have a choice here, now do you? Who is the one who has the knowledge of how people, 'honest' or 'criminal'?" the blue eyed man inquired, lips pressing together in an almost angry manner.

"You do," the blond grudgingly admitted, glancing warily at the phone on the wall.

Scowling, Jonathan snapped, "Don't even think about it."

"Think about what?"

"Calling the police. They won't help Harvey Two-Face," he sneered, "And you know it."

Flinching at the nickname, Harvey turned his furious gaze at the dark-haired criminal. He snarled, "Don't think that! They would rather help me than scum like you!"

"Temper, temper, Mr. Dent," Jonathan murmured back, voice dropping several octaves, becoming low and convincing, "You want to tell me your story, your reasoning behind entering the law, you know you do. You want to. You want to talk about it to someone- the reasoning behind it. You do. Trust me."

"Trust- trust you? I don't think so," he started, "But... I'll tell you anyways. It's so people don't have to be afraid of scum like you."

"Really?" Jonathan's eyebrows rose comically into his hairline, but he didn't look any less the haughty feline, "That's such a generic reason, that I almost believe you. I think there is more to it than that. Why don't we talk about it? I'll ask you a few questions, if you don't mind, and you can ask me a few in return. If that's acceptable, and fair to you."

"Alright," he reluctantly agreed, because some part of him wanted to know about Jonathan, as much as the ex-doctor seemed to want to know about him, "You start."

Smiling, and leaning back now, the criminal began, "Good, good. Now, let's see... Has there been any, abuse in your household when you were a child?"

Harvey flinched, the man had hit a bullseye at that question, and feeling humbled to answer because he had agreed to the deal, he had to answer, "... Yes. My father beat me at times when I didn't get good grades. But it stopped in the sixth grade."

With a curious tilt of his head, Jonathan recorded that in the back of his mind, before gesturing to Harvey to ask his question.

"Any abuse in yours? Seeing as that was the first you asked me, you have had some experience with it," Harvey ventured, surprised at the ex-doctor's cool disposition. He had thought there would be much more jittering, and mumbling from someone who was mad. Perhaps, they were wrong about Crane? No, couldn't be.

"Why yes," Jonathan smiled sweetly, "There was. My grandmother did all manner of beatings until she died, or rather, I failed to save her from her fall. Drowning, burns, lashes, you name it." He waited until Harvey was done gaping before he continued to ask his question, "Religion? Do you practice a religion?"

"No," Harvey replied, "Just don't, you?" He had decided to ask the same question the ex-doctor did. It might prove to be annoying, and make the man leave.

"Same," Jonathan replied curtly, already knowing the blond's plan, and decided to poke around the apartment. Or rather, he needed to use the bathroom. Standing up and heading down the hall to what he knew was the bathroom (he just knew, one of those things where you could just tell), he stopped at the door to the bathroom. He figured Harvey would already be on the phone, calling the police. He shrugged.

Too bad. This was fun.

Harvey was indeed dialing 9-1-1, breathing relief when it was Gordon who picked up, "Gordon!? Look, look- I need your help."

"Harvey? What is it?"

"Jonathan Crane- Scarecrow- is- in- my- house," Harvey explained, urgent.

"Got it. We'll be right over."

Harvey let out a breath of relief as he hung up the phone, silently celebrating his 'victory' over the ex-doctor. Somehow he understood that Jonathan had been after this the whole while, the 'getting caught by the police', but instead had decided to have gained something from the experience. Somehow.

When the criminal came out, Harvey informed him, "I called the police. They should be here in a few minutes."

Jonathan in turn shrugged, and sat down on the couch. Politely, he laid his hands out in front of him, shoulders slumped. He wasn't making any attempts to run, which was strange, but he wasn't making any attempts to show that he didn't have an escape plan. From what Harvey could see, the thin man didn't have any of his- 'fear toxin' with him. This should have been taken in account as an oddity, but it had not been. This was the first mistake.

The police, a total of five officers including Gordon rushed in, guns trained on the ex-doctor, who smiled sincerely up at them. He held out his hands calmly as they brought the handcuffs out, and cuffed his hands in front of his body. Jonathan was clearly unarmed, and not a physical fighter, so what did it matter how his hands were cuffed? It didn't. So with the excess officers leading the alleged madman out of the DA's apartment and towards the stairs, it was clear that there had not been any damage to said DA. Harvey merely smiled, and waved Gordon away when he attempted to ask if the blond was alright. He then proceeded to lock his door, and head off to bed.

It had been a rather interesting evening, and he just wished Batman had been around to share in it.

-

Jonathan stared aimlessly at his hands, almost interested in the way they blurred in and out of focus depending on how he stared. It was amusing for all of two seconds until the policemen (and woman) started to take him down the stairs when Gordon left the DA's apartment. He stepped slowly, refusing and pushes or shoves that were intended to make him go faster. This was at his leisure, not their's. So when there was a rough strike to his back, he stumbled forth down the stairs in a way that made his hands being cuffed in front of his body useful. He caught himself just before he hit the second floor's floor (thankfully he had been three steps away from it).

