Well.

It wasn't that he hadn't foreseen this as a likely eventual outcome.

…

He had just rather hoped 'eventually' would have lasted a bit longer.

Doctor Jonathan Crane hefted a silent sigh and lent his head back against the metal walls of the van. The straightjacket itched something terrible and his arms ached from remaining in their forced contortion for so long, but he strived to force these petty discomforts to the back of his mind. He refused to fidget and squirm like some weak-minded imbecile.

His 'partners in crime' lined the benches around and across from him. He ignored them as well, staring at the wall opposite as though deaf to their self-piteous groaning. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he would soon be far removed from them, doubtless to be contained in some high security cell.

Even when captured, the Master of Fear did not 'bunk' with low-grade criminals and lackeys.

A slow blink was his only acknowledgement when the van finally ground to a half outside Arkham Asylum. His asylum. Oh, the irony was not lost on him, but he found it difficult to be amused, especially when such irony was likely to be continuously shoved down his throat during his time here. Even the Batman hadn't been able to resist bringing it up, and that oversized demented rat didn't quip about anything.

Ah well. Thus his punishment for growing sloppy. Next time would not be so.

The guards unlocked and opened the back doors of the van. A wheelchair had been brought down – all nice and set for him to be snuggly strapped in. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes in disdain – as though such devices could actually prevent his escape.

Naturally, they ordered him to step out first – they wanted him inside and secured within Arkham's rotting walls as soon as possible. For perhaps the first time since his capture, Jon was actually gratified by procedure. Better to be locked in a quiet cell than to be stuck in this dirty caravan of fools any longer.

He raised himself up with as much dignity as he could manage, with the cursed apparatus holding him in awkward embrace, and descended into the waiting hands of the orderlies, who promptly ordered him into the chair and strapped him in, tightly. Again, he refused to betray any sign that he felt any discomfort from their unnecessary roughness. He knew better than to feed the appetite of a sadist.

A guard wheeled him around and through the asylum's doors, with two other guards stepping up to flank him on either side. He sat, dispassionately staring straight ahead, as they passed through the empty hallway towards the elevator which would bring them to the lower levels, where the inmates were kept. The doctors had their offices in the upper levels, in a rather tasteless symbolic pyramid of status. Of course, he had helped design it that way.

There was no elevator music, going down. No unnecessary auditory stimuli to distract the patient from their predicament. Just the typical whining of old cables as they strained to support the weight of the lift, and the rattle of the cage as they descended. Jon let the silence slip over him like a well-worn glove.

And was jarred out of it by a quiet chuckle from the guard on his right.

Crane glanced over, annoyed. "You find something amusing…," he squinted in the dim flickering light of the elevator's one cracked bulb, "Janus?"

"Not supposed to talk to the patients, Jan," the guard on his left mumbled nervously, while the one behind him retained his stoic silence.

Janus ignored his colleague. "Just anticipating," he replied obscurely, grinning like a mischievous child whose sister is about to discover the frog surreptitiously placed in her pocket.

Crane frowned. He disliked surprises. He especially disliked surprises in a decrepit asylum governed by a panel of unethical doctors and a troop of corrupt orderlies. Still, Janus appeared unwilling to remove the veil of mystery. Playing coy. How cute. Well he wasn't about to beg for information.

Whatever it was, he'd deal with it in due course. Then fear gas this idiot for being such a melodramatic fool. He was the God of Terror, dammit. He demanded respect.

The elevator dinged and a cool female voice announced they had reached floor 06. The doors slid open and he was wheeled out, past the clear-walled holding cells. Of those high-ranked patients Gotham's media had sensationalized as "Rogues."

As they passed the sealed frozen chamber of Victor Fries, Jon sent a small prayer out into the void that the Joker was not currently one of Arkham's present inmates. If that…creature, wasn't the most obnoxious, irritating, self-important…

"Well, well. If it isn't Doctor Spooky. I thought you might be joining us in here one day. Riddle me this: I have no form, no voice, no smell, nor taste, yet I can drive a man insane, or even kill him dead –"

Why were they slowing down? These cells were all occupied…

"I can inspire brilliance or dull minds and the sharpest of minds are apt to feel me most keenly, as Holmes might attest."

