Jonathan Crane sighed. He sat alone in his cell in Arkham Asylum for Insane Criminals. He used to run this place. He used to sit in the office along the corridor. The one he hung pictures of his favourite inmates on the walls. The ones he had liked. He had hung a picture of the Batman on the wall too, when he first started selling his fear-inducing drugs to other criminals. He had taped a little notice to the underside of his desk, where nobody could see it, with an arrow pointing to the pictures of the handsome inmates. The notice read: "I would if I could." Now the once renowned psychiatric doctor sat alone in a cell, wearing a vulgar orange suit. Since his capture, his bright turquoise eyes, with the red glint in them had faded slightly and glazed over, his once shining brown hair had become dull and greasy, his handsome cheekbones stuck out more from his skull, and his face had become pale. His voice grew slightly hoarse. He would give anything to be out of here. iAnything/i.

A cold draught blew under the crack in Jonathan's cell door. It chilled his already cold skin. He shivered and drew his knees closer to his body. To take his mind off his current predicament, he began to sing softly, a song he had known before he was locked up, a song he wanted to hear again: "Your pictures are there…you left behind…all just me-mo-ries of a different life, something made us laugh…something made us cry…what then made you…have to say goodbye-eye? What I'd give to run my fingers, through your hair, to touch your lips, to hold you near…when you say your prayers try to understand…I made mistakes…I'm just a man…and I will love you ba-by…Always….Always!" As he sang, his voice got louder, and some of the inmates laughed, still others joined in the singing. Jonathan stopped, embarrassed, and a pinkish tinge crept up his thin cheeks.

He sat silently for another hour, before going to bed.

He was woken by the usual moans and screams that started every day. It was partly his fault that there were so many screams. His drugs made people see what they feared most. It worked well until one of the Batman's people developed an antidote, and he was caught. He sighed again, desperately unhappy. He i needed/i to get out of here. He knew he faced a long slow death if he did not. He didn't get up from his bed for four hours, and when he did resumed his position in the middle of the floor. The guards came round with breakfast at half past seven as usual, and came back an hour later to remove the empty plates. Jonathan had forced himself to eat something, even if it almost made him sick again. He felt sure something was wrong with him, but he was ignored like everybody else in Arkham. iSurely/i it hadn't been like this when he was running the place? Oh yes, yes it had, thought Jonathan, regret stabbing at his stomach, making him feel sick again. A sudden scraping noise cut into the dark silence of Jonathan's cell. The lock was being pushed aside. Why would the guards come back so soon? Jonathan saw a blinding square of light and a figure was pushed roughly into the small room, knocking Jonathan, who had stood up, over. His thin body hit the ground hard and fast, and the blow to his head rendered him unconscious.

Jonathan Crane slowly opened his eyes. He knew he would have some new bruises, to go with his multicoloured body. The lack of decent food weakened him, and the guards often liked to beat up the inmates. The corrupted guards liked the pretty boys too. The room was fuzzy, and he wondered why it wasn't adjusting into focus. He realised that it was because he hadn't got his glasses on. He sincerely hoped they were not broken, because if they were he had no chance of getting another pair, and if he asked the guards would hurl abuse at him and the "punishments" they were fond of dishing out would be worse. They probably wouldn't even bother to use spit. Jonathan felt around on the floor around him as far as his arms could reach. His fingers only touched the bare stone floor of his cell. A blurred face swam into view. "Looking for these?" asked his new cellmate, dangling Jonathan's spectacles above his head. Jonathan snatched them from him and shoved them onto his eyes. "Thanks," he muttered, scowling. "What's with the face hm?" asked the intruder "Am I taking over your own little cell hm? Well, I'm not here by choice exactly am I?" Jonathan nodded. "Yeah, sorry. It is getting a little crowded in this place. I figured I'd have to end up sharing at some point. I'm Dr Jonathan Crane…well iEx/i Doctor Jonathan Crane. I'm hardly a doctor of psychiatry while I'm locked up in a nuthouse."

"And iwhy/i are you locked in a nuthouse?"

"I was the Scarecrow. Scare being the operative word. I gave people drugs that showed them what they feared the most. But the bat got me, so here I am."

"Interesting Johnny." A flicker of annoyance stung Jonathan at being called "Johnny". It was a nickname he hated. "I'm the Joker. No real name. The bat got me too, but it's okay. I'll get out of here in a while. I killed a heck of a lot of people." Jonathan shuddered. He might inflict fear on somebody, which might eventually kill them, and was possibly crueller than killing them, but he could not bear the thought of himself physically taking another person's life. He took a good look at his new cellmate. His face was painted white, with bright red lips and cheeks, covering two long, raised scars that ran almost to his ears, and black around his eyes. The scars fascinated Jonathan and he reached out absentmindedly to touch them. He stroked the raised skin on the Joker's face for about ten seconds before he realised what he had been doing. He looked at the Joker's puzzled and slightly taken aback expression and snatched his hand away. The Joker grabbed his skinny wrist, jerking it a little too hard and making Jonathan cry out in pain. "I'm sorry. Not sure what came over me," Jonathan stammered, squeezing his eyes shut, bracing himself. The Joker looked even more taken aback and let go of Jonathan's wrist. He looked up and down Jonathan's skinny frame. "Don't feed you too well in this place, do they hm? I mean I thought iI/iwas a skinny guy, but next to you, I'm practically a bodybuilder!"

