Title: Chaos and Fear
Rating: K+ for mild suggestion and references to violent acts.
Summary: Since arriving at Arkham Asylum the Joker has few opportunities to interact with other inmates, with good reason. Jonathan Crane isn't scared. Why should he be?
Author's Notes: This is a strange idea that came to me yesterday while I was re-watching Batman Begins. It occured to me that it's likely Scarecrow would already be in Arkham if that's the Joker's final destination at the end of The Dark Knight and I wondered how they'd react to one another. They may share a common enemy but I feel their methods and motivations are very different.
Crane is 100 Nolan-verse characterisation because I haven't read enough involving DCU Scarecrow to be confident enough writing him.
This is more of a character study so it's not very exciting but I hope people who are looking for something a little different in this section enjoy!
-0-0-0-
The guards loathed Tuesdays.
It wasn't the double-shift that was the problem, nor was it that nobody could take the day off without good reason. Truth be told, Arkham Asylum was much better since it had come under new management and who could complain about an extra few dollars a month?
No, it was much more simple than long hours and restricted social calendars. It was all down to one man. That is, if He could even be considered a man. One guard had already quit the day after His arrival. It meant forfeiting his last pay-cheque but whatever had happened to push him screaming out of the gates had justified his decision to financially cripple himself.
Yet the new boss was a soft touch. He believed that giving something back to the inmates would increase the likelihood that they'd cooperate. There were no exceptions. It was decided. Once a week, the Joker would be allowed time in the recreation room.
He had to be closely guarded and chained down of course and during his one hour of relative freedom the presence of other maximum-security patients was kept to a minimum.
A table bolted to the floor had been specially prepared for him. It was square and quite small, just over a couple of feet wide. Parallel to one another and attached to the table edge were chains topped by thick restraints. Each week the two unlucky guards who had been chosen to escort him had to secure his thin pale wrists and tightly close the three buckles on each arm. They were usually shaking as they did it. In the first week the Joker had made a quip about it. Now, in the third week, he mocked them by pretending to yawn.
After securing his feet against the chair, also bolted to the floor, the guards couldn't get away from him quickly enough. Sure, they had to remain within a few feet of him but that didn't mean they had to sit with him.
There was a second chair but it remained unoccupied. Not even the inmates where that stupid. Except for the serial killer in the first week. He had swaggered up to the Joker, taunted him and became increasingly irate when he got no response. Nobody knows what happened but somehow, the Joker made the self-appointed toughest guy in Arkham cry. He had quipped about that too. Something about the bigger men being the biggest girls but nobody was really listening.
There was just enough slack on the chains for the Joker to play cards. He couldn't reach out and grab anyone; he couldn't even lift his arms high enough to throw the cards around. One nurse thought it was ridiculous. How could a pack of plastic cards possibly be used as a weapon? A guard teased her to go ahead and ask the Joker to demonstrate and she soon backed down.
One inmate observed this sorry weekly show with great interest. Usually a visit to the recreation room was even less appealing than therapy, and that was saying something. The thought of having to spend time with the sort of people he had once treated! Well, treated was a loose term at best. Still, he would prefer to remain cooped up in his cell most days but Tuesdays…they made it all worth it.
No matter what his former colleagues attempted, Jonathan Crane was still fascinated by fear and the power of the mind. He still considered himself a master of the art. He had spent many days in solitary for brazenly aggravating the conditions of his fellow inmates. He didn't need his fear toxin. One long and twisted conversation about their dark and troubled pasts and they'd be begging the guards to take Crane away.
On Tuesdays, Crane was in his element.
The Joker was the embodiment of the power of suggestion. He had been stripped of his visual identity. He wore the scratchy red all in one just like everyone else. He was not permitted to wear his make-up. From a distance, he was an ordinary inmate, yet as soon as inmates and guards alike realised his identity, they gave him a wide berth. Reputation, Crane often thought, often the most effective device for infecting others with fear.
