Author's note: I do not own the Scarecrow. I do, however, very much own the Captain. And I think it's very unprofessional of me to continue writing myself into these fics. I'm going to blame it on BiteMeTechie, who inspired me with a challenge, and then made me giggle with a chunk of dialogue that I subsequently stole and stuck in here. Yay for that, yes.

That said, this is part of the CATverse. It follows BiteMeTechie's "Season of the Witch," but you can probably get the gist of it without reading anything that comes before.

To become instantly less confused about the timeline, visit www. freewebs. com/ catverse. html after removing the spaces.

Vacation Time

Working in Gotham, sometimes making enemies was unavoidable.

That didn't exactly make it any better when the unavoidable occurred.

Jonathan Crane dashed through his lair like a long-legged whirlwind, throwing anything and everything into a bag, just hoping he had enough time to make his escape before one of them caught up with him.

And who was after him this time, you might ask?

It might be easier to ask who wasn't after him. That was a much shorter list.

The Riddler, for example. The Riddler wasn't after him, although they weren't exactly on the same friendly terms they had been before Christmas. (One little accident with the fear toxin, a minor dose, really, and suddenly Edward couldn't even sit down for a simple game of chess without breaking into a cold sweat and finding an excuse to go over to the other side of the room. A real shame. The Mad Hatter was the sort of player who could sit there for hours, just staring at the board, and few of the other inmates even knew how to play.)

So, the Riddler, yes. And there was probably someone else he knew who wasn't actively trying to catch him or kill him. He couldn't think of anyone off the top of his head…

Making enemies in Gotham was the kind of mistake not many people managed to make more than once.

Well, he was just lucky, now, wasn't he? Even the neighborhood dogs had taken to chasing him when he ventured outside.

It was definitely time for a change of scenery.

He took one last look around the lair. There was nothing else here that he couldn't live without. Time to go. He still had some time; he could make it if he ran.

And if there was one thing he was good at, it was running.

He opened the door, and stopped short.

There were three women standing in front of them, one with her hand raised to knock.

It was all he could do to keep from slamming the door in their faces.

"Oh," said the one who had been about to knock. "Hi."

"Hi," echoed the woman on her right.

"Hi, Squishums," breathed the one on the left. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the three of them, with special loathing reserved for this last one, the stranger.

"Al, Captain, what are you doing here, who is this, and why have you been teaching her your ways?"

"Techie," said the Captain. "She's cool, trust me. You'll like her much better than either of us." He raised an eyebrow.

"Trust you? You swore you would never come near me again. And you said you would keep her in line," he said, glaring at Al, who looked terribly embarrassed.

"Squish—" The Captain made a warning sound. "Scarecrow," Techie amended. "I'm sure you don't remember me, but you fear gassed me at the Christmas party. I mean, you gassed everybody, so I'm sure you don't remember me, but I remember you."

"I was startled," he said slowly. Al let out a nervous little giggle.

"Um…yeah. My bad." He stood there for a few seconds, waiting for them to explain their sudden appearance on his doorstep. They all just stared at him in a decidedly creepy fashion.

"Well, if you want revenge, you'll have to wait in line like everyone else. Now, I'm afraid I'm in a terrible hurry." He flapped his hand at them, hoping they would scatter like a flock of birds. No such luck.

"But, that's why we're here," said the Captain.

"We heard you were in trouble," Al added.

"And you came to rub it in?" He scanned the street, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He might still have time to make his escape…

"No! We want to help you," Al said. He scowled at her. "Really! No kidnapping, no straitjackets, nothing like that. We just want to help."

"I don't want your help."

"So? We want to give it. Come on, it's March."

"So?" What did March have to do with anything?

"So it's March," Al insisted. He just stared at her.

"Spring break," Techie clarified. "Have you ever seen a college town during spring break? Completely dead. Everyone goes to, I don't know, Aruba or something. Somewhere with sun and sand and a million other drunken college kids." The Captain nodded excitedly.

"Exactly! And you, sir, need a hiding place! Somewhere completely unexpected. And where's the last place anyone would expect you to go?"

"Your house, I suppose," he said, trying to work through the winding paths of their skewed logic. Were they offering him the use of their house while they partied in Aruba? And how did this Techie fit in?

"Okay, what's the second last place anyone would expect you to go?" Al prompted.

"I give in, fruit loop. Do tell."

"Um…" She stared at him, apparently awestruck. "Did you…did you just quote…Rimmer?"

"I really don't have time for this," he said, and started to push his way past them.

"Wait!" The Captain put a hand on his arm to stop him. After a look at his eyes, she was quick to take her hand away, giving him an affable grin instead. "Sorry. But you know you need a place where you can relax, where no one will think to look for you."

"You need a vacation," Techie added.

"In Aruba? No, thank you." He tried again to leave, physically pushing Al out of his way (and more than half hoping she would fall and break something important.)

"Not Aruba," the Captain said. "Longboat Key." The three of them stood firmly blocking his path. He considered gassing them, just to watch them twitch.

"Longboat Key. Of course. Why didn't I think of that?" There was someone coming toward them…damn. This did not bode well. He took a step backwards, bringing him a little closer to the putative safety of the door.

"It's in Florida," the Captain said, oblivious. "My grandparents have a condo, right on the beach, and I've been ordered to make use of it. Doesn't it sound great? The warm sand underneath your feet, the sound of waves singing you to sleep each night…the company of good friends. Don't you want to go to the beach with us?" She gave him an angelic smile, which was echoed by the other two. He took another step back, trying not to imagine the three of them in bikinis.

"No. No, I don't. Now, go away."

"Come on, Jonathan. We'll put sunscreen on you and everything." He moved very carefully away from her.

"I don't think that's going to be a major selling point there, Cap," Techie whispered.

"Um…"

"We'll buy you a hot dog!" Al said triumphantly. The other two stared at her while he took another step closer to the door. Then Techie snatched his sleeve and started tugging on it.

"Please?" she said sweetly. "Please, please, please?"

"That's not going to work," Al said. (He very briefly considered giving in just to spite her.) "You have to appeal to his baser nature."

Baser nature? No matter what she meant by that, he thought this would be a remarkably good time to extract his sleeve and slam the door in their faces. Unfortunately, although they were both staring at Al as if she'd grown an extra head, it hadn't occurred to Techie to let go of him yet.

"You guys are pervs," said Al. "I meant that there will be all those people around. Unsuspecting, mindless geriatric beach bunnies just waiting to get gassed. Or blown up, maybe."

"Or both," Techie said thoughtfully, releasing his sleeve. He stepped away, into the safety of the building, and reached for the door. There was still time to make a run for the rear exit…

Although…she did have a point. It could be interesting to experiment on…

Wait, had she said geriatric beach bunnies?

"All those poor old retired people," the Captain said sadly, fighting down a smile. "Most of the neighbors would be too deaf to hear the screaming, and too senile to notice when their friends went missing. I've always wanted to study the effects of terror in the elderly. Haven't you, Squishykins? And in between experiments, we can go swimming and bury each other in the sand."

"I can't swim," he said, and slammed the door in their faces.

xXx

"Time for Plan B," Al said calmly. "We drag him down to the beach, kicking and screaming."

"You do remember what happened last time you did something he didn't like, don't you?" Techie said as the Captain shrugged her way out of her backpack and knelt to look inside it.

"Well, we'll make sure he's unarmed this time, of course," Al said impatiently. The Captain pulled out a notebook and started flipping through the pages.

"How are we supposed to make sure…is that math?" Techie asked, distracted by the Captain's notebook.

"Yeah. It's not mine." She started tearing out a page, slowly and carefully separating the paper from the rings, following the perforation with the kind of precision that could have made a computer weep with envy. She was clearly a woman with a healthy respect for the mighty spiral-bound notebook.

"Why…why do you carry around someone else's math?"

"It's better not to ask," Al said. The Captain rolled her piece of paper into a tight cylinder and used it to whack Al on the nose.

"Bad monkey!" Whack. "No more kidnapping!" Whack. "Be nice to the Squishykins!"

"I am! And if you hit me with that again, well, good luck getting your notebook removed from your colon. I hear that involves very delicate surgery."

"Well, I heard…that…you suck," the Captain retorted. "Wow…and I'm supposed to be the wordsmith."

"Hey, does that guy look suspicious to you?" Techie asked, cautiously pointing out the man who was approaching the Scarecrow's hideout with a visible aura of nonchalantness.

"Hey, I know that guy," said Al. "That's Not Joe. Let's go beat the crap out of him!"

"Yeah, that'll make the Squishmeister love us," the Captain said with a laugh. Al shrugged.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Captain. I just want to beat up on someone who deserves it for once. Any hypothetical squish-lurve is just an added bonus." Then she smiled. "But it can't hurt to show him how useful we would be in collecting test subjects, now, can it?"

They all grinned.

The retirement community would never know what hit it.

This spring, the Gulf of Mexico was going to run red with the blood of the senile.

It was going to be the best spring break ever.