Jonathan's cheeks went pink again; he didn't like people talking about how small he was. The two men kept talking for a long time, finding nothing else to do in the desolate asylum, and finding that they had a lot in common. For the first time in a year, Jonathan Crane had a friend.

The door opened again at lunchtime, and two guards came in. One set two bowls of tomato soup and two bread rolls on the cell's small table. "You ask for better food Crane, here it is," growled the other guard, who was clearly in charge. "But you know nothing comes for free, don't you? Time for me to collect my…ipayment/i for this favour."

"Oh come on," begged Jonathan, "not now. It's only soup…" it was no use. A big hand muffled his pleas, and the other hand of the guard shoved the back of the bottom half of his suit down. "No! Please!" Jonathan tried to protest, but the hand began to squeeze his jaw, silencing his obscured cries further. Then the guard was roughly inside him; the pain drawing salty tears from his eyes, which were firmly squeezed shut. He still tried to cry out, and struggled against the weight of the guard, making the pain worse, and adding more as the guard slammed Jonathan's head roughly onto the metal frame of his bed, giving him a black eye. The ordeal seemed to last forever, though in reality it was only ten minutes. Finally the guard released Jonathan, who dropped into a heap on the floor, still half naked and attempting to stop the shivering that violently shook his small body. The guards both laughed and stomped out of the cell, slamming the door shut, muttering "Pathetic," at Jonathan.

After a while, Jonathan got himself together enough to make himself decent, and picked himself up. He went to sit at the table and ate his bowl of soup, the hand holding the spoon still shaking violently. He managed half of his soup before he had to dash to the lavatory bowl in the far corner of the room to vomit. He felt a little better afterwards, and went to eat the rest of his soup, barely registering the flavour through the bitter taste in the back of his throat. The Joker had watched all of this while eating his own soup, sitting on Jonathan's bed cross legged, laughing a little at seeing someone in pain. He couldn't really help it, pain made him laugh. But part of him felt bad for the beautiful young man he had the luck to be sharing with. He even felt a twinge of jealousy when the guard raped him. Not that he wanted to be raped, though he was sure his turn would come soon enough, and that he could bear it better. "You okay?" he asked Jonathan when he had finished his soup. "I'm fine," Jonathan replied quietly, pink creeping up his cheeks again. "We're going to have to share this bed you know," announced the Joker, his voice seeming much louder next to his cellmate's. "It's fine," sighed Jonathan, "I'll sleep on the floor." The Joker shook his head.

"It doesn't mean anything, Johnny. You'll freeze on the floor. I don't mind." Jonathan nodded his thanks and went to sit on his bed next to the Joker. He winced as he sat on the sore parts of his lower body. The two men talked late into the night, and lay down together, top and tail, Jonathan perfectly still, trying not to put any pressure on any of his bruises.

The Joker was woken up after only a couple of hours sleep, by Jonathan twitching, kicking and yelling. The Joker got to his knees on the bed and held Jonathan down by his shoulders, saying into his ear "It's all right Johnny, all right. Sh sh sh…" as if he was a small child. After a few minutes, Jonathan stopped convulsing, and rolled over on to his side, sleeping with no dream again. Did he realise he physically moved through his bad dreams? The Joker wondered. It was no surprise really that he had terrible nightmares, after the way he was treated in this place, not to mention the entire atmosphere of the place itself.

When the Joker woke up, the bed was empty. Jonathan was sat in the middle of the floor again, this time reading a book. His eyes were red-rimmed behind his glasses and his cheeks still shone a little, after the usual "payment" for privileges such as books, from handsome young men like him. The Joker didn't think the older or overweight or uglier inmates had to go through treatment like this when they wanted something they were actually entitled to. "What time is it?" asked the Joker sleepily. "Eight O'clock. Your breakfast's on the table," replied Jonathan, his voice still a thick. It must have been a very rough time. "Thanks. You okay?" the Joker asked again. "Not really," was the reply. "I have to get out of here." Jonathan looked up, his eyes pleading with the Joker. "I can't take any more." Fresh tears ran down his thin cheeks. "You said you were going to get out of here. Please, do it soon and take me with you. I'll do anything! iAnything/i. I have no money, but you can share my house with me."