Crane strolled across the room and hovered around that second empty chair. The Joker didn't even look up. He was too busy picking a card from the top of the deck and placing it face-up on one of two piles. The only sound was the sharp flick each time a card kissed the cold metal surface of the table. Flick "Have a seat. Doc," flick.
"You should know that I no longer go by that title," Crane replied, his fingers dancing along the back of the chair.
The Joker stopped his card picking and finally looked up. Crane didn't flinch, why would he? He'd seen worse under the influence of his own toxin. Still, there was no denying that having got used to seeing the Joker's painted face all over the news, seeing what was underneath his mask was strangely uncomfortable.
In Crane's case it wasn't fear of reputation, it was the part of him in the distant past that wanted to be a good little psychiatrist and help people. The other doctors had clearly thought that removing the make-up would remove some of the persona. It hadn't worked. First of all, Crane knew that this guy was gone. Second, the Joker had obviously been using make-up for so long that some of the white had become trapped in the creases of his skin. It was impossible to remove. There were still black rings around his eyes, though this time it wasn't make-up and of course there were the scars. He didn't need bright red face paint to emphasise those things.
"So ya going to stop using a title just because these…people told you so? You're on the wrong side of the monkey cage now doc. Their rules? They don't apply to people like us," flickhis gaze returned to his cards "unless you would rather be called hmm, Johnny-boy?" flick.
Crane remained silent and lowered himself into the chair. He immediately crossed his legs and rested his arm against the back. The Joker exhaled slowly to prevent himself from laughing. He loved it when other inmates tried so hard to appear nonchalant around him. "What are we playing?"
The Joker licked his lips.
"Sssnap," he replied with another flick.
Crane resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. The last inmate to challenge the Joker's psyche had an unfortunate accident involving a banana being stuffed into their throat. It was three days ago in the lunchroom and his guard had looked away for a second. The Joker continued to insist that his cuffs prevented him from doing such a thing. The inmate recovered and insisted the opposite, yet nobody saw anything. Or they refused to acknowledge it out of fear. Fear, these people were hopeless.
The Joker stacked the cards back into one deck and shuffled them. Crane had to lean over slightly to take his cut; those chains really were quite restricting. "What are the rules?"
"I told ya doc," flick "there are no rules,"
"Didn't anyone ever tell you that a world without rules is chaos?" Crane asked, deliberately goading him.
It didn't appear to work. "And isn't it wonderful," there was a long pause; more cards were placed on the pile. "These people. They're so governed by it. Take away the solid foundations of so called civilised society and then you see real power. Raw selfish instinct,"
"The only powerful force is fear. Without fear, there is none of the chaos that you crave,"
The Joker stopped, holding a card in midair. He sighed again and his eyes flicked from left to right and back to the left again. "No no, doc, you're over simplifying. Fear? It's a consequence. Not…" he paused and looked Crane in the eye "a cause. I don't set out to scare people. These uh people in here. They just don't get it. I don't wanna be feared doc. I want them to see their true selves. Society is just one big…mask,"
"Says the guy who wears make-up,"
A quiet chuckle rattled in the Joker's throat "You're not in a position to judge Johnny-boy. They don't fear you. They fear that decrepit sackcloth,"
"Like I said," Crane coolly replied. "Fear is the force –"
"And you're, what? The organ donor?"
Crane decided to change tactics. If trying to undermine his personal philosophy didn't get him worked up, the former psychiatrist knew something that would. It was just a matter of reaching the subject. "You want to know why some of the inmates fear you?"
Joker stopped playing again and pulled the chains as tight as they would go, lacing the tips of his fingers together. "Well, I'm not going anywhere," he scoffed.