Oh, no…surely not…surely Arkham had not degenerated so quickly and so thoroughly during his absence for doctor's to sanction this...?

"What am I?" Hands clasped arrogantly behind his back, Edward Nygma grinned at him across the Plexiglass barrier, one foot crossed over the other in his trademark cocksure stance. The orderlies began removing Crane's restraints, confirming his suspicions as he stared at the Riddler with growing horror.

"What is the meaning of this?" Crane demanded, doing his utmost not to sound as desperate as he felt. "Patients above Level Four are not to be held together –"

"Last I checked, you wasn't a doctor here no more," the guard behind him grumbled, finally breaking his silence. "Just be happy you didn't get sent to Blackgate like ya shoulda been…."

"Listen, you imbecile," Crane hissed, finally losing his long-kept composure as the last buckle finally released and the orderlies began forcing him to his feet, "I will not stay in the same cell as Edward Nygma. If you don't put me somewhere else, I swear, I will fear gas this entire—"

"Shut it Crane," the orderly snapped, cuffing him upside the head for emphasis as Janus punched in the code to open the cell. "Cutbacks are cutbacks, can't afford to give each of you nutters your own personal suite. Back Nygma," he barked, breaking away from his diatribe to send the aforementioned to the back corner of his cell. Soon to be their cell. Jon shuddered.

Obediently, the obsessive-compulsive man child retreated, assuming a wounded expression as he went. "Why, Jonny, I thought you enjoyed the company of brilliant minds. Or are you simply intimidated by the prospect of spending your days in the presence of such an evolved genius?"

"I say," he continued, wrinkling his nose in distaste and reaching up to hold his chin in a show of mock contemplation, "Did you condone this level of cleanliness when you ran this dump? I mean, I get a total remodeling might be out of the scope of the budget, but some clean sheets might be nice once in a while. Then again, you never did seem to care about hygiene or patient welfare, as I recall. Of course, I always knew what you were up to, down in the basement, but I bet it was a deliciously nasty shock to everyone else. Tell me, what did the other doct—"

"SHUT UP!" Crane roared. He spun around, somehow managing to catch three trained guards by surprise before they tackled him. Even then, he put up quite a struggle, as they forced him backward into the cell.

Janus, through it all, remained beaming in apparent amusement despite the sweat trickling down his brow as the three of them wrestled with the 6'0", 140lb ex-psychiatrist.

"Whew," he giggled, "Man, this is great. Best entertainment we've had in months…"

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, as the four men strained in a moment of perfect equilibrium on the threshold of the cell, while Nygma rambled on obliviously in the back. Then the bubble burst, as the combined strength of the guards finally overpowered Jon's resistance. The Plexiglass barrier was back in place nearly before he hit the ground.

"Oh, hello!" Nygma beamed down at him merrily, "Finally decided to give in, huh? No point resisting fate, or as I like to call it, the Will of the Man with the Pharmaceuticals. Nasty stuff, Thorazine. Did you, perchance, solve my riddle? Probably not. The answer was boredom. I rather thought the hint with Holmes was a bit obvious, but it's impossible for me to know what an inferior mind will be able to deduce. I've been so dreadfully bored in here...have to wait till night to sneak out….," he sniggered. "Did you know some of the guards keep video diaries? You wouldn't belie—"

Jon groaned and moved to bury his head in his hands, wanting desperately to block out the Puzzle Prince's obnoxiously lilting voice, only to realize that the guards had neglected to remove the straightjacket.

Silence indeed.

Across the Plexiglass, Jon was dimly aware of Janus cheerily waving goodbye, as his comrades headed back to the elevator, wheelchair in tow.

"Good luck! Maybe if I'm feeling generous, I'll remove that jacket tomorrow. Then again, maybe not… you never did pay us guards very well when you were head," Janus winked conspiratorially, "Ta, ta! Enjoy your new roomie!"

Meanwhile, in her upstairs office, Doctor Leland furrowed her brow and pushed up her glasses as she blinked confusedly at the man opposite her.

"Why exactly are we putting two obsessive, narcissistic personalities in the same cell together? I have several more rooms available on that floor, all perfectly suitable for Doctor Crane's treatment…."

"Because some people think Batman doesn't have a sense of humor," grumbled the black-caped giant as he turned to leave, while Robin sniggered quietly outside the window.