"Ah." The Joker smiled an evil smile. Though he liked Jonathan Crane, he was still sadistic. "I'll decide when we're out of here. I'll take some sort of ah…ipayment/i." He stressed the last word as the guards did. "But we'll get out, iJohnny/i." Jonathan swallowed nervously, and his eyes became fearful. But surely anything was better than this place. He nodded and wiped his eyes. "Okay. We'll do it inow/i," grinned the Joker. Pretend to be seriously ill, in more pain than you are." Jonathan nodded again, and began to yell, his cries strangely genuine. Two different guards came to the door. "What's up with him?" shouted the first one over Jonathan's screaming. "I don't know," shouted back the Joker in a panicked voice. "He just collapsed and started yelling!" Hearing this, Jonathan began to convulse violently. The other guard ran to get a doctor, as the first one opened the door and bent over Jonathan. The Joker came up from behind and stabbed the guard with a knife he had concealed in his underwear, tied to his thigh where it could not be felt. Jonathan was slightly sickened at this, but got up quickly. The Joker grabbed his wrist painfully tightly again, and began to run with him. "Come on Johnny, ifaster!/i We don't have much time!" Jonathan forced his feet to move faster, his blood pounding in his head, his breath coming in gasps, ripping at his lungs, his legs becoming excruciatingly painful; he hadn't run like this ever, and he hadn't run at all since he had been put in Arkham. He had been there for just over a year.

The Joker led them to the end of the corridor their cell was in, ignoring the stares of the other inmates as they ran along. They reached the fire door at the end, which, luckily, was never locked because the inmates could never get out, never take on the guards, who were the toughest and nastiest in the business. They burst out into the fresh air, the cold hitting Jonathan like a knife. They ran around the back of the building as the escaped convict alarms sounded across Gotham City, and into its maze of alleys and side streets. The Joker led Jonathan to a derelict looking building on the outskirts of Gotham, and took the key from the hanging plant basket that dangled to the left of the door. He put it in the lock and opened the door. He locked it behind them, leading Jonathan upstairs into a bedroom with one double bed standing in the middle. "Sorry, that's all I have. We'll have to share again. I suggest you get some rest Johnny. You look terrible. And I would take the orange suit off; it's filthy, makes you instantly recognisable and won't do much in the way of keeping you warm." The Joker dug around in his old cupboard and brought out a purple shirt. "My only spare," He said, passing it to Jonathan, who took the suit off as he had been asked, and collapsed onto the Joker's bed, wearing his underwear and the clean shirt, only half buttoned. The Joker pulled the thin duvet over Jonathan, and lay down beside him.

In the night he had rolled over, and draped his arm over Jonathan. Jonathan woke up first, and was unsure whether to move. The Joker woke up soon afterwards, removed his arm without a word, and wandered into the bathroom. Jonathan sat up and began to look at his body, to examine fully his injuries in the full light of the room. He removed the Joker's shirt and hung it on the handle of the wardrobe door. He winced as he touched all of his bruises and grazes. He sensed someone looking at him, and spun around abruptly. The Joker was stood in the doorway, looking at him approvingly. Jonathan gasped and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide his nakedness. The Joker shook his head and walked over to Jonathan, pulling him close, trying not to touch his sore parts. When Jonathan was in his arms, he pressed hard on a large bruise on Jonathan's back, making him cry out in pain. The Joker closed his eyes at the sound. "Now, about the trade off for me getting you out of there…" he said, "It will require ipayment/i." He firmly manipulated Jonathan so he was on his hands and knees on the bed, before kneeling behind him and bending over his body, gently kissing the bruise between his shoulder blades, caressing Jonathan's matted hair. The Joker straightened up again, and gently pushed the back of Jonathan's boxer shorts down. He undid the buckle on his own trousers, and entered Jonathan as gently as possible, using up a small tub of lip salve to help him. Jonathan still cried out in pain, but stopped himself, and braced his body. "No it's okay," whispered the Joker. "Try and enjoy this. Make as much noise as you want." Jonathan nodded, tears squeezing from his eyes again, as the Joker moved, and uttering little barks of pain whenever the Joker prodded one of his bruises, and grabbed his shoulders roughly. He gasped, half in pain, half in pleasure as the Joker began to move back and forth in a grotesque rhythm, changing speeds. Jonathan could not stop the tears though; they were an unstoppable reaction to this kind of pain. It was finally over, but Jonathan still throbbed, and the tears still fell. The Joker gently pulled Jonathan up and turned him so they were face to face. Jonathan tried to look away, embarrassed, but the Joker turned his head back again, wiping the salt water away with his fingertips and stroking Jonathan's cheek, kissing them gently. Jonathan moved forward, and kissed the Joker's lips, the face paint tasting oily, the scars rough when the Joker moved slightly. Jonathan pushed his head forward as he kissed, making them fall from the edge of the bed, the fall broken by the soft rug. The Joker was underneath Jonathan, but twisted them round so he was looking down at Jonathan. He kissed first the skin of Jonathan's bare chest, and then his lips, raking his fingers through Jonathan's tangled hair, making his mouth twitch when he pulled at a knot. They stayed there like that for a long time. Afterwards they climbed back onto the bed and under the covers, Jonathan resting his head on the Joker's chest, closing his eyes, breathing softly. "Are we square now Joker?" He whispered. The Joker stroked his face, tracing the lines of his cheekbones. "If I say yes, will you still stay here?"

"Of course I will."

"Yes then." Jonathan Crane fell asleep soon afterwards, and stayed quiet until he woke up.