Disc: don't own Jonathan and Eddie
Jonathan Crane carefully poured one drop of a pinkish liquid into a large beaker of a glowing orange substance, stepping to the side of his lab table as he did so. Unfortunately, he had left a rather large book on psychology in that precise place and he stumbled, knocking over the beaker and sending the eyedropper flying over to a crowded shelf, where it bounced between a few brim-full beakers before knocking them both over. Seated in the corner of the room on a stack of dusty old record books, Edward Nygma glanced up from his cross-word puzzle.
"Problems?" he drawled, filling in a word. Jonathan groaned and sat up, muttering something decidedly unpleasant under his breath.
Eddie sighed and set down the puzzle book. "You know what you need, Jon?"
"A mop that won't disintegrate on contact with these chemicals?"
"No…a vacation."
The Master of Fear rolled his eyes and snatched up some protective gloves and several rags. "I do not need a vacation. What I need is to get this mopped up so I can continue on this toxin."
The Riddler shook his head. "That's your problem! All you do is work, work, work, and you never save any time for the fun stuff!"
"Who says work isn't fun?"
Now it was Eddie's turn to roll his eyes. "You, my friend, are a first class workaholic."
"Says the man who spends hours working on deathtraps that never work."
The Riddler looked hurt. "That last one had potential…"
Jonathan sighed and straightened up from the rapidly corroding spot of floor he was attempting to clean.
"Look, I'm sorry. But I'm really busy now, what with the new toxin and everything and I just can't go on a vacation now."
The Riddler stood, picking up his puzzle book. "We'll see about that…" he muttered to himself.
"What was that?" Jonathan asked, scrubbing the floor again.
Eddie smiled. "Oh, nothing…"