Crane's lips curled into a smug smile "They've heard that your, shall we say preferences are limitless,"
"Ya know doc, you disappoint me. You think that walking collective of uh repressed sexuality troubles me? I'm operating outside their little definitions doc. And I thought you shrinks made a career outta listening,"
"My mistake," said Crane "your preferences are decidedly bat-shaped,"
The chains clanked hard against the table as the Joker violently moved his hands apart. His eyelids fluttered and he raised one hand, moving his fingers gently against the air. "You almost had me goin' there," he said with a broad smile. "The Batman, he's the worst offender. I just keep him on his toes. He needs me,"
Crane decided to resume the game. Not that it was much of a game. Really they were just putting cards down into two untidy piles. Matching suits, matching numbers, it didn't matter. This was just something to do. Flick. "I think that deep down, you fear him," flick.
"Again with the fear,"
Crane quirked a brow "Every man has something to fear. Even if it is fear itself,"
"Determined to put me into one of your little boxes, aren't ya?" Flick.
"Ah but you do that yourself. Batman represents order, you're chaos. By marking yourself as his direct opposite, the thing that keeps him on his toes, you've effectively defined yourself,"
"You can't define chaos doc. That is limitless,"
Crane leaned over again, close enough for their noses to almost touch. The Joker didn't blink; he just continued to stare, his eyes darkening as though he was finally going to crack. "Batman tries to control you and I think," Crane sank back into his chair, he knew the Joker probably wasn't above biting "that is the thing you fear most. Everything you did before they brought you in…you controlled. Take that away from you and you're lost,"
The Joker felt something bubbling in his stomach, some distant sensation that he could vaguely associate with being ill. Maybe it was all those damned meds finally taking their toll. He didn't dwell on it, that wasn't how his mind worked. Besides, Crane was boring him now. That was it! Boredom. He didn't bother to reply. Without looking at the card he slapped a joker down on the table.
His opponent cleared his throat and stroked the back of his deck, tracing the red and white pattern with a single finger. With a quick flick of the wrist, his next card was on the table. "How about that…" Crane mused. It was a joker too. "Snap,"
The Joker twitched, more so than usual. "You…" he drawled "you're cheating doc,"
"You of all people should know that there are always two jokers in the pack,"
"Not this one," the Joker snarled.
How interesting, Crane thought. This man sees himself as the only force in Gotham able to match Batman. His pack of cards reflects this delusion. "I think," he paused "I've made my point," he got up out of his seat the moment that the Joker's hand shot out as far as they could. He raked the cards back toward him and began to shuffle them again.
"Is it time to go back already George?" said Crane, noticing that a guard was standing right beside him.
The guard was silent until they arrived at the exit. He sucked in a breath and Crane could predict what was coming. "I wouldn't have done that Crane," George grunted.
Both men turned around. The Joker was sitting patiently, waiting for the room to be cleared before he would be unchained and escorted back to his cell. He didn't look angry or even mildly irritated. His expression was neutral but his eyes, still unblinking were fixed dead ahead. That wasn't even the worst part. Though his lips were relaxed, the scars curled up at the corners gave off an eerie illusion that he was still smiling.
-0-0-0-
Crane sighed as the door to his cell was slammed with a clank. As a patient with a history of reasonable behaviour he was now allowed into the recreation room every day. But tomorrow just wouldn't be the same. Tomorrow, he'd have to listen to the usual bores boast of their tedious shoot and run exploits.
He sat down on the threadbare cot in the corner and crawled backwards up to the pillow. He closed his eyes and lowered his head onto the very thin pillow, putting one arm underneath it to support his weight. Something tickled his fingertips and he immediately sat up, dragging the mystery object out into the open.
It was a joker card.
Somewhere down the hall, peals of laughter echoed around Arkham's high and unforgiving walls.
End.
I'm sorry! I just couldn't let Crane have the last laugh. I can't imagine the Joker allowing it and that's why I feel that the Joker was ahead of Crane all along here.
I always like the idea presented by the comics and the animated series that the Joker can actually get out of his cell whenever he wants, he just sees his cell as a place to spend time between his performances. So if you're wondering how he could've got that card into Crane's cell, now you know!