Twisting to stare angrily at the policeman who had shoved him, he found that his turtleneck had come down from its position on his neck due to being caught on the floor. He felt five pairs of eyes trained on the angry red mark that wove its jagged self around his pale neck. Snarling, Jonathan stood up and glared at them all. He tugged the neck up so it covered the scar, and grudgingly waited until the law-enforcers got over the shock of the cruel mark. They swore they had never seen anything like it until they saw the Joker's scars.

But that was all in good time. All in good time.

Gordon was tempted to ask the ex-doctor how he had gotten the wound, but found the words caught in his throat. They refused to come out, simply refused to leave his mind, hanging there, on the tip of his tongue. The second mistake had been made. It as slowly reaching the third strike. We all know what happens when there are three strikes. You're out, is the norm. So instead he led Jonathan to one of the police cars, and sat him down in the back. Apprehensive, Gordon decided to take a seat in the back as well. Might as well have someone to maker sure the man didn't try anything funny. Jonathan, however, would not.

The only interesting thing that happened on the whole trip to Arkham Asylum, was at the end. The very end, when the police cars were pulling into the gates of the old looking building. The batmobile was parked in front of it, the masked vigilante himself standing outside the car. Clearly he had been waiting for this, waiting for Jonathan to be coming to the Asylum. Perhaps the bat wanted to know why the bird did it. Why he instilled fear into the city, or maybe, who had told him to.

Who had asked.

Who had given Jonathan the push in the wrong direction.

Careful Batman was when he approached the criminal, who had frozen in his tracks upon spotting the Caped Crusader. Frozen in his tracks, a deer in the headlights. The man visibly paled, but his face did not distort, nor his eyes widen. He did not begin to shake, nor did he try to turn tail. Jonathan merely stood there, a mere shade whiter than he already was. Smart enough to carry, or at least know where he hid the antidote for his own fear toxin, that was the first place he had gone after getting electrocuted by Dawes. He had had enough sense in him from the shock to get the hell away from the gas, and over to the secret place he hid the antidote.

It was more effective than the antidote bats had gotten to, eradicating all traces of the toxin in an hour, instead of the four to five days the bats' antidote took.

But still, the effects of the encounter remained. However, it was not the worst he had ever faced.

No, he thought to himself as he was steered inside with Batman and the police officers following, There are things worse than a man in a bat suit.

'Even if,' it began, 'You've been afraid of bats for the longest time?'

"Yes," he hissed under his breath, ignoring the curious stares of the officers and bat. Jonathan stared at them like he didn't know what they were looking at him like that for. So they shrugged, and pegged it as a figment of their imagination. They were expecting Jonathan to be talking to himself, after all, it seemed something the mad did. Only the bat did not shrug it off, and continued to keep his gaze on the ex-doctor.

In a flurry of motion, he was placed in an interrogation room, not cuffed, with only Batman for company. A slow smile worked its way onto his face, and he almost stopped, feeling unsettled by the vigilante's gaze. But he shook it off, deciding to stand firm, and not be unnerved in the slightest. The masked man didn't begin, so Jonathan did the honors, "Hello Batman. What is it that you want from me? I know you want something."

"I don't want anything Scarecrow," Batman snarled, not noticing that the third mistake had just been made, "I want to know why you thought you should follow Ra's al Ghul's plot. Tell me. Now!"

"So forceful," murmured Jonathan, before he tilted his head and replied in a very blatant, sincere tone, "I helped the 'League of Shadows', because I was bored. I was bored out of my mind. As you seem to have been bored enough to dress up in a batsuit and fight crime- eh, Sir Batty."

"That's the reason you risked countless innocent lives?" Batman was in shock. Boredom drove the man to do this? Not revenge as had been expected? It was uncalled for, and completely ridiculous. But it made sense. That was they key. Jonathan had been bored, and so he did something that had quelled the boredom for a little why. That was it. It was simple, and unusual, and not the normal reason for criminal activity. But it made sense. And so, it was. Another thing that could have been noted, was that Jonathan was a very intelligent person. A genius, some people called him. And a genius often got bored, and therefore did strange things.

"Innocent? How many people in this city do you think are innocent, sir?" Jonathan questioned, voice not wavering one bit, "Wait. Nevermind. Don't answer. I don't want to here your nonesense. Your blasphemy. I do not. So leave, you fo-"

He never saw the punch coming, he never felt the pain.

He merely let the darkness slide over, and the haunting, inhuman laughter take over.

a/n: Well. That's the first chapter.

Did you enjoy it? I sure enjoyed writing it. I did, I did.

A forewarning, if I must, that this will be slow updating, unlike A Bird in a Dream. Why? Because this is going to be carefully constructed and thought out. Every word counts, because words are power, as I see it. What we say truly effects others around us. It does. They way things are written do as well- Words are power. Keep that in mind. So if I'm going to be doing something along that context, then it must be carefully thought out before the finished product is put on display.

So please, review, review review. Please, please, review.