The Airport

Two hours. That was the time left until the plane took off. Two more hours and Jonathan Crane would be out of Gotham, out of the country, out. His foot tapped anxiously as his eyes darted once more to the entrance, but still there was no sign of the others. The swarms of people moving around him obstructed his view momentarily; his heart jumped, but they moved away once more and still there was no one.

Someone spilled the beans, Jonny, the Scarecrow crooned in his head, forever the bearer of bad news when Jonathan didn't want to listen. Best to get out of here before they get us too.

Shut up. I didn't ask for your advice.

But I'm giving it anyway. This was a ridiculous idea in the first place, and now you're putting yourself at risk by hanging around here.

He was, he knew that, but it didn't stop him from clinging to that faint hope.

A fresh start… The idea was too tantalizing to resist – the opportunity to begin again, lose all evidence of his past crimes and continue his research unhindered. Unlike the woman, Selina Kyle, he wasn't planning on giving up so easily. Besides, what he did wasn't truly a crime; he was helping to further mankind, better it. A world where fear was understood, could be erased. Truly marvellous.

Of course no one would ever accept his vision while he had a criminal record. This was necessary. Leaving was necessary. He had to get out.

They aren't coming.

Selina, Edward, and Pamela were the welcome guests, the ones Jonathan had been sure would show. Joker had forced his presence upon them – whether or not he would arrive was doubtful. Jonathan didn't think the clown actually wanted out. If they didn't show up, he had a fair idea who'd sold them out, the latter two anyway. Joker hadn't made any promises, but fear was what had caused them to involve him.

They are coming, they never have been any good at being on time, you know that.

There's only five more minutes until they can check in to board – they aren't coming.

They weren't; Jonathan knew that, of course he did. He closed his eyes, running his hands over his face in an attempt to relax. Of course no one was coming. Of course, of course, of course. Despair washed over him as he shook his head and stood up straight from his position leaning against the wall. He pulled his hat down lower.

Now, be a good boy and leave. If one of them got caught it's only a matter of time.

Ever obedient, Jonathan turned to the doors. Damn it. Damn it all, his friends, his enemy, damn whatever had stopped them.

The sun shone bright in his eyes through the citys' layer of smog as he left. No one ever got out of Gotham City. It was an impossibility – once you had a record, you didn't have a chance. Not one of them would have made it onto that plane, or out of the city.

Gotham City had become almost a living creature; once it had hold of you with its talons, there was no escape. Running, hiding, clawing for freedom, no matter what you did it would pull you back into its depths, until there was nothing left of you but dust and files in a mental asylum.

True madness was trying something over and over again and expecting a different result, wasn't it? This was the first and last attempt Jonathan would make at leaving the city. His pride wounded, his determination shattered, he climbed into a cab, head bowed to hide his face.

He wasn't mad